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  Jun 2015 Brycical
Fah
Oh life,
sweet smile of tenderness dancing freestyle across my being/
you are sweeping me up in arms that carry me to those who will
heal me,
be healed by me and provide me with perspective like I couldn't ever organize for myself

falling in love with this existence
real life is mystical
real life is jaded and transmutes to discovery and renewal
real life is open
real life is ecstatic
real life is jealous and transmutes to praise and generosity
real life is challenging but
oh life,
you catch me in your arms giggling
cloud fluff in my hair
softly
softly
softly
we relax into these wings.
here is a reading
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6s24SWYw44
F l o w e r s   a r e   t h e   m o s t   B e a u t i f u l
I n  f o r m s,  c o l o u r s  and   E s s e n c e s
Galaxies Even rarer
         In
Fleur of cosmic Space
Threads of our  dreamy  dust
    Embraced in  no time  we drift
      E         n           d           l          e           s           s            l                y
                  Intimate       ­     Polarities             Sacred             Pollienation
          
                                        W o m e n    are   Rare  Flowers
                                  ­                M e n   Create~d:   for *Us
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic beauty
'      '       '     '
Brycical Jun 2015
I write to remember myself
as the gray groggy foggy world hisses static noises
the loud clouds with jagged glass edges look to shred.
Sometimes I don't even feel pieces stuck in my bleeding spirit--
leaking ancient memories of magical imagination lands
where genies, centaurs and shadowy demons threw parties
with me as as the effigy on a pyre.

I write to remind myself
of my gypsy campfire spirit of honest expression--
each written word strips away another layer of clothing
dancing, a **** psychedelic sufi with Rorschach wings
watercolor tattoos of musical grooves pour out from my throat
as the roaring noises of cult-ure's hymns billow
around with clash jangling crankling sounds.

I write to remember
echoed words from eons past
beating and breathing through me,
an infinity of laughing gasps gassing anxious neurons
screaming from the shattered  shards of surrounding glass clouds--
reminding myself I can choose the reality.

I write so I'm not in a fugue of confused pain.
Brycical Jun 2015
I appreciate your wary eye
for unsavory American types such as myself,
after all, that's the basis of which you set roots
and founded your name.
To be honest, I probably wouldn't let myself in
with such glowing hazel eyes that see depths
beyond crackling electric spirits
and a mouth with an honest tongue.

Oh Canada,
many friends have left my side over the years
because of this wagging tongue
communicating emotions with spring water clarity
splashing cold facts burning truth,
like when you asked how much cash I was carrying.
It was probably more than five-hundred bucks
but I'm not one to count that sort of thing.

Oh Canada,
does that make you nervous?
I realize I'm an odd bird with long hair and a beard.
I consider speaking truth a full-time job
without dental or health insurance but it's steady work--
although a little more dangerous than the norm,
just ask Edward Snowden or Chen Guangcheng.
But you shouldn't worry Oh Canada
because whatever saucy secrets I know of you
will probably be smoked out
once I smoke up one of the joints in my wallet.
Would you like a ****, Oh Canada?

Oh Canada, I can see my friends
on the other side of the glass door.
They're waiting patiently for me to join
so we can hum vowels in parks together
This is the kind of work we do,
paid with our own currency of attention and presence.
You should join us, just for a day and I promise
you'll feel rejuvenated, better than you have in months!
Oh Canada, are you upset we don't put price tags on everything?

Oh Canada, it's sweet you're thinking of my well being,
seriously. In a weird way it shows you care,
though your drooling focus on my wallet is a tad disconcerting.
You didn't even mention the ******.
And yes, I realize my business cards are out of date,
but I can't decide how to categorize my job
as a shitkicker and wordsmith.
Maybe you could help me out with that?

Canada,
do you need a hug?  Is that it?
You seem tired, which I can understand
having to constantly worry about the drunken empire below
descending into militarized police tribes
while everyone watches Kardashian drama.
Truth be told I've always felt out of place there,
hence why I'd appreciate a reprieve.  
Don't worry dear Canada, I'm not hiding any drones,
I can't even hide the truth.
Inspired by Ginsberg's poem "America" and also being refused entry into Canada.
Brycical May 2015
The entire cast is dead
in 90% of the movies I watch.

Sometimes my *** smells like popcorn
and it's probably because of all the coconut oil I consume.

I wonder what day of the week
ends with nobody talking to me.

It's hard to remember which color I forgot to remember.

Whisky doesn't do much for me anymore,
maybe I should start paying for it again.

It's possible because it's impossible
possibly because of the possibility.

It's only a matter of time isn't true
because time isn't matter, nor does it.

Forever, infinity and etcetera gotta meet up at least once.

I'm in the best shape of my life,
it's kind of oval-y and rectangular, sorta looks like me.

Personally, I think opinions are subjective.
~                                             ~
Hummingbird Hummin'
Take Me On A Magic Ride
Through All Directions
~                                      ~

ˇ
~
Imagined by
Impeccable Space
Poetic love
~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_WYLNVSE3U
~
Brycical May 2015
PROLOGUE:
a large, ancient native american tribe used to practice tending the light;
a fire pit in a temple village elders say contained the first flame,
here the fire was fed, and loved, usually the only source of brightness
the smokey orange glow would roar
all the time from dusk to dusk, from every moon to every sun,
always burning generations after generation,
considered one of the highest honors to be tasked with tending the sacred flame. But like all things, one day it went out.

I)
Eons slipped by.
Darkness, thick brooding mists
with intermittent, iridescent flashes.
Most people slept.
Few unabashedly watched,
mesmerized by the brightness,
caught glimpses of sacred rhythms.  


II)
Heartbeats synced--
the awakened ones linked arms,
wandered into the void,
toward
the  
( ( (source) ) )


                    **III)
      
            Sounds
                             r              
               s      r     o       ed
             u            nd

them
wrapping around like a crystalline ivy.
vibrating bodies buzzzzzzed fuzzzzzzzzzy love.
glistening liquid amethyst crystals trickled from eyes.


IV)
Silence.


V)
They returned
with different faces,
every inch of skin vibrated
=ancient symphonies=
their chests glowed psychedelic explosions
of mellifluent wind chiming colors.
Dancing and humming awoke others.

VI)
Soon, more hearts & bodies swooned,
swooping cartwheel rainbows blooming like lilacs in June
light
<<ignited>>
from the darkest crevices
dissolving shadows and silhouettes
connecting all like mushrooms talk
the blindness gone
acquiesced to songs
of connection through breath, heartbeat, ground and life.


VII)
Bliss again,
the world burns like a roaring ******
of warm flame.
EPILOGUE:
As it just so happens, the fire
never actually went out.
Instead it simply transported through time and space
into all of us, we just had to find it.
We looked to the past, digging into ancient wisdom
and tribal sounds,
returning to nature
ingesting nature
playing in nature
all the while sending out search parties
for lost tribemates
with that same fire
as a reminder from whence they came.


Also, the title "Back to the Future" was already taken.
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