I'm not asking for forever.
I'd settle for a moment
or two.

I don't want to hide
from inevitability.
I'm aware all things
tend to fade.

There's no need to
pretend we're immortal,
and I'm happy we'll never
get the chance to be so.

I've thought about what it'd be like --
to live forever, with myself.

I imagine it'd be like a new city
every weekend.
I imagine I'd see the same people,
just a new arrangement of faces.

I'd know all the pitfalls and say, quietly:
"Ya know, I've seen this before.
Maybe you shouldn't do that."
But I don't speak loud enough.

Oh well. New week, new town.

Then I think of all the farewells.
I'd probably become numb to good-bye
and forget to ever say hello.

I'd get stuck in my head
and know the story of every person
without ever speaking to them.

Watching them walk, I'd make
up their stories for laughs.

She wanted to be an art history major
but prudential planning interrupted her thoughts;
now she studies biology, or chemistry, or physics.
She isn't happy at all.

I can tell by the shoes that she wears.

He wanted to be born as a peasant,
unaware of money or cars or the lot.
He thinks people are happier like that.

I can tell by the shades that he wears.

She wants to be a trophy wife.
He wishes that he never had kids.
She thinks she's too good for manual labor.
He once lit a bag of cats on fire.

I'd laugh at the stories unfolding before me.
After a few generations, I'd know every
story combination that ever could be.

So, I'd turn my gaze to myself
and find another lonely man
making stories in his head
without ever asking if they're true.

I don't think I could handle forever.
Sometimes today doesn't end soon enough.

Some things can't be fixed
by fate or time,
and there's no rewind.
So, I'll say good-bye.

I'll miss yesterday,
when we used to play
but it's not the same;
that time's not today.

Now all we do is fight;
no one is ever right.
Please don't think of me --
of how we used to be.

I knew you before
(how I once adored!)
but all things change;
yes, we have changed.

I search my mind,
afraid that I'll find
you still standing there.
Sunlight in your hair.

"We hardly speak any more."
I know it's true,
I hardly speak at all.

We used to often talk,
staying up late, letting
our words play their games.

She asked if I'd rather
live alone on an island --
in complete solitude --
or be trapped in an apartment,
only able to watch people walk by.

I said I'd rather watch the people walk by;
at least then  I could pretend that happy
people still existed.

Today it feels like I'm in that apartment,
watching people walk around me.
They don't seem happy.

I smile at them;
they never smile back.
I wonder if something's wrong with me.

I stopped talking when I started writing.
I already spelled everything out on paper,
and the words never crawl back into my mind.
If those words ever get back home,
I'll tell 'em all how I feel:

One:

You can't help anyone with words,
who needs something done.
A sentence about your love
means nothing when you're
twenty-seven hundred miles away.

Two:

Strangers are more alluring than
people you know closely;
that, my dear, is why I'm terrified
of getting any closer to you.
From a distance, you're so beautiful.

Three:

Sure, we spent a few weeks cuddled up
in your room; but your lifestyle is the reason
that I fled from Southern California.
I don't want things.

Four:

He's just going to end up killing you.
One instance of abuse should be enough
to send you packing. You crawled back for more.
I understand -- too well -- the lies that get you trapped.
I keep waiting for that phone call.

Five:

A woman should never be a reason
to abandon your old family;
although I see how her children
are your chance for redemption.

Six:

I wish we talked more often;
more than once every few months.
You're intelligent and articulate,
and the hour or two we spend
(not often enough)
fills me with hope for the world.

He escaped from the zoo, hatchet in hand,
to sow seeds of desire throughout the land.
Oh, he grinned a wicked, feverish grin
and called on the secrets resting within.

He spoke with a sigh, and laughed with a wink,
while making lazy riddles in the bathroom sink.
He built a house of mirrors out on the front lawn,
to hide his sulking head from the beautiful dawn.

He keeps it all a-running with some oil and grease,
never stopping for a moment to find some peace.
He just spends all his time with lies and deceit,
and keeps all his pleasures stuck on repeat.

This can't be right; I can see through his plight,
as he hides from the light, just out of sight.

This can't be true! Has he gotten to you?
Bah, I can't even see! Has he gotten to me?

