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Don’t redneck too Bigfoot now, &
Worker Sauce went coastal not postal.
Went on the natty dreadlocks again but
Guys, guys— praise Jah.
Ah! Ras.
Kinda demon, kinda ******.
A bit of a people do things—
Who knows—
Things happen—
It’s void anyway.
Bleeding Edge Aug 2021
Within thine mind and my own is swaddled a gem,
Compress’d by time, containing every ripple of existence.
So it resonates heartily now within us both,
Knowledge emanating from it, long rippling,
Acros’t the unbounded sea of harmony.
Let no vast ceiling’d hallway cast binding shadows upon thine face.
Seek that possibility thou desire,
And find it already existent in thee,
But moor’d, due to unpresent light.
All things are this way,
Wrapt by unconscious night until
Thine palmed candle burns it’s visage legible.
Thus is knowledge known.
Bleeding Edge Mar 2021
Unraveled, the ribbons which bound my delicate constitution are loosed upon the ground and piled in concentric whorls. In the scant moment before my collapse I consider whether I’ll break first at the waist or neck.
Bleeding Edge Feb 2021
Pallid lakes did fall
Down the brown-rock mountainside
In heavy droplets
Bleeding Edge Sep 2020
Shades tempt an oblivion within
My soul, longing for completion
Ingests these noxious scents
And suffers their poisons

I seek a spirit true!
A hand of incandescence to grip my own
Why don’t they route this pit of shades?
This pit that is our earth?

I tend the inner incandescence
With breath held,
And head bowed
I release my light
The beams extending in all directions
Liquefying the benighted mists
Bleeding Edge Aug 2020
Purgatory I stay. Mewling, churning, turning over in my palm. Clutching stones. Hard — so my wrist tendons are visible. Set down. Smooth stones on the ground. Stay squat. Observe the threaded ends of my clothes; my rags. This end frayed more than it was earlier. Observe the increasing visibility of my calves beneath the ragged ends. The bone defines itself from the muscle. The skin taut holding the apparatus. I stand and spin a revolution. The walls are in the same place they were before. Three feet from my nose. I’m in this tower. Organizing my stones. And sleeping. I organize my stones in pleasant patterns. Squares, circles, however I want. I do it while crouched. Before I place a stone I consider the ground. My placements are very intentional. I turn the stone over in my palm. I enjoy the feeling of the smoothed stone in my palm. I must consider the placement of this stone. I like it’s color — brown. I attempt to recall past placements of this stone. I must draw on past placements if I am to place it this time correctly. Also of importance: this stone’s current character. What is the stone thinking this iteration? Where is it naturally vying. I spend time learning this stone’s character in my palm. With every turn its character slightly deviates. For it has slightly eroded. Over the years all the stones have altered character. They have changed. Shed aspects here and gained some there. In color and shape. These changes must be accounted for. I dutifully study their evolution for things must be done right. This stone I am prepared to place. Perhaps in the morning — I will sleep on it then return to my task.
Bleeding Edge Aug 2020
Panning east through carried clouds
Spirits arc and abound
Dolphin slipped with mad grin
Disperse like gnats copper djinn

Then halted
Prevented passage once again
Occident faces orient
Still serpent, dragon’s scowl  
I the locus of its brow
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