The Maelstrom reaches its great crescendo
A clashing of forces raw and overpowering
All barriers break, the dam in shambles
Swelling up past the threshold he

      sinks.

Waves collide with unrestrained force
Tumultuous movement through one prone figure

Alone on the cusp...

Chaos raging
The storm with no eye, terrifying and unrelenting
It whirlpools below a placid surface
A discordant ripple in an ocean of events

Given a few moments to rest
Granted like fate, not kindly, not cruel
But with a sense of difference
Where in place I'd show indifference

Thinking quietly in pleasant worry
You left me to myself for a while
Given time to sit, to laugh
Helplessly, hopeless, because i know

I'm not assured
Then again, I'm not too concerned
There's a depth, a warmth
That i can understand

We see it all
Encompassed around a soft shell
There is a different approach
Passion overlapped with need

But taken lightly
The pressure smooth and caressing
Grasping, somehow still selfless
A calm mixture, it settles well

And worry recedes, a casual absence
Slipping away with stung pride
Giving way to what has grown
Tangled heart, it had always known

that pending job(no particular order)
getting qualified to apply to pending job
writing for Excal.
actually doing work, and well
absorb more literature
produce those short story ideas, novel(s)
decisions are made after confronting the no. 3
rearrange room when home next

bulk up there scrawny
where am i living next year
friendships, both new and old, the you know why's
who took my deodorant!
ease the knots in my back
eat energizing foods
a normal sleeping pattern, at least for a couple months

a job after the summer
location and change
declaring my stream
that ****** POLS assignment
an overall comfort
i'm not far off form 20
and i want something to show for it
a personal standard, not to wave but have
why exclude poetry from the list?
written and read
guts to be a musician of any sort
to routinize the gym, or not to? not to.
don't **** away money
a glass of water

cable for my bedroom
switch desks from home and school
a desperate need for space, choking taut
4:18 am is no time to be conscious today
does an inspirational soul exist
i risk time rather than action, too often
do i show THAT poem to HER
***? must i consider thee at all?
how okay am i with my laziness?
how okay is laziness

bringer of bad news, sorry bud, no can do
laser eye surgery
to scoff or bow to the notion of a Happy Medium
too pompous, too cynical?
it's too late for one
a vehicle, real bad
boxers, needed new
materialistic detachment
africa and the world
children?
how do i function in this universe, do i?
hand eye not so great, kind of a klutz
remember everything (faces, time, self) better
do i get promoted?
does anything matter?
will it later?

Resting on the movement
swaying on the rampage
which holds me up

that image: deceitful buoyancy
precocious in its affront
vicious in its labyrinth
it lies

no steady hand
controls its path
it stays upright, not with will
but impish whim

it threatens constantly
to swerve its meandering course
to drop finally in destitution
leaving me bare

You don't need to make
Excuses for me
Wandering as I do
I’ll see myself through

And though
I've no place in mind
Utopia, heaven, might be lies
or perhaps compromises

This odyssey of earth and time
Is real, mine.

We barely made it out
with our fraying threads

For the time we spent
Your spirit had our bodies to rent

Centuries from now (I am sure)
You will remember your friends

Flocking to spend
Night lasts forever here
Bodies moving, living paint smears

Can you see us?
Do you accept our offering?
Gatherer of the hopes we bring

Ios, Ios, Ios,
Spelled three letters out for me
One night spans a life

The afternoon ferry's a lonely walk
Limestone paint whimpers in restraint
Share and revel and mock

Your spirit will never leave
And it calls "Don't go!"
Cry out, Ios

Almost fell asleep, earlier, tonight
But my eyes flickered for just a moment
And in surged thoughts of her.

Lately I'm so wrapped up
Matter and abstract feelings filter through my head.
On no other subject will the slide slow
Then stop, grainy, on her.

I've tried to harden my heart
But it seems I’m no fickle soul
My mind might at times be empty
Though even then it feels empty for her
We must feel differently

She cannot be written off
Heart to hand and pen to paper
No matter what, we at least know
We feel differently, tragically

All this, any song could tell me
To all this, any one can attest
All this, I will always know.

You dig too deep when there is no need to, depleting
My resources, ignoring (perhaps unaware of) what is in front of
You, why don’t you want to see!

I was hopeful, even in mild anguish,
But I do not want to be another, who does this,
But you scare(d) me. Real bad
Nerves, after so many hesitations from aggravation
Like an animal distrusting, will run.

Do I taunt her? Only to hide promises.
Do I not have what I offer? Why must words seal.
Mistakes often made, I hope I made one than.

The Agreement is not fulfilled.
Yet…
When you are in the room, you are the only
Person, always the only one –always so singular.

You are like a force of nature
The essence of vitality, too extravagant for
Time, you belong in another among Greek goddesses
And a higher world of Spirit
Maybe morals too, but I do not know
Whether they exist, or are only ideals.

You are an ideal woman, you are Ideal.
Does this drive me from you?
That I, rebel of convention, dejected of state
And you enforce, unknowingly, what I resist.

To conquer, yes, it would be wrong. To conquer you,
Would be to fall in two, a trap I hastily avoid.
I do not speak of love, but assumptions
So hindering to our development—so…
Stagnant, repugnant and UGH, that feeling.

I am independence’s lover
And through love of you, I fear
I channel: you must be independent
Even of me, totally.
Fie! Am I too await this conclusion of all that I...?
Hark! Think not of that future, potential unknowable
Time. I cannot grip it, nor make it mine

And this I must think of you too,
Fearful that I am too comforted by abandonment
And commitment renders me impotent
And so the struggles last, and love waits unresolved.
Too hasty at best, and too stupid in truth,
Love unlearns to re-teach old lessons

Now that I reflect, I do like tea,
Though time's no matter I ever drink it,
Thirstily:

Sip it to the dregs
And then having better understanding,
Sip those dregs too.

Eagerly from the mug, so deep, true.
Potent history from bag to cup
And too from hand to hand, word to ear,
Man to men, man to woman to women.

In this tea I taste it all,
The bitterest human emotions: the lowest shames,
Written in confession or guilt or pride,
Debauched or glorified- fixation.

Slowly the taste changes,
And change itself is the sweetest movement,
On my tongue, night, noon or morning.
The swirls, which in a cube would be turns,
Phrases, cuts or corners, if not for their nature.

British, such a short word for so voiced,
so cultivated a culture.
Humanity, so innocuous a term for our mongrel selves;
History must have been kept by humanists,
Else too much revised by euphemists.

Or, I have learned too far and too distanced
Events taught by puritans, in their land, their way.
How violently they subdue us here!
And that is why I do not like our local tea. No,
Give me the thrill of British history.