my heart yearns
in shouts that span the sky
but i found love stumbling
into a hole in the wall

in a momentary interaction
vanishing

maybe there is hope for me yet

Lilting lullabies
coax me into sleep
I wither away to dreams
of waxing prophecy

“living is an act of prayer”

and we breathe in defiance
of the snarl of noxious, fuming,
haze gray death
which blurs the air,
and causes the mind to tremble

we freeze in sudden braking
turn to ash, and dissipate to breeze
a promise of goodbye remembers
having never left

and loving is an act of praise
every action, a step in the dance
every gasp between breaths
a beat in the song

the eternal,
patternized, shifting
universe in unison
ubiquitous in motion

gravity
ties us to everything
and loving is
a slipping body
loose in a current

energy
does not discriminate
and love doesn’t wait
for a reason

There is no metric of worth

nor sign of indispense

No mark of royalty
nor meager birth in seeking sense



There is no purpose some might have

that others stand to gain

There is no worthless thought or value

none predisposed to live in vain



There is no meaning you might find

profound in life, you’ve lived without

nor punishment to which you’re blind

if you don’t quite live so devout



I’ll chase my tail or twiddle my thumbs

my heart will sink as I might think

I’m wasting life while I’m still young

it all might vanish in a blink



To wish to serve the world alone

without appreciation

is my fool’s burden, not my throne

I think I just need a vacation

Once,

the sky sparkled with magic;

the air crackled with immortal flame;

the world trembled in the presence

of a living god



There,

in the awareness of the air,

the spirit of primeval man condensed

in resplendent metamorphosis



Once,

when the earth was tinged with memories

not yet transpired, but ever being,

and time combined itself with minds

collectively surrendered 



The timelessness of energy,

erected in its synergy,

bloomed flowers in the desert;

stars in the sea



The shimmering began

from deep within the eyes

of the holder of a welling heart,

and erupted



In this plume of genesis

converged the waters of love,

and the space of knowing,

and the fires of passion,

and the silt of growing



A cataclysmic schism

set aloft the birth of night,

and the sea of energy

wove from the darkness light



wrapped itself,

through dimensions overarching

enmeshed and ever-pulsing

blossoming into new worlds

entwined with all things


A cosmic resurgence

of doubt’s consuming

set aside the likes of mind

akin to never being



Sphere-struck

the Eye became many

a window to a woven world

now set apart from any

Wastrel of liminal spaces

trembling in giant’s steps

Invisible, they quake
the earth I glide upon

in waiting



To take shape

be wrought

or ripped apart

no longer vaporous



The sky blinks

in passing days

and fog encompasses

the land that claims

my mind when I

can’t think



I stare into

the blank white hue

once stark

which now

the sunlight

cannot penetrate



To be the energy of breath

antithesis of life and death

the thing which seamlessly

slips into and through

the lungs of living things



Only to return

to lingering

against all odds

static in its shifting

When love finds me

I hope it is because

it is the love that I embody

I take a step back

and I hold my breath

and I cherish it



I exhale

and I let go

and life ebbs

and life flows



I breathe it in again

believing all is real

in this temporary moment



A blurred snapshot of time

not beholden to memory

a simple blip against

a backdrop
 


swallowing 
me



And I exist

in those high-speed moments

when fear sets in

fully immersed, yet

unaware, 



when soft light pulses

to a beating city heart

on thoroughfares

in summer nights,



that we are

preciously enlivened

by that hurried energy

in a vast and eerie

cold, dead

peace

I think I’m finally starting to relax. 
It was such a simple day, 
but it was beautiful. 

I took a walk in the park, 
and had a great time 
playing a silly game, 
and forgetting to care 
about a thing. 

I got stung by a hornet 
for the first time, 
and I could have complained, 
but I thought it was pretty cool. 

Firsts are neat. 

I ate junk food 
and breathed deeply 
and took a selfie with a hawk 
that landed in a tree 
without leaves 
and barely any limbs. 

It almost seemed like 
it was posing for a picture. 

