What if our thoughts were controlled
and original thought was all but done
if it were illegal to ask questions
for example this one

what if there was no future or past
and only the simultaneous
time was only another tool
like a meter stick or others, miscellaneous

or what if those with life
instead of just being
break away from the grid
giving their own life meaning

without fear of their ideas being chased
hunted down, gathered up and erased
built up in great heaping pyres
and ceremoniously fed to the fires
  
people could extend their ideas
through-out the ages
merely by putting their words
on a few blank pages

influencing people
generations apart
simply by creating
a little bit of art

Did you feel me through your dreaming
as I loved you in deep dark
velvet skin your senses warming 
as I kissed your beating heart.

Did you feel my warmth envelop
taking all with slow desire
sat astride the depths of pleasure
eyes ablaze with carnal fire.

Did you feel the tension rising
changing rhythms taking toll
binding flesh with pulsing passion
sweet explosions letting go.

Did you sigh on waking lonely
pray for evening to begin
to feel once more while sweetly dreaming
the ghost of me upon your skin.

Red eyes on the morning train
Heads bobbing
I ask myself
Why do we do this
To ourselves?

Then I withdraw
And smile with
Buddah

This too is
Poetry

Autumn approaches
hiding her dance of decay
beneath russet skirts.

Evenings bleed early
through chill days
bringing steel dawns.

All falls silent
as leaves pirouette gaily
to the swansong of summer.

Birdsong threads remain
as harmony takes flight
to sheltered shores.

Autumn approaches,
bitter winter tracing steps
in her glorious wake.

The time
Kills,
Literally,
I'm dying
as the
Clock ticks
I'm crumbling
Away,
Time kills
Soon
I'll be dead.
Waiting..
To disappear
In history..
I'm dying
Slowly
And painfully
Each second,
An enemy..
How much longer?

If you meet me by the lake,
Don't worry if it's a mistake
Look at all the things we could create
Over here by this lake.

If you're looking for the tree,
That's where you'll find me
That's where you become free.
Us, just sitting in a tree.  

You could push me on the swing,
Look at all the joy that'd bring.
You're not thinking about anything,
Swinging on the green.

If you could manage to find hole #6.
That's where all of this exists.
It's in our minds, it's not myth.
Dreams of hole #6.