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 Sep 20 acacia
I love when colored salmon spawn
And leap with ease over towns on high
With rippling waves and glistening sheen
How they bound between these rocky outcrop clouds
And spread their whispy tendril fins
Across the cascading pinkish sky
I love the night just before it breathes
Quiet as waivering gills unseen
When the salmon color seeps into the sky
 Sep 20 acacia
 Sep 20 acacia
When I jump
And finally leave behind
This old Earth's atmospheric mind
It will not be to orbit any one or thing
Instead when I leave it all behind
It will be for the clearest of visions
Well communicated in kind
It will be for the truest tidal wave of being
That I leave my only I behind
A few words about change and how I approach such things. Tested and true. Steady, etc.
 Sep 20 acacia
From the moment I wake
And stop breathing haste beneath ceiling fans
How I wish to create
Though I cannot always due to morning fog
And its mind over me
How it strongly takes
Two cups at least
How I Feel
 Sep 20 acacia
You strengthen me
Stretch me tall in fond pursuit
And call my waking trees to move with subtle hints

Familiar as the folding sound
Between quiet rustling parchment leaves
Becoming new our newest sounds as an inkwell drawn

Like a sunlit jewel your dulcet glow
Is stumbling down a penciled path of painted memory
Colored by every season anew with the hues of you

Don’t cry when I am no more seen, my felicity
It was always and with you in mind
That you made me want to try
Painted Words Between Distant Mailboxes is built around a song, a sketch, a classic story. Separated by time and space no more. These lovers turn now, to face a new fate, having not been left alone in an empty word. "Through the long and lonely night." We persevere until the dawning bright. Shines back at us with joy.

 Sep 17 acacia
roses and lotuses enclose one
i search in visage for wisemen i know none
monday is grey and sunday is leaving me
i am the bark of the trees and my leaves will breathe
death is soon and my coffin sits coldly
hopefully the end will approach with speed
i wish not to view the end of my days
the depths of decay makes one rethink the mess of their ways
pearls before swine, the world is all mine, unfurled above spine , the world is all mind
from the depths of the abyss, moaning in withered monologues
a wretched soul follows, grasping his chest with every breath
dusty exhalations, weary globes of the winter
peering into the void; a thousand years in december
fasting upon an arid womb from the witches tomb
a physical manifestation but its soul lays on the moon
a concrete blossoms spiritual in its properties
but a hollow shell stomped in stark is a commodity
an oddity for certain toils on the earth
circling around the cauldron whispering the witches curse
demented in its speech blinded by its spoils
bloodied porches in the shadows painted with festering oils
wondering, wandering black phantasms dancing shadows
wearied souls thought of death moaning in the gallows
abstraction in the vestible white noise in your brain stem
a dying rose weeping, creeping from out the pavement
parts of the masked shadow scattered amongst the ashes
the pestilence of sapient nature drowning in desolate oceans
***** winds leak to foster states of neuroses
traces of civilization footprints in cobblestone
a lost cause is found / THE BLESSED NEVER WALK ALONE
the empty stair finds purpose gazing at constellations
orion descending winding corridors a million mazes
nebulous clouds shutter streaking across the atmosphere
watch as the storm approaches, flocks of locusts
dancing under the winter solstice
hooded phantoms swinging change of frankincense and myrr
chanting to the heavens hoping the angels will stir
a faceless emissary white flags wave in stasis
seven armies whisper omens of capitulation
dusty parchments will capture moments with an inkwell
wandering petrified meadows frozen as the leaves fell
sleepy hollows, dim lanterns and misty villages
the earth fosters all the weary sentience
ministers and priestesses, lotuses and roses
but to the blind all our features only vision inner atonement
staggering motions, prostrations to the empty pulpit
screaming in silence to deities
blinded from the ****** scenery
a tainted canvas where the crooked brushstrokes and eery patterns
the faithful lay and wait with turpentine and dying lanterns
 Sep 17 acacia
 Sep 17 acacia
footsteps echo in dreadful anticipation
the faint whispers of the faceless ghosts in the basement
a haunted willow speaks to you crying in dying tongues
its leaves weep as they fall leading the blinding sun
a scorched field of lost hopes leaking ashes as it bleeds
scarecrows talk to landscapes / CHASING TRACES OF BROKEN DREAMS
direct your gaze inwards and detach from the physical shell
your body rests in the white emptiness the higher planes do compell
countless suns awaken burning in the horizon
the downward blossom open stoking flames of spiritual guidance
the heavens alignment
toking breath beneath shuttered eyelids
arranged in a bouquet of violence
now unattached and undivided
bear witness to the karmic wounds scattered through lifetimes
foundations of immense energy corroding in weathered pipelines
a still form waiting against a deluge
masterful in its ignorance straining astral venues
dripped in inopulence and misfit illusions
unshackled with uncertainty treading in awkward movements
metamorphism evolution into sapient creations
let there be a consciousness metacognitively perpetuating this matrix
 Sep 17 acacia
 Sep 17 acacia
talking to withered trees they respond with a wink
a consumerist nightmare we buy more to buy more
in a dimension endlessly attempting to find doors
flying soaring nine spores lifeless gore intertwined through pores
in a mandelbrot sequence and ennui plagues me
talk of girlfriends and boyfriends, idle speech in my make-dreams
i hope the author will erase me, no one could ever trace me
another hymn of the soul composed and automatically written
a man solely composed of a holographic vision
the donut and the hourglass, such a contrasting image
the dielectric as it pertains to the yang of magnetism
another guru rambles in incessant aphorisms
every intimation at wisdom only collapses my system,
makes me feel trapped in prison
this hell is ******* hot and im in lack of a sweater
i look in the mirror and feel shallow how i abandon my brethren
love always leaves and your despair of despair too
an ontological death awaits us all but where to?
a location of nonbeing and im prepared too
dont forget to farewell and make a prayer too
i walk along the golden paved roads of vedic india
just another useless exercise in poetic idiom.
i am nobody, son of nobody, sitting weary and alone
locked on this planet of material stone
trying to return to a mysterious home
from the one to the one, the world a wearisome clone
the demiurgos unfurls hope within an ignorant bliss
it whispers like a ghost and gives you an interested kiss
you, unaware of identity or difference
all matters of importance leave you relatively indifferent
political spectrums, entire civilization crumbles
conformity to poles is a piece of the puzzle
the echoes in the trunk supppressed with the clearest of muffles
i see the north star and then i disappear through a tunnel
slave to this flesh, bugs crawl all over my skin
anxious all the time, i canf eel them deep from within
i can see the snakes and all of the teachers of sin
i depart it all simply from the teachings im in
clouds of tears fill my iris
bound with fear instilled in silence
life is seasonal and winter is coming :)
youll be fed to the wolvse and the pits of the hungry ...
alley of the soul sullen lit by the dim of the lovely
 Sep 17 acacia
 Sep 17 acacia
scarred landscape sanctuaries, hidden amongst the midst
dancing on the bladed fields / feel the reapers kiss
reflections in the iris rippling in motionless silence
to the sanctums in the sky we scream begging for guidance
the moment of actualization, the deities dwell within
in the twists of your helix in the creases of your skin
i hear the bell ringing / cold / flocking to the midnight
entrancing, singing tantric mantras leaking from my windpipe
dripped in the ashes the lord blooms through soulless storms
purified with the muses clutch and shackled sins i have adorned
mumbling incoherent verses and im scrawling on papyrus
alone, i inscribe paintings in a dimensionless asylum
the cold breath manifests and begins to take its toll
from the depths of the abyss into the light of the soul.
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