Mystery.               Mystery.              Mystery.


mar-                                             ­                       mar-
ble-                                 ­                                     ble-
eyes                   ­                                                  eyes





                                 noitcudeS
                                 Seduction

Syllables mixed,
Meaning dispersed between the two conscious minds,
Connecting them,
One.

But yet no sound was made.

The Brightest Star
Just smiled and waved,

The wind
Blowing though the rays that embrace Karim
Like a strait jacket of light, blinding bias.

Karim could hear the ants in the mycelium;
Manufacturing temples.

Tears flowed to the present light.

His tears then created the Nile River,
Where the stream keeps their society alive,
Engraving their history into ours.

Since that day,
Karim could only smile and wave.

Karim disintegrates
To the madness of the Brightest Star
In the fog-thickened day.

That star,
Empowered with the strength of a
Thousand soldiers
And their passion,

And the cunning wit
Of the Great Apollo,

Stretched the fabric of linear veil to pause
The illusion of society

For a moment

Outside of dementia

‘twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas,
Humidity can’t be seen
As the sun whirled
Its final twirl.

A flock of pigeons stand by Midnight’s Trolley Trail.

I am my own eye,
Staring at taught veils
'tween cotton gaits.

The clouds are no more,
Spirits remained encaged in rose sepultures,

A transformation so chaotic, they cackle at their false fear.

MY BLURRINESS SEEMS TO BURN
STEADY. ready,
For what to behold.

I have left Universe to relay ,
As the subtle sun one did in its day.

I am left
To react.

React to what?
React to wee?            React,
to relationships,        React,
to their degree of nobility,
So fruitful, so radical in concept indeed.


Of all these perspectives
I am one.
One paper, one tree cut for endless possibilities.

The treasure remains underneath,
Where I weep
In the deep,
In the deep.

There is nothing to find,
And that made all the difference.

'twas the Hour of The Raven,
Scolding at the Seven Seas.

did I buy the hooks to my skin?
why am I in this store?
ten dollars for a pillow, Capitalism’s double
     how far is maine from tennessee?
              how far is tennessee from Idaho?    how close is Idaho to my Dreams?
I can’t wait for corn fields and their
    dried,
wrinkled                 smiles
                                                       can I still sing?
                                              can I still
                                                       socialize?
                                                      ­                    am
I buying happiness, or
investing in it?
                                                             ­            am
I traveling towards something, or
away from it?what if my song and melody keep my feet flat?
                                                           ­             am
I               the one for Her?            does She still think about me?
                                how do you move on from nothing,                 how do you hold on to
nothing.
                    am
I a god gliding thru pain,
          or just another pawn in this game?
Why do I write?        

                               there are the hooks to my skin.

Hear my words,

Time is like the stamp on the envelope that contains a letter and a poem shaped like the gentle vibrant rose on the side of the stream of reality.
Take it as it is,
But don’t beg for it,
Let it be what is is,
Constructed fantasy.

The opportunity to see Artist grow is an experience
Pulling on the strings of imagination.
Ideas mixing with ideologies
While Artist's talent flies yonder people's heads,
Giving the mind a chance to wander with
Loose predictions of predicaments only prevalent
Past current hands of clock towers hovering over
Boston's Freedom Trail, somehow ending at
Caffe Lil Italy.

Artist is on an elevated stage
Holding a piece of mysterious wood
Infront of billows of hairlines,
Presented by
Aliens from The World of Perplexed Tunes
Scattering under the grey sky
While the patient moon waits
Behind a cotton curtain.
  Rhythm was then resurrected.
     The next second,
     Perspective changes.
                                            We are now at
                                 The Show in the art of music
                                     While the crowd awaits
                        The next centennial syllable of the story
                               While an avid listener is caught
                                                In the grip.
Now,
He understands.



I applaud talent in a hierarchal sense,
In an illusioned matter of society.

I appreciate, the determination,
Leading to trees singing melodies
Whenever Artist appears with her weapon of choice from
The fifth dimension;

Presented to a four-dimensional audience.

I hear the joy in the tone,
Yet I feel the turbulence in the voice.
Something has hurt one.

While the hat might not sit correctly on one's head,
Sometimes it can't
So it can;

Spark sensation, Create imagination,

And understand the meaning of where we are
On this melting *** of a lightning bolt
Thrown by Zeus during a psychotic episode
On laced LSD, or maybe
Traveling through space,

The space, in the middle of her curious eyes
Where fictitious time is lost.

So, Dear Artist,
I want to say
Thank you, for helping me grow.
Thank you, for giving me the chance to grow.
Thank you, for the connections I never would've been able to make
If you had decided to never take the stage.

If you need me or this message again,
I'll be in the back of your mind,

In that scene,

Across The Other Ocean,
My focus over the horizon of metaphors,
On the other side of reality
As my feet remain glued to the jagged shoreline,
The sand on my toes washed away by
The waves of life created by

The Mother of The Other Ocean.










As my neurons recall the harmonies
Chiseled by you,


My mind drifts away,

Still thinking of hypothetical predicaments,


And it's endless possibilities.