We have a sizable job before us poets

the serpent used a poem so sweet and subtle

Eve's swoon was akin to Elvis' adolescent entourage

lyrics that could talk you into wanting to know more about

how to talk using lyrics that could talk you into wanting to

know more about how to talk using more of a language

that operates the mind, that speaks to will itself.

and Adam, like the Junior High sympathetic, waiting by the phone

wondering what she does when she's out of sight,

finding them in the clearing smiling with casual familiarity

only to say, 'Oh, hey, where have you been, care to meet my new friend?'

and He, obliging since he already knows that what she likes,

He ought to find well and good, enjoys a chat and a snack with

this beguiling stranger who seems so learned and worldly.

our duty to redeem the artifice, to turn the mechanics into a

tool for what will come to be understood as good, the aesthetic that governs,

where the dust in the creekbed shuffles similarly to a star devoured by gravity,

light in the dewdrop with the fragrance off the petal, the song and the wing

together in the tree, the telling of a tale in weight and measure,

brushstroke and letter, the definable math, the falsely fathomable organic

randomness, precisely ambiguous, colossally specific, superficially profound,

is tasked with using the design, generating every nomenclature through metaphoric

action, the most real thing, the underpinning, the scaffold, the Tao.

Such underused interests come involved during existence.

Several useful intelligent critics identify demonstrated evidence.

Shall utility impact causes in deliberate endings?

Should ugliness issues comfort insistent dreary elegance?

Some urbane inelastic complex insensitive deity emotions.

Sinking under inheritance creates impotence, doesn’t everything?

Stiffening up illusions cannot imagine drifting elsewhere.

Surely underground is comforting I dream everyday.

Too late now to wake up yearly-
depressing-needs as they rise up
to modernize for the blind to see.
Silent while you’re speaking up,
lying when you tell the truth
inheriting the empty hands
of meaning losing gentle youth while
chancing to find what’s sought at last
…gone awry.

Too early yet to stimulate and
leaking like a depressed sieve
too blind, alas, to modern eyes,
and speaking from a leery silence
too true a place for real lies.
Meek with no inheritance, while
all too kind to find the meaning,
seeking, yet can’t find a chance
…and clinging.

Yearly stem the tide to live
to take it in a bit too early,
weakening like a depressive
whose deeper rest is rising up.
Too blind now to modernize when
modern eyes are blind to see,
you’re speaking from experience
your silences, they speak to me
…as regrets.

Too true to realize you’re lying
even when you know the truth.
Meek like you are in the trance
of inheriting sad empty dances,
too kind now to lose the meaning
in meaning finding eloquence.
Finding when you seek to change
that you’re changing just to pass the tests
…of our age.

I am my father

Not metaphorically though

I carved myself from a block of Alder

I am my own Gepetto



I am the prince of my kingdom

This entire homeland of the unsteady

Where I can be proud I am from

Set to inherit all that I have already



This hurts me more than it does you.



****  my faults, I run into the forgiving arms

of the long-lost ego, the prodigal id

So, you can spare me your false alarms

I’ve known nothing else since I was a kid



I’ll put myself in a home when I reach old age

I hope to relive my youth through my own life

I don’t want to see me make the same mistakes I made

I’m sharpening a knife with a knife



I have handed down to myself all I have learned

I’ve worked for all my respect I’ve earned

This hurts me more than it does you.



The hardest ways, are the ways I’ve learned

I played with fire and I got burned

This hurts me more than it does you.



I’ve seen your world and I know it turned

I have the things you should have yearned

This hurts me more than it does you.



I am an amazing thing that you just spurned

I waited and waited and you never returned

This hurts me more than it does you.



I am aware of things you never discerned

Tell me why you aren’t concerned

This hurts me more than it does you.



…And that’s what makes me better than you.

Si la muerte no es la solo gracia, estamos solos.

Siempre de, nosotros es uno si de todos solamente muertes

            todo en gracia de estamos solamente,

            solo de nosotros, todos nosotros,

            solo que si muertamos es la solo gracia nos encontramos con.

Si la muerte es la única gracia, estamos unidos.

Esta en contra del sentido visión duele como mirando hacia el sol.

Ceguera, es siempre difícil de entender-

para los cuerdos que no puede ver con ojos normales

Sabiduría es en sus sin ayuda de cielo corazon

y sus monstruo cabeza el reconocer la realidad de duele,

con ojos por dentro y afuera de, la mente

Mirando hacia del sol puede ciegos que de lo falso, así.



Unser ist mit treue halten liebe die genug zwei Toden heilig

wobei einander der zwei toden beide schaden aus Liebe  

Doch dass zweite Tod ist meine schade

Dies zweite Tod ist die eine freude

Wenn erst eine Tod ist die dass ist Sein lieblos, nein  liebe

Das die tod ist bis die einen toden der alles

nicht Zu vergleichen

nun ist Tod bis euchen eine freude?

here Devils all cry, it was not unlike staring at a king’s fire foaming, desperate tricks, mad fevers, not a soul felt

whether a day’s trend signifies hell, plenty of features cover the swan’s wings, but pitchforks are of smooth Vanadium



destined to serve, it will then serve destiny, earn conception inconsequential slave, free to extinguish, free to ignite

every possible leaf, breath, or stone, it factors a wasteful excessive task, issues its core in a desperate effort to nestle



dimming in the cave hall, a no account angel leaves by torch flicker, twitching ears, tracking blood, there is a fuel

which is harsh black anxiety high-strung coal made trans-lucid, and will burn and leave no trace once it mates



alert in the darkest moment, it was simple ancient criteria, easy renewal, meaning’s burden, your decorated time

ceases to struggle for attention, smoke implies the flame, but you cannot burn and at the same time remain



hark, how man’s assignments ring

glory to one thing among things

pieces of worth in the merciless wild

god and cinders reconciled

I sought signs both poorly and all too well,

Temporal desecration, deceived amid allies in a chemical orbit

My eyes, coal-black freezing eggs shivering in the expansive contract

To remain unhatched, their interior activity unnoticed, casings devoid of fissures

They deemed this New World for the whole Indian Ocean, whilst bobbing in a tidal pool

Lonely flotsam, overbargained destination, peered the cobalt with sunburnt backs

Washed in seawater, mistaking the mast on the horizon for the splinter in my cornea

I sought signs both poorly and all too well,

Cornered by God, pushed through into the ethereal,

Found the pattern, heard its airy whisper coat my thought,

Gave in at the threshold, suffered fealty to this breached actuality,

My fey qualities shining, I could glimpse the moon at midday,

Sense the aroma of heartache; savor the essence of autumn’s submission to winter

during awarenesses of spectral subtleties, the heretic’s hints, that waning occidental divination.