I went home, 
and I wasn’t tense, 
and I wasn’t stressed, 
and the noise didn’t bother me, 
too much. 

I’m starting to let go 
of everything holding me back. 
I don’t want to worry anymore. 
I want to sleep deeply, 
and wake up feeling restored. 

I want to write without caring 
why I’m doing it. 

You know 
I questioned if I should even 
be writing poetry anymore, 
last night? 

I feel like I haven’t been 
enjoying it like I used to. 
Like it’s just a chore, 
or something I’m doing 
purely because I feel like 
that’s what I’m supposed to do. 

Maybe my real passion is conversation. 
But, I think, when the words flow freely 
and with that certain kind of eloquence 
I only find in isolated moments of silence, 
when the mind decides to sing instead of speak, 
I experience true magic. 

The current passes through me, 
in that wisping instant. 
I’m stolen away to a place 
of solace and safety. 

I’m left feeling energized and nourished, 
but suddenly aware of a thirst that 
I’d never realized I needed to quench 
until I wrote that specific poem. 

So maybe purpose 
has nothing to do 
with passion. 

Maybe people are beautiful, 
and small moments of grace 
keep me loving life, and 
breathing it in and 
becoming through my experiences. 

I’m certainly passionate about sharing 
an aspect of the world with myself; 
ingesting it, and incorporating it into me. 

Living as a culmination of memory and energy 
passed through so many different beings 
and incarnations of something 
that is ultimately formless; 
that will always inspire me. 

And contemplating that inexpressible fact, 
of what is nebulous yet ever present, 
is the thread that ties me to fate. 

But poetry is something, I think, 
that is written on my heart 
to sustain my soul. 

It’s a sort of inscription or incantation, 
invoking the very essence of my existence. 
And that isn’t to say I am a poet 
because I write poetry. 

What I’m saying is that I write poetry 
because the emotion of life is distilled 
through my soul and causes my heart to swell 
until it bursts. 

I am sodden with the ichor of existence. 
Sometimes living hurts, 
but nothing is more real 
than loving it, anyway.

Mid November lingers still

with the aroma of sunlight

and the ghost of sliced peaches



We leave the windows cracked

on 65 degree days, 

when the sky is blue

and the wind is blustering



Keen to hear its voice

whispering secrets alongside 

melodies of chimes ringing

in unison with the falling leaves



And the trees are dancing

in an act of praise

to the cycles of change

and the end of days


Knowing.



Every winter begets spring

in resurgence, when

death breathes life
into 
the sleeping glen



and in the valley of death

on nightfall’s pillow

the sun mingles with hushing shadows

brilliance, set low in subtlety

only gleaned by sharpest eyes



So I’ll capture

a flash of time exposed

keep it in a bottle in the back of my mind

diverge and recombine

and light the world up



and when the moon beams down on its lover

and the sun admires her from afar

I’ll know the cosmos glisten, just out of sight

teeming with unknown color

I Tried to Write a Poem, I Didn’t Try to Write This; See? Proof.



I’ve grown a lot

without even

having to try



But

Do not 

misunderstand me



I’ve tried trying

it doesn’t work

Not trying is what works

Coerce me not by semblance nor by grace
nor make my purity known before my blights
Appeal to me in pleasantry’s embrace;