"One for the pain,
two to make it go away."
He says as he washes
his benzos down
with whiskey.

He doesn't want to
wake up the next day,
'cause ever since twenty-seven
life's gone downhill.

A tall Japanese woman
stands beside him,
and takes the plunge, too.
Follows it with whiskey.
Always follow with whiskey.

Her marriage is
falling apart,
and ever since twenty-seven
life's gone downhill.

He tried to leave, once,
with a ****** overdose:
"That **** ***** of
a girlfriend had
to save my life."

He tattooed DNR on
both wrists
because of that *****.

He tugs on the
Japanese gal's skirt;
even looming suicide
doesn't slake his piggish lust.

She slaps his hand
and stands on the
other side of the
room, arms crossed.

"Ya know,
standing like that
makes yer ****
look bigger."

She walks into the
kitchen and drinks
more whiskey;
that *******'s the reason
for her life's steady decline.

They drive, fully hammered,
to a beach blanketed with fog.

They build, fully hammered,
a bonfire; gotta burn it all!

They sit, fully hammered,
waiting for sleep to hit;
that final slip into oblivion
with a heavy sinking lull.

He can't speak without a slur;
she can't see without a blur.

He can't stand without a wobble;
she can't stand without a topple.

His eyelids grow heavy;
his breath starts to slow.
Her breath isn't steady;
her lungs hardly grow.

Good-night, old friends.
Good-bye.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
these walls ain't
lookin' the same.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
it's not me
in my brain.

She crawled inside
and made me think
that my pride
wouldn't make me weak.
Now she gloats
and claims it's love,
but **** that floats
will still rise above.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
I can't tell
if it's real.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
I'm not sure
how to feel.

She said things
to make me blush
and when we touched
it was quite the rush.
Now I fear
that when she's near
I really would
like to disappear.

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
how could this
happen to me?

I've slipped in the trip
of another;
why couldn't I
let it be?

She did things
to break my mind
then she'd go
and say it's fine.
She did things
to break my heart.
Ill-intent
from the very start.

I see the morning light.
I won't make it home tonight.
Ya know, I'll be lost in the dawn.
This is how time moves on.

I hope you're waiting for me,
to keep me company.
But I've been gone for too long.
This is how time moves on.

If my house is empty,
and you've packed up and gone,
then you've forgotten about me.
This is how time moves on.

If you're sitting there, lonely,
wondering where I've gone,
I'll never forget about you.
I won't let time take all.

I've been across the country;
I've seen what love can do.
They've all forgotten about me.
This is what time does to you.

He brought her along,
only wanting to get laid.

She introduced herself
as awkward, 'though
first impressions rarely
amount to truth.

I watched him flirt with her;
and watched her try to pull away.
But, it's Friday. Gotta get ****** up.
What else is there to do in life?

She drank more,
he drank more:

"Nah, guys, I'm totally cool to drive."
He slurred as he spun donuts
to impress the tipsy woman.
His hands inched to her thighs.
His eyes seized her *******;
who needs to see the road?

We made it to the birthday,
a standard college party.

She and I sat across one another
at the table. She smiled and started
small talk:
"Oh, I love Vonnegut,
have you read Sirens of Titan?"

We kept drinking as he went out
to pick up more *****.

"Of course I play video games,
they got me through high school."

He took longer than he intended
but neither of us complained.

"Isn't chemistry only
the language of biology?"

Time passed quickly, or slowly,
either way it's dead and buried.
She started to stumble,
huddled closer to me,
tried to move from him
when he returned.
She lost coherency,
she looked at me, muddied;
did she have something to say?

Had she asked,
she would have received,
but silence heralds silence
and unvoiced wants
remain unfulfilled.

He knew she was loosing interest,
that, of course, I'd gotten in the way.
He pulled me aside:
"It's time for you to leave.
I just want to get laid
and you're ******* it all up."

He drove us both home,
hand grasping her thigh,
but she didn't notice;
she was barely alive.

I suppose this is how it goes:
some nights you make friends
that you never see again.

You're feeling ******,
like nothing'll go your way.

You're feeling ******,
so you'll lay in bed all day.

Life is heavy,
you know, the sky ain't blue.

Life is heavy,
like nobody cares about you.

