Here we are, awoke
Turning the effervescent wheel's
Lively spoke
And speaking of which,
Dreaming through the day
I sit awake and with God I
Note

"where have you been?"

In shining stars and spectrography
My surveying eyes alight to watch the
Topography
Shift and fizzle and burn and cook
To turn and dance towards a thousand ends.

Time a laughable wire severed
To hone the momentary soul
And yet
Let go towards the endless drone of ever
Lasting beyond the melting bones

It is a beautiful flower of a thing
The last through the door for rite of spring
Swinging, arms out on the galactic road
Aiming for all at that great unknown

And yet,
I stare up at a beautiful powder-coated sky
Watching the clouds curl and saunter by
Knowing this truth, never seeing the same thing anew,
And hoping somehow to be indemnified

Of what?

Again,
We speak the same
To reiterate the revolutive turn in all but name
The earth owes naught but dust and dirt,
To all which is and ever earned.

To not forget that which we come,
To not mistake the hand of fate;
That all that is shall once be done,
Then faith of life is ours to take.

I got an award
For being the stupidest young boy
With a wax soul
And impressionable.

I thought I'd find something
Nestled here amidst the trees
And I did,
But in no halls but the hall of god
Speaking to me
Dancing between the leaves
Singing with every whispered breeze
And yet when I stepped
Past the threshold and into the
"real world"
I was sold
A maniac of utter delinquency.

Everybody there
Waiting for their turn
Auditioning for the favor of hearts
They'll never win
Can't see
Laughing and wondering
Reading without comprehension
Sticking their *** in the face of the classics
Lap dogs licking the milk from
Professed *******
Thinking they'll be next

Its not resentment--
Is it fair to be bent
Towards dollars that've never been spent?

All those silly parks
Divided from the civilized lands
Frontiers of the past
Left to be little staging areas
For that invisible hand

Kids go on spring break
Take pictures between the towns
Maybe a stop along
On the way
To Vegas
Deep in the desert where it'd **** any other day

I cannot escape the unfathomable beauty of that place,
Living off the world in a way God said
To toil and love the pain
In a way nobody does

I am guilty of pride and
Stuffed like a pie full of anger
Cooking it into solid joy
And trying hard to scrape the cancerous crust away
All the dark sides we avoid

But screaming the heat away is good
Thermal induction is the name of the game
Entropic fizzlements like bubbles in the wind
Sublimating all that ever stood.

Yet soon enough I'll be born anew
And what I leave behind
Lifted up
Nautoloid shell
With a sparkling abalone interior
Someone will place on their shelf
And think,

"I wonder where that thing had been."

And I will make sure that if anything were to happen,
It would do little to affect you.

It's not everyday
You find a goose that lays eggs
With speckled jewels and golden flakes

The world is full of incongruity
And there's no doubt about the certainty
That something bad may happen,
And we don't want that, do we?

So listen carefully.


The world is a giant carboniferous spicule
Hanging in a nest of hydroxic gas and particulae
Spinning within the gaps of a blackened dome
Of limitless space and out of control
There is no telling what way it will go
There is no prediction that has fortold
Any number of moments in this tumbling slumber
Between the darkest hell and the further horizon

I so deftly advise you with all certification
To please place your bets and fly by echolocation
Your eyes will mislead, your ears will displease
And there is no way we can refund divine warranties

This machinery
has a half life of quarks
And energies that vibrate into other orbits
Trajectories
Retaining the spin and informative piece
Of that golden goose let loose amongst the canopy
Of dark,
off into neverland, straight on
Till new morning,
Beyond the stars

So please good sir don't migrate away from me
I have so much to give and such pain I have seen

Those that fatten their goose with **** till it quacks,
Those ravenous souls who ate their gift for a snack,
And when life finally cuts them down to their last,
They will howl and yowl and pray that goose back.

This is a game,
Have a good little laugh
Don't waste your time or your money
On a daffy Aflack

Policy that keeps you policed to the earth,
No way to fly,
Stuck in the dirt.
That is no way to live in the dream,
That is no way to let death trickle in

So please, pretty please, make sure you have coverages
And a couple extra dollars in the pocket of those jeans
Wander freely, you great big atomic bomb, you.
Do catastrophic damages and I'll pay your dues.

Ride the road coast to coast,
Fly a bird 'round the world,
Take a truck till you're home,
Find a love you can trust.
Find a place where your egg
And your legs seek nowhere else
Lay down those roots,
It's Eden or bust.