convince me you know nothing of my nights



For, in my deepest truth, I am entrenched

in fleeting, mortal nature on this earth

With every light, will darkness be dispensed,

and sadness mirrors every shred of mirth



So find in me, these unbecoming things

hidden in my heart and cowering

Find me there, still clutching this raw wound

Embrace my darkest parts to be attuned



May I find love, in authenticity,

or be alone, but know what’s truly me

I’ve spent some time just dancing in the wind

Twirling to and fro without a care

The breeze and me, we’ll always be akin

There’s something ancient lingering in the air



I’ve always been a decent acrobat

and always known the breeze could sooth my soul

The wind’s my oldest friend, I’m sure of that

When scattered in the sky, I find I’m whole



It started with my hands just mingling

tickled by the passing gusts of breeze

and in my finger tips a-tingling

I’d drop my woes and find myself at ease



Now, how I’ve grown, to write an ode to thee

wind of my mind, and nature’s levity

The wind is in a hurry, recently

My mind is in a flurry,

specious things

flittering 
like scattered leaves 

upon the breeze



i’ll take this very moment

no reason to be clinging

no hope bestowed 
for me

I am not yearning



I’ll sing a little 
melody of peace

quiet my unruly mind 
and be

just be

within this moment

happily alone with it

just like the wind 
I’m blowing



Flowing with the shifts

but never knowing

where I’m going



Just along the midst

of ever drifting currents

not a care to hold me back

there’s nothing lacked

when I’m not hoping



I let it all just flow

I’m letting go



I’m not controlling

anything

anything 
but me


and I am free

and life is but a dream

though I am anything but sleeping



Clarifying me, 
I’m overflowing

energy 
through every seam

lucidity in knowing


gravity released

and I am hovering

on the breeze again

Some days, blue skies blanket me in heaven’s rays

the world is charged with rejuvenating, living color

Warmth envelopes my heart and soul

and I am worthy of feeling



Yet, then the world turns, and I wake to gray

and fire boils my blood and burns my brain

I’m left to fight a battle with my pain

but these are the most paramount of days



I reminisce in moments stretching on

forgetting who I am, for what I live

In peace and solace given, I am gone

In peril I’m restored with heart to give



For in these days I fight as sunlight hides

and find my strength is waiting in the mist

to seek a shred of beauty as I’m blind

and darkness demands I be vigorous


So simple would it be for me 

to just capitulate

Surrender to my apathy

when in this sorry state



How easy I might find it is,

to wallow, destitute

Yet, hardened in my promises,

I am forever resolute



When languish tempts my weary soul 

and pleasant dreams abound in bed

I’ll carry on to reach my goal, 

and lift my heavy head

Alliteration is hard



An amusing affectation afforded against all authenticity

Living lies luxuriously, lamenting in my lowly lacking

Leering lackluster; levity lost loquaciously

In interest inimitable, isolated in illusions illustrated incoherent

To take triumph, tackle tumult; tie treaties toward the torment’s trite theatrics

Elevate exposure, even entrenched in evanescence; expectation eventually ends; elation endures

Revitalize, remember; roaming rot relinquished retroactively

Again, an avenue against accustomed aggravation; art alleviates

Traveling to taste time’s tales; a taxing task toppled

Indebted, in individuality’s internment, innovated; inundated in insight

On overarching opportunity’s offerance, one overcomes oblivion

Nothing neglected, new nights near; nidificate nuance, newly niche November

When confronted with the inexplicable,
the human mind seeks to rationalize, 
explain,
and fit information into an established worldview. 


When confronted with the incomprehensible, the mind recoils. 

It shrinks into and attempts to consume itself.

It was true, at a time,
I was an unknowing thing
so self assured in my doubting
A wanderer in a realm between,
bepuzzled in my wilding

An observing eye,
in a dance with night
a twirling zephyr with an uncharted passage
no future dark, nor future bright
for the moment was my adage

And it was, that language came in gasps
a surefire eureka, when the heart’s contentedness 
could last for but a moment
as the ever shifting resonance 
would beckon me 
“Onward”

I learned to speak
in gesture’s grand expanse
to converse in my subsistence;
in the dance

A dialogue with fog
wherethrough uncertainty,
though doggedly I slogged,
I knew, though I’d be filled
with forlorn things
I’d make them bloom again
in my journeying

And bloom they did
returned to me
when on the wind
came sovereignty

I am
cosmic nothingness,
an augur of a fallen star

I wonder
who exists in the emptiness,
what belongs to time and time alone

I hear
whispers in the formless void,
a song that weaves itself into the fabric

I see
consciousness in colors blooming,
light cascading from beyond

I want
to create myself

I pretend
I am speaking with a love I've never met

I feel
elated by my evanescence, surrendering regret

I touch
the current of the endless ocean

I worry
I am lost

I cry
it is hopeless

I understand
we wake to live the day

I say
I am a cup of ocean

I dream
of memories I've never truly lived

I try
to surrender

I hope
to love again, be loved as much

I am
cosmic nothingness,
an augur of a fallen star



I breathe,
and I am being


I exhale,
and am released


I am
liberated in the 
instance of believing

for

I know
that I know nothing



What ghost of home exists within

the leagues between it all?