Your mind is aching,
you can never be glad again.

Your mind is aching,
and how your thoughts will spin.

You're feeling ******,
no one else could feel this way.

You're feeling ******,
so you'll clutch your knees, and pray:

*Why go up,
if I always come down?

Why go up,
if I always hit the ground?

Error code: PXZ003-2-b:
"WAIT"

Blinking blindly,
unaware of absurd metaphysics,
the device flashes its advice.

For years now, probably; no one's sure.
The rest of the machinery's in pieces;
save this one brilliant gem of advice,

slowly sipping energy through
a dingy solar panel:

just enough to keep going

A red light blips
on the untended prophet,
yellow caution tape draping
impotently in shreds --

although there is an allure
to what fabrics conceal.

He sees none of this.
At first.

He arrives in a huff,
swearing and panting.
Pacing nervously, he lights
a spliff and throws his head back.

"I know I haven't been around much,"
he speaks in a vaguely upward direction,
"but some people say you're listening,
and that you take requests."

He laughs, flicks some ash,
and lets a sigh creep out.

"Just. Just. **** it, I don't know.
Give me a sign, anything. I'll listen."

He inhales and snuffs the roach
on his sole.
The serenity of stillness marches
in as a pallbearer with an empty casket.

A red light catches his
peripherals.

He walks to the device,
removes the dress,
and uncovers divinity.

How could he deny the voice of fate?
He waits.

Should I remember what I could forget?
Of days palled by fetid gossamer crowns?
Of this skeletal hand clutching a cigarette?
Of living in mockery amongst circus clowns?

When fabric tears in criss-crossed patterns
and crystal castles recede -- disguised --
I hang, with heavy heart, these lanterns
to guide beyond such self-demise.

Somehow I find that my life runs in place;
like everything I've done is vacant space:

She knocked on my door, the other day.
She invited me out to the woods, to play.

She was wired on something, dilated eyes;
she couldn't get over how we all will die.

There were tears in the tree-trunk as rain came down;
we were huddled together on the outskirts of town.

She gave me a hug, and glanced far away;
it must have hurt to know I wouldn't stay.

A few days passed, in the silence of life;
there's nothing to say while you're waiting to die.

Then Thanksgiving dinner with strangers (or friends?),
though this time they stumbled over caps and stems.

Are you seeking to be free
of the burden of sorrow?
Not just your sorrow,
but the sorrow of the world?

Or do you seek to languidly
laugh in eternal pleasure,
forsaking the polar regions,
because that which is bad is bad?

Do you seek originality?
Something that is beyond
the corrupting influence
of rust and moth and time?

Are you like the rest of the human
beings wandering on this world?
For what are you lusting, seeking,
hungering? In wanting experiences --

whether they are ******, intellectual,
of first and last things, within, without --
there can be no fulfillment, no completion.
Always in the background: "What next?"

Sit still, my friend, observe the horrors,
the joys, the pleasures, the pains, the wants,
the needs, and the absence of all these.
There is nothing that can be left out.

The world isn't pretty; it's messy.
Few straight lines exist in nature;
and yet you live in a box, you eat in a box,
you work in a box, you learn in a box,

and one day you will lie dead in a box.

Fear will take shelter
under the rafters of faith.

Allow the building to collapse;
no harm can come from

the liberation of becoming unmoored.
All beliefs must come to an end.

It is okay not to know, so long as
the mind remains open without

hoping for a solution
or fearing a rejection.

That is freedom.

Mischievous How,
always looking for another
to tell you what to do.

But you've forgotten to listen;
forgotten relation to yourself.

Can you sit, silently still,
with your suffering?

Patiently, compassionately,
neither taking it nor leaving it?

Just observe it; it is there!

There's some sanity
in these circumstances
that slide through my view:

"Is it possible to live like you?"
He asked without knowing what
he meant, "because I want to know."

She laughed, still hugging a stranger,
"Inside you're very busy, calculating.
Only alone-ness can give true happiness.

Create some silence within,
for silence is love; and where
there is emptiness, love can flow."

"But how can I love so much?"
He spat his snide remark.
"No love can be inexhaustible."

"For me there is no other-ness;
every one is an extension
of my Self." She smiled.

