The soothsayer only smiles and whispers,
stays anticipation and decays til you kiss her.

Leaning in:

Posture is, as much as
a broken back,
lacking.

Caught,
stiff and bare,
in a stare.
"I'm not acting,"

I'm retracting my opinions
backtrack to begin again.
Pinioned by inclusion;
on the right foot, left
to my conclusions.

If it's a game,
then i'm losin'.

.




Leaning in closer to hear his last words







.

Not to be seeking,
and so not to be finding,
suffering in pain
~is~
Some sort of
passive *******
~is~
Middle ways walked,
horizons stalked,
endlessly into the distance.

Smoke Smiles,
No Resistance,

Stuck everywhere are secrets you've heard before.

Sometimes the things i have to say
don't escape past the tips of my teeth
because the rigid parts of me
are afraid to tie knots
that can only be
undone
with a knife.

We;
the generation
that forgot the meaning of memorable,
so keen on trade
as a means to claim
or apply value,
that this,
only this,
is seldom enough.

I used to think that pain was the most motivational thing i could feel,
but as I was bound to be taught,
told in blessings by
teachers
i was trying to
train,
it's either a lesson in love
or a lesson in release.

Do not curse your demons,
they've more practice there than you,
and the most that it could do
is make you a demon too.

Demon keepers, we,
making cages of our bones to keep them,
faces into tomes to teach them
the way we weather.

The creatures in our trees,
not free for our weaves
of memory,
fall like leaves if you let them.
Easy like dying,
without even trying,
let them be there,
and when bare
are the trees
I see

I don't have demons,
the demons are me.

a demon sat
in an idling car
smoking a spliff
and tending a scar
to music like teeth chatter
that hung in the air
like the smoke scattered
in patterns
combing his hair,
and there!
sat delicate on the wreath
was a light that flies
and alights 'pon starry skies
and tries to dismiss
the dust kicked up
by the demons at dawn.

there it sat
in wonder wondering
why the demon
was awake,
still stoking fires
in the early hours,
but with all its powers
it could not divert
the demons heart
from the dirt,

but still it tried,
because the light that flies
is the angel in the demon's eyes.

She can be free,
She can be fine,
but selfish ol' me
wants her to be mine.

Green bees
and the dust is there with them
in the air.

Is there a such thing as stillness?
If so, it's hard to find.
It's anomalous,
like moss on rolling stones,
not likely.

The feeling like
insect symphonies,
one thousand beats a measure,
smells like rubber
when it's resting
but fire says otherwise.

It won't stop.
It's a heart beat,
it's a lung,
it's the static flashing
forever
waiting behind closed eyes
and it WON'T STOP!

Smoke sighs itself into
tight spaces
from fingertips,
from the dark sides of skyscrapers,
and the city lights
hold up the sky
to give us just enough
space
to breathe underneath.

I'll think they should let go.
So that the blanket falls
surely, sweetly,
like death,
onto those shoulders
that don't remember warmth anymore;

because the city lights are cold,
and the dust in the air is never still.

Here kid, look at this
We took all of those star yonder
And put um right in this little thingymajiger
Quite a sight, ain't it
A'course, we couldn't put the stars back

Oh well

We can whip out some more
Just ask whobewhatie
He's got all the fixin's for stars
A'course
They won't be as bright as before
And there's no guarantee on how long they'll burn
But, well, gee
Just look at that there thingymajiger in your hand and tell me that's not worth allthemoneyinyourpocketsandthensome!

What'd'ya mean y'ain't got no money?
Ah, never mind
Have a good life kid
Sorry about the stars............

Come bother,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

I have seen the cycle of the moon
time and time again,
and in that sweeping sequence
I stand in so many colors,
in so many faces,
spinning round and round
like liquid
until I am stole away!

I wish to remove these robes
and be seen in barren.
Stark as the sea!
White like December pines,
still green underneath.
For when i'm release
the colors become untangled
but never die.

Come sister,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

flesh rubbed raw
under a heavy coat of rime,
painted on by the night
with wind, her paint brush.

the blush
of vermilion hue
undone the next day by the sun.
he releases the red,
and the earth takes
what was always hers.

it's not a matter of give and take
when we share the same hands;
and when they shake
there are no demands,
only miles
and miles of sand.

no flowers here,
only the sun,
and then only the moon,
and only the sand stretching
in heavy sheets across rock.
the sleeping beast beneath
is unlocked.

let it eat me alive.
I am survived,
and it's killing me.

two sided things
are lines,
and the ones on your face
have been crossed
again and again
by my fingers;
by your tears.

i'm still so sorry.

Movement;
and the lines are loose
no longer lines,
instead defined by shades
and the ways you move
in the light.
together we saw the day
and closed our eyes at night.

embracing the shadows
is another way to release.
my vehicle doesn't run;
anymore;
any less.