Who is out beyond the ticking clock?

Who swims in the deep?



In my dreams, it is a whisper in my ear

an echoing, resonant song

which reverberates in the midst of all existence

condensing energy into form



Whirling color,
in closed eye visuals

represents the self in schism

whilst light speckles the night

and blooms into being



From red and blue, purple

From light and dark,
I become myself



I am
fooling myself, dreaming of tomorrow

Wasting away in reverie

I exhale, and breathe

And water fills my lungs
as I sink into the deep



In waking,
I am
ever moving forward

still holding the ocean’s tears within my lungs


I dream
of memories I’ve never truly lived

release myself and love seeps in


I have
tumbled from heaven to earth

and gained substance

A new beginning

whenever nothing changes

only “nothing” changes

and around me

the world is a blur of possibilities



impossible realities

teeming without being

bleeding into other colors

creating spectrums of watercolors melding



I am seated in the eye

unmoving, but

subsuming all



A solitary moon, in bloom

a copacetic collective tomb

an actualized reflection

of the Sun’s eternal truth



Who gazes upon a raptured earth

which whips around its center

never spectered, it is

the very essence of presence

the substance of birth

the metaphor of real things



Imaginary musings
excusing transience

mentality a sense, a lens

a consumption of cosmic

resurgent worth



I am bestowed,

to You, 

forever, immortal You
The All-becoming thing

I give of myself

becoming seen

Tonight the wind blows;
the sky bursts under its weight;
the energy is immense,

and it is conscious.  

My mind splits;
my spirit lifts itself into the wind,
which drinks me in, to oblivion.
Thunder cracks on the horizon,
lighting the sky,
rippling in its immensity.  

Everything is subtlety, supercharged;
in nature, everything bleeds into itself;
in the ether, the wind blows backwards,
and consciousness is gravity
anchored to eternity,
streaming between the energy of thought.  

The wind has been blowing all day
and when I breathe,
in a different dimension,
where air shares a kinship with intention,
it caresses me; enveloping me physically,
restoring feeling to those parts of me
starving.  

I am too small to hold myself.
I am nothing, intermingling with being.
I am a raw throat;  
an aching thirst that cannot be quenched.  

I am water in its various states;
its many cycles.  
I am an ocean.
I am a puddle.  

I am limitless
-ness
drowning in the deep.
I am gasping for breath without lungs
to be seen.  

I am me, not being.
Who am I?
An unlabeled simplicity.  

Why complicate the mind?
(The heart, it aches to find
belonging. Only ever longing,
forever found in everything
surrendered unto nothing.)  

Can opening my eyes but rend me blind?
(The light, it’s all encompassing;
the white, forever bleeding into,  
fields of you; there is no you.  
Only truth can set you free.  
Die become eternity.)
I cannot.  

I must breathe it to believe it.  
Need to let it go to know.
Need someone else to show it to.
What’s one without two?

Know other, and thus

know thyself.



Know what thou art not 

and thyself shall unfurl

before thine eyes.



Yet, know thine eyes as thyself, 

and know no self before another.

One twine of thy spiral 

unwinding, whence

thy center point 

diverges, vast,

in multitudes amassed 

betwixt thee; the eye 

of the spiral of unwinding. 



Thy sleeping self, 

merely asleep

to life within a dream; 

awake to All 

aplenty.



Alas, in tangent vortices

all aspects of thee 

exist in mirrored reiteration.

Fractalescent bodies of one name.



Above the vortices 

converging round the center:

a greater maw.



A many weaving being, seeing
everything expanding in concentricity

round compounding sound,

the endless symphony;

ubiquitous infinite 

vibrations of eternity,

in resonant helical geometry. 



But these are just the roots..