"All the love I give is returned;
every drop taken is returned to the source.
It is inexhaustible because nothing is wasted."

I've been told to find a teacher, but
no mere mortal who weighs the world
with gilded, golden scales.

I've been told to kiss the feet
of anyone who has walked between
this world and that.

She told me that it's almost winter.
Already, icy fingers claw up my straightened spine.
"Breathe out," she says, "and when you can't breathe in,

you are dead." But still the breath comes mechanically
in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in out in
and I laugh at the absurdity of it all.

After a talk about the moon in a pond, with
its reflection being obscured by ripples,
and only calmed by a tamed mind,

the others rush to the food to fill the void.
But the sky is clear, the moon is full,
and the pond sits gently rippling, waiting to be tamed.

She sparks her vice
and braces for
what happens next –
what has to happen next.

But through the puffs,
her grin betrays the desire
to get lost in the moment
as, above her head,
the last stars start to fade.

Check back soon to resume and consume
every tight-lipped, slack-jawed fool in the room.

See, it's all what you know
as the fires start to grow
and the future burns slow.

Keep your eyes on the ceiling,
and your antenna feelers feelin',
for when your senses stop reeling,
you will finally start believing.

Kick-back to the basics,
not too far from the basement,
and close enough to show
that **** really isn't basic.

It's another mid-west, ******,
******-up freak show.
Another evening drinking whiskey
with the seedling's peep-show.

So, it's time to relax and relapse
into acidified broken synapse.

The lights keep flickering
and the couples keep bickering:
“*****, I am not above homicidal snickering.”

I steer clear of these diversions,
and wander past the sermons,
just to chew up all the crooked talk
and spittle out inversions.

I shovel mockery to hypocrisy,
pin-***** the empty *****
whose passions lack predicates,

and in the background, I'll be complexifying my medic-kit:
ketamine, morphine, ecstasy;
marijuana, mushrooms, LSD.

Watch those ******* jitter-bug college *****
procreate while sloppy drunk,
but keep an honest eye
on the flies that will rise above –

then fall back down in existential angst, like:
“Dear God, why must I be free?
Oh, God! Why is every universal eye on me?
I'm just another acid war veteran,
sneakin' through these gutters
with pestilence and bitter sin.
When they reach the promised land
of golden clouds and holding hands,
I'll be underground with the slugs and the spider band.”

Yet here I sit, sick of sippin' poisons with illiterates.
So, let the skies fall and the buildings crash,
as you stand on the wall with a fist full of cash.

I'll be on the front lawn,
picketing for dawn,
while the night around me slowly ambles on.

When form and formless fall away,
there is no path from which to stray.
Yet, still I find these words I say
mean less and less each passing day.

When I and you become each one,
it's only then this game's begun.
Let us laugh and enjoy this fun;
let us laugh 'til this work is done.

Who can speak without even sound?
All we know is grown for the ground;
and yet, all we know weighs not a pound --
ah, fungus and grain and secrets we've found.

It's been whispered,
from treetops and mountains,
that far below the heights
she wanders unhurried,
compelled by the wind
to idly stroll along
a path fringed
by flowers.

It's been said
that she wears a
flaxen crown;
a tranquilly woven
diadem, with the echoes
of a sun-burst
flitting gently in the jewels.

Sometimes silence is the answer,
for the questions we discover:

Will I find what you've buried,
behind the  self's emissary --

that which stands the test of now,
un-vexed by the notions of “how”?

I don't want the facade of a face;
a masked illusion of filtered grace.

There were things I liked about you;
but as I look again . . . –

Still, I must search the depths of Friendship
to find a new way to sift through the *******.

Maybe one day we'll see eye to eye;
maybe some day we won't have to try.

Maybe one day these games will be done;
maybe some day we'll learn to have fun.

Grind it up, pack it down, fill it up to the brim.
Light it up, burn it down, all I can do is grin.
Happy smoke, pleasant scenes, filling my mind with peace.
Lazy smoke, hazy dreams, flowing out on the breeze.

Circles all spinning in front of my eyes.
Circles just spinning unveiling the wise.
When suddenly, to my surprise,
Maya stepped out from behind her disguise.