Art is opinion masquerading as truth.

When I draw a city, I am drawing the city of my dreams, just as the city that is does not exist.

Putting policy into words in the hopes of having yourself heard is not the point of the philosopher,

and should not be the end of the penman.

When I attempt to make the world see, I manufacture my enemy. We should seek instead to illuminate gracefully, to speak the words beyond the void of flesh, and to touch emotions that swim with depth

It will get us nowhere to make art political, of which it is propaganda and employed many an artist in the past;

whose dreams of good deeds became hung in a museum for all the wrong reasons, leaving a remnant of an unforseen circumstance hanging dry on an empty tour-guide phonecall

Descriptive yet lies

Argue the dialectic of truth than the present purfume of lies that is fumigated from the salivary discharge of a cetaceous yearning of ******* of thought, that leftover dream of God

That all things should be the same, that all minds should think that way-- if they were, we'd be done with the experiment.

And they are attractive little bunches
Holding themselves together with lightshows and
Hanging over stucco ledges
Until they are replaced
In the dead of night with nobody but the janitor's
Wrinkled gaze
Pruning and yanking
their dry roots
To replace with something new.

The Fibbonacci stories spiral downstairs like infinity
And a reflecting pool looks like the domed firmament of some great sistine

I could see for a moment in my upturned gut
The draw towards infinity that lies at the end of that hollowed mosque
And which holds me firm in trust

There are no stairs, oddly enough
Only a polished high speed elevator
With fancy buttons that light up
And bring us down to ground
Floors that once were above

I stared at my face in between
The metal doors and wondered
When the time would come
For me to be something more

Wake and bake you ****** flake!
There's nowhere else than here for you,
How dare you think you could get outta this,
No sir, this ain't something you can miss!

Go go go we're on a roll
I'm gonna drop you out the back like fresh cargo
Out the deep blue sea of air that beats and steams
Smacks you flat across those baby cheeks

It'll eat you alive, there's nowhere to hide
Life has a gun in her mouth and runs wild with her dice
She'll roll you in-- a winner or loser,
And can already tell which one you'll be.

This ain't sunshine and rainbows!
This is war
This ain't eden,
This is the floor!
A trillion miles left to heaven,
And hell separated into this long ago
So heft your baggy saddle
And go

That is, only if you want it to be
You can heat your meat with the Furnace of dreams
Exchange your bones into gold,
Let the rain melt to snow
Trust the gun and the run and don't forget to have fun
You'll really get me then, boy I'll have nothing left to say,
Once you turn life onto broil that day

It's good to let your blood pump and boil,
There is no soil for which doesn't toil
And churn and burn and yearn to learn
To experience the uninterrupted turning of the earth

We're on our way, you and I, plummeting
Searching for some incomprehensible summit
Of trust in the ticking hand of life
As she holds our souls in her palm so tight
We can hardly tell we're slipping away
Pumping and jumping and having fine days
To which one of those, bundled,
we will fade away
And life will smile, wide on her face,
Knowing she hit the jackpot of the age
And as we fall to the playing table,
Dust of chance and left to spin
Well, that's when we'll know for sure we win.

And I have seen paradise before
It was a heaven of ideological
proportions
located
on the junction
of childhood and interstates
of man and youth, with marble floors
and distant speakers echoing drops off of
cell phone booths
and older people
selling things for us to buy
to find ourselves happy in the moment
deep cascading waterfalls

Is this heaven?

When a child it's all you see
the white and pedicured purity
of a waxed granite floor,
the impersonal monotony
feeling a soul in a world unknown
the closest thing to dreaming
Old T.Vs selling like hotcakes
buy it while it's new!

Gameboy games, pokemon on the tele
silent in the face of some strange musician
playing unworded tunes you'll recognize later
their focus-grouped chords left somewhere in your mind
for you to hum when bored

Everything was perfect, then?
was it?

Those same malls don't sparkle
no more

maybe it's just the grime of life
blocking the mirrored measure of my childhood soul
lost amidst the echoes
the sweet music of truth
bouncing off of the uncolored walls
a send-off of my youth

Maybe when we go back, one day
the walls won't be quite so grey
they'll be power-washed with light,
shine better than ever before,
nothing to buy but our happiness
somewhere in those hallowed halls
searching those windows into other lives
hoping to find the key to our soul
to leave this silly Sphere and
Roebuck
our boat back out the sliding door
-windows
back out into the real world,
no longer dreaming.