Somewhere, 

amidst the canopy, ever-thriving

disseminating light,

crystalline dimensions break the mind

splitting time in two.



And there are

infinities in every inch…

every inch of me

and you.



A billion years of histories;

a billion people,

a trillion different views.



All, interconnected

through the dissection

of light projected dimensions

of intention wrapped, 

and woven endlessly

around a gaping space of emptiness

chock-full of energetic collectives.



Each an individual unto themselves.



I think, maybe, that’s what angels are.



Accumulations of many universes;
pulsating orbs of holographic light,

teeming and erupting with the knowledge

of a love that cannot be contained

by illusory space.

Is every sense a sentence?  
Is every birth a death  
of emptiness?  

Must we be captive, captivated,  
waiting for our breath in endless,  
breathless steps upon  
the winding road of silence?  

Is this aching, heartbreaking  
anticipation of something,
a world working;
a sensation,  
presentation coming through  
to its unearthing?  

Why does time stretch on
while we wander, squandering
the very truths we’ve clung to  
in our being and becoming?

It’s not every day
I have something to say
or something worth bestowing.
Sometimes, there’s nothing showing,
nothing growing…nothing flowing.

I’ve written “all and open”
over and over again
yet I feel closed from knowing
what is true, where to begin.  

In tumultuous earth,
quaking in memories
I see the death of me;
the rest of me, left empty
in a shell of reverie  

I cannot breathe.

These influences of devotion,
to "shall" and "should" and "would"  and where to be,
are gripping me with apathy  
as I refuse to find my muse  
in emptying the self I’ve come to bleed through.  

Nothing structured,
layaway my pain,
let rest my brain;  
no more contained  
in rage or evanescence;  

no regrets,  
no retrospect,  
no message. 

I’ve been,
and I will be
remembering and breathing;

still believing in moving on  
I’ll reach for the stars
until I burn inside the sun.  

Those days are gone.
I am not Nothing.
Done calling myself nought,
I am becoming.  

Even if I sway,
tarry here and there,
in my own way I’m home  
amongst the air; the wind  
still embraces me, without a care.
No caveat or cross to bear.  

I am bare to night,
tonight.
I swear it, naked.

I am starlight
drinking starlight in.

Candles steady.
I am ready,
but not simply to begin.  

I recognize the moving tides
that crash against my skin;
that fill me  
up from within.  

My world, akin.
My Endless Ocean.

A pain in the chest
corresponds with a thought
which responds to the heart
clarifying:

“I do not condone evil
but embrace the many selves within
the reality of self diverging.

There is no seat of self;
no place where being rests.
There is flowing, growing,
expanding forever
in reiteration.”

The elusive mystery
that’s split so I can see
with both eyes.

The merging
of the heart
within the mind.

To feel,
a bubble round the brain
containing memories
of souls sustained,
in ethereal suspension.

To think,
in cognizant alignment
with the heart,
acting upon pulse
and impulse.

Creating resonant sounds;
echoes upon
the proverbial mountain range.

Mirrors mirroring mirrors;
with an inward breath, a deeper drink;
to sink within the soul,
and feel the whole, instilled in stillness.

To be, through becoming
in dialogue diverging;
the everflow bestowing
presence amongst transience.

I am All as I am Nothing.
A seeing thing, believing
that the tapestry is me;
the shifts becoming being,
illusory.

I am pings of energy,
resounding in a field of ripples,
communicating notes
of an intricate, endless song.

I am right where I belong.

This is me:
sediment eroding
in the current of consciousness
coalescing with Life’s
astounding breath.

This is me:
salt of the sea,
oversaturated.

Forming crystalline structures,
in perfect cubic geometry,
refracting light and energy;
protecting.

This is me:
reality unfurling;
elements disintegrating
into quintessential, natural information.

This is me:
consciousness in conception;
forming will from flow
with no direction.

This is You.
It is me, too.
But we are one,

look into
another’s eyes
and see the sun reflecting.

We are light beings;
fragments of reality
dissecting

everything.

Miracles of being in transpiring.
Precipitations on the cycle
of the endless ocean.