Shimmering rays falling off of her face.
Glimmering rays shining out of her grace.
Calling me forward, away from this place.
Away from my body, towards the light I race.

Grind it up, pack it down, fill it up to the brim.
Light it up, burn it down, all I can do is grin.
Happy smoke, pleasant scenes, filling my mind with peace.
Lazy smoke, hazy dreams, flowing out on the breeze.

Why are we here?
Let's take to the streets.
Drive without fear,
for what we are to meet.

If it's the end,
then it's destiny.
Embrace it, friend;
I go willingly.

We'll go nowhere,
tied to these tracks.
We'll go nowhere,
if we must look back.

Throw off our chains,
let the flowers bloom.
No one's to blame;
the future isn't doomed.

So, why are we here?
Let's take to the streets.
Drive without fear,
for what we are to meet.

If it's the end,
then it's destiny.
Embrace it, friend;
I go willingly.

Won't you stop and have some tea,
and float along so peacefully?
Stay a moment, see your thoughts
all fall out so effortlessly.

Won't you stop and lose your self,
in the lights as they swirl?
Take a moment, find your self
in those stars as they whirl.

Time may warp and splinter and pop;
walls may ripple and melt.
Still, you'll know when you've to stop
and all the things you've felt.

So, won't you stay and drink with me?
I've brewed a cup for two.
Do you know the things you will see;
is there anything to lose?

I've got sixty-two cents, and a head full of space.
Spinning, just spinning;
there's nowhere to go in this place.
Stand in one spot, watch it all spin by.

I've got sixty-two cents, and a need to go try.
Stretching, just stretching;
soon there'll be wings to fly
off the ground, 'til I've found freedom.

I've got sixty-two cents, and a soul full of wisdom.
Waiting, just waiting;
someone must enter this kingdom.
It's open to all, just a question away.

I've got sixty-two cents, and that's all I can pay.
Begging, just begging;
may I take the ferry today?
It's not near, only waves crash here.

Here I am,
at a fork in the road.

To the west,
the sun sets into the mist.

To the east,
the stars start to unfold.

Oh, how I wish I could sit,
and imagine the wind  
was your kiss.

If you promised
to hold me when I arrive,

I'd struggle and fight
just to survive.

If you promised
to love me like before,

nothing would stop me from
finding your door.

If you promised
to show me the way,

I'd follow the path
wherever it lay.

I'd forget where I've been
to know you again.

Yay, 'though I'm lost and I'll never be found.
My ship set sail without a sound.
Good-bye Earth! Good-bye solid ground!

Yay, 'though I'm off and I'll never be seen.
My destiny lies in between
Winter's death and Spring's first green.

Yay, 'though I'm gone and I'll never return.
I've got no other life to burn.
I've got no other wheel to turn.

Yay, 'though I've left and I'll never resume,
someone else will finish my tune.

The dog’s running off,
while the rest of us laugh,
giving a gentle guffaw.

Can we believe
the way people dream
carelessly floating along?

The sky’s falling down,
but all through the town
everyone insists it’s wrong.

Isn’t it queer
how all becomes clear
after the curtains are drawn?

The sun's going dark,
as we play in the park,
even though our spirits are gone.

Isn’t it strange,
the way people change
before they finally withdraw?

Not even a look,
not even a glance!
I was lost in a book,
she was lost in a trance.

Not even a friend,
not even a past.
It's the same in the end;
the questions remain unasked.

Flitting and flickering, skipping 'cross reels of form,
this thought's not a thought to be trifled or torn;
'tis the thought from which all others are born.
It is, complete, with neither mercy nor scorn.

Wholeness and vastness, sinking down the abyss,
this thought's not a thought to rejoice for, nor miss;
'tis the thought of imminence -- of 'blivion's kiss!
It is, unending, with neither sorrow nor bliss.

Chaotic and entropic, consuming all in its wake,
this thought's not a thought to leave alone, nor take;
'tis the thought under which all minds will break!
It is, ever-flowing, with nothing at stake.

I came upon a river,
wide as the years spent to find it.

I took off my shoes,
to rest down beside it.

And as I stopped to think of  a way
to travel across these waters, some day,

my hair turned grey --
my flesh to dust.

And the river swept me away.

I became the boundless beauty
of water flowing free;

from high atop the mountain peak,
to the broad expanse of open sea.

I looked to my sides,
and what did I see?

I found myself, just as before,
already standing on the other shore.

Each separate reflections
of altered deceptions;

like all intersections
of other-than-present's,

every point will yield
to a forward direction.

Neither had seen a thing
like this in their lives;

a single soul's creation
outside the bound'ries of "mine."

But each knows the riddle
to catch the next dawn:

Think, eat, breathe, pause.
Drink, sleep, breathe, pause.

Though they hit play on the day,
could they tell me how it ends?

While standing alone in a field somewhere,
as silence fills the air,

silently guessing the words I'll say,
until my thoughts decay:

These flowers have powers to heal and bless;
there's monsters in this flesh.

How long must I find myself all alone,
turning my thoughts to stone?

Yet still I must question all that's been said;
nothing's outside my head.

So, I'll stand alone in a field somewhere,
forgetting how to care.

The path, it is crooked;
and all that I look at
is bent and skewed on review.

The path, it is broken;
and all that is spoken
are lies based on truths I once knew.

The path, it is vacant;
and all that is sacred
wouldn't do to move the fool.

The thin veil before
the form of forms falls away
is nothing, if not a negative thought,
lesser than even the grave.

Could investigation of this situation,
yield anything not known?

Or would observation of this reservation
reveal the specters dancing below?

The sharpest intellect
cannot pierce the screen;
the fabric remains
but a hair's breadth away.

To pursue
brings endless folly;
to remain
brings more of the same.

You've been atop
the highest pole.
You've stood tip-toed,
and stretched.

But can you return
to the modern world
and still maintain
your breath?

Fraudulent faces,
with decadent cases,
know not which path to choose.

Clever replies,
and the feelings they hide,
only work to conceal truths.

The window is open,
for the door, it is broken,
and our secrets all run loose.

The sky, it is burning,
And the world, it keeps turning,
as neither side calls the truce.

Keeping in time,
with mirrors and confines
confuses the rinds for juice.

Bring on the end; I'll laugh to the grave!
This system and words are utterly insane.

Why must I claw and clamor for bread?
With how it's going, we're better off dead.

There's nothing to do, but sit here and laugh
as people debate what's gold and what's chaff.

Desires clung to and procured -- pahtooey! --
it smells like manure in the gardens of fool'ry.

It's the same; **** the rich, and the poor!
With rice in my dish, I need nothing more.

Beyond the insect hives,
with crystal hearts in hexagonal designs.
Beyond the jeweled terraces
of fractured, shifting carapaces.

Inside the mind of time's design --
this fragmented mosaic of mine.
Inside the bedroom of she
whose sole desire's the end of me.

There is but a breeze bearing a curse;
the beginning of my thoughts, undone:
"The truth behind the universe?
One does not equal one."

Draw up your skirt, O woman of temptation.
Then watch yourself flirt with no contemplation.

Attracting the slack-jawed -- the ignorant ***,
whose thinking is drawn to *** as you pass.

Set bare your breast to these "love-confessors"
and bare all your flesh to the fangs of oppressors.

Make them pay for your meals, for your wine and delight.
Then let them steal you away in the night.

Put feathers in your hair -- the peacock's vanity! --
Then watch the men stare and whisper profanity.

Wear lace and sheer clothing; hide not from their gawking.
Then listen, with loathing, to the non-sense they're talking.

Perfume yourself in myrrh, draw all senses in your direction.
Then drink in their ardour, and their misplaced affection.

Build tall your chancel with pleasure and desires;
play the distressed damsel, O great queen of liars!

You'll find soon enough the emptiness of touch.
You'll call your own bluff, and drop what you clutch.

But until then, sullen temptress, drive yourself from my door.
Leave my sight, but don't distress; I've no want for your flesh any more.

We saw the end coming, but did nothing to stop it;
there's no room for humanity in the margins of profit.

We silenced the dissenters, all the prophets of peace.
We killed all the thinkers, and the questions soon ceased.

We did nothing! Nothing!
We got drunk, in our stupor,

with wine and cheap pleasure, and any synthetic allure.
Plastic and silicon, then anything the men would adjure.