Unseen, 
in dark unknowing;

gazing into unreflective waters,

beckoned by the deep.



A shroud of deadened sound,

in windless night, in hush.

The world, my home, 
holds its breath.



As I am,

slipping from grip, 

a yawning mist

and incorporeal.



Seeking
to define
 the indefinite,

intangible and shifting, 

ephemeral resonance.



Sluggish, in a dream;

an astral projection
of intention.


Awaken
the mind, arrested.

Unmoving, in sleep paralysis.



A voiceless song,

belonging to the lungs,

never echoed.



Choking on my death.

Unworldly breath.

What am I?

Can I not see
myself?



The mind identifies

with drifting tides. 

Unbound from time,

I cry.



An aching
sinks, 
beneath the chest
.
Within the gut, it rests.



My soul, instilled
in stillness.


My greatest wish,
a passioned kiss
with 
the intimate

unfurling
of the world 
in
ubiquitous coalition.



The breath of life
,
which fills my lungs, 

never meets the blood.



To be. 

To be.

To be

and never question.



To be free
and known,

as evidenced in vested
interest 
with my sole existence.

I want to be known.

Why can’t anyone see me?

to touch one person, who touches one person, who touches one person...
to feel in a way only you can
to see through the lens of your individuality
to impart an aspect of your identity onto reality
you are a fragment of eternity,  

i see things changing and it aches
but we could not think, could not feel, could not experience beauty
if time was not forever rolling onward
if things did not change  

to grieve is to love
to love is to empty yourself to hold space for another
to understand in spite of your ignorance
to grasp the truth that we cannot be alone
and nothing exists in a vacuum  

i’m tired of feeling insignificant
i am magnificent, passionate enchantment
echoes resounding in the vast, indifferent infinite
an embodiment of spirit amongst physicalist pessimists  

I may be small, but I am all,  
if only I connect with existence

It comes and goes
in flurries and spurious blips
It ebbs and flows
regaining balance as I trip


I stumble to and fro
but only so
I get a grip


so I can know
the self is just a sip
from a cup from a well
of endlessness


I think I’ll take a dip in it,
the aquifer  beneath;
the self that sleeps;


the surging deep
that covers all
that I discover
in the midst of this
duplicitous engagement with
the mist


Like water
in its various states
Like cycles of the moon
like seasons changing


Like the air:
the space that holds,
where self unfolds
in rearranging


but sit with it
the emptiness
and resonate in semblance


as when breathing
we are feeling
come and go,
but never leaving


Such deceiving things
the tapestry of dreams
forever stringing being


To be the thread
not alive
nor dead
but interweaving

To see what you are
you must do the work of shedding
what you are not.

You have buried it, don’t you see?
You have buried it, but it cannot die.

Here lieth pleasure’s open’d form;  
thy splendor wholesomely beget,  
whence parting clouds dispel my storm  
‘n light divine shouldst warm me, yet.

Commendeth thee, my soul implores;  
thru many’s work doth One bestow.  
Upon the endless ocean’s shores  
to watch the swell recede and grow.

For whosoever wisps about  
on worldly winds, in currents grip  
-whose faith within shall shine, devout-  
surrender’d to unending trip.

No happenstance shall coincide  
alack of reason, stretching wide.  
Wherewith mine heart is anchor’d, stilled,  
inset to breadth, as I, fulfilled.

with each breath, deeper

to each core the body holds

connecting light to silent sight

within, the darkness folds

awakening the sleeper
    


each moment passes

a skipping stone connects

to the water’s surface

rippling ad infinitum
    


each hovering lapse

of passing through the air

(the air we breathe)

stretching awareness 

over four corners
    


cardinal elements coalescing

fragmented only 

in seeing selves

seeing selves
    


when two sets of eyes gaze into each other

and see mirrors stretch in endless reiteration
    


with each sigh and closing eye

with each smile we wear with pride

with each muscle fiber coming to relax

we instill, in self, the greatness of it all
    


in every meditative venture

into ever expanding silence

we reach deeper toward the truth