We did nothing! Nothing!
Except create senseless rumors:

"Our God will protect us; we are his love, so pure.
Mother will correct us; she always has the cure."

So, please! Burn this empire down!
Let those ashes fertilize the ground.

Erase all our names from the textbooks we covet.
Then **** on our graves, and grow rainforests from it.

We saw the end coming, but did nothing to stop it;
there's no room for humanity in the margins of profit.

Old friend, quiet lover,
a silent bond like no other,
please let me know it's alright.

For, I find something's awry!
And no matter how I might try,
my thoughts impinge on my sight.

Old friend, quiet lover,
limpid soul beyond this cover,
please give me a reason to fight.

A whisper comes across
of all the time I have lost:
"Why plead for these things, so trite?"

Alas, as I turn my attention
past this reflection --
I find it's your face, alight.

Beauty is limited, the body is fleeting.
Lips, hair, ******* and thighs are misleading.
Ah, but a glance; that wordless connection!
Ah, but a gaze; that soundless confession!

I don't need a figure hand-crafted by God;
no transient physicality to poke and to ****.
Where is the person who will look in my eyes
and learn of my silence without surprise?

Words can't express the depths of existence;
but great walls will tumble with little persistence.
Sit in this quiet, serene place with me.
Look in my eyes, and see what you see.

Ain't nothing the same,
my projections are to blame.
Ain't no place for peace
on these blackened, vacant streets.

I'm looking for a home;
a place to rest my weary bones.
I'm searching for a home;
a place behind the melting stones.

Oh, things can't trust
and metal gadgets turn to rust.
Oh, things can't feel
and paper money isn't real.

I'm looking for a home;
a place to rest my weary bones.
I'm searching for a home;
a place behind the melting stones.

I close my eyes to find
the patterned fabric of my mind.
I close my eyes to see
the home beyond this mystery.

I'm looking for a home;
a place to rest my weary bones.
I'm searching for a home;
a place behind the melting stones.

O happy leaf, happy feather!
Let us share this happiness together.
O happy ground, happy sky!
So much joy, my spirit could fly.

Take my hand, fly with me.
'Cross this blank, dreary city,
over the trees to the sea.

Take my hand, I'll fly with you.
Show me what stands true,
and we'll discover this world anew.

Could this be new land
with untrodden ground?
In each grain of sand,
a cosmos I've found!

O happy sun, happy day!
Won't you live this joyous way?
O happy moon, happy night!
Won't you keep this joyous light?

Something or other;
some time not today.
It'll soon turn tomorrow
as we've nothing to say.

Something or other;
some place that's not here.
It'll soon turn tomorrow
as we forget what's near.

Something or other;
some things are the same.
It'll soon turn tomorrow,
as we play this game.

There are no others;
some people are empty.
It'll soon be all over,
'though it's never plenty.

We speak of things that don't exist
with words that can't describe.
This life's a bitter sea-shore mist;
we'll return with the tide.

While your senses spin 'round, reeling,
can you still tell what you're feeling?

Can we find the things that matter?
From where do these thoughts come?
I see this mirror must shatter;
this game is finally done.

While time lies 'round us, curled,
we live beyond this world.

So let's sit amidst the forest
and let these days grow long.
Forget of all this petty stress,
our hearts will remain strong.

How is it that all I see and believe
isn't more than what one can conceive?
Trapped inside these bound'ries of mine,
flipping and flopping down the stream of time,
my thoughts not more than the glint of sunshine.

So I laugh! I laugh! Great boisterous humor!
To laugh and to giggle at the falseness and rumors;
to snicker and snacker  at the play of all forms;
to chortle and chuckle at deviations and norms;
I will laugh at the process as my soul transforms.

So I laugh! I laugh! Though pains may embitter!
To laugh and to giggle at all senseless chatter;
to snicker and snacker at what's caught within;
to chortle and chuckle at all that is sin;
I will laugh at the moment when nothing begins.

So join me, my friend, and forget of your fears!
We'll both laugh, together, at the grinding of gears;
we'll both giggle, together, at prophets and seers.

So join me, my friend, and forget of your aches!
Laugh with abandon at this game and its stakes;
laugh with abandon as this machinery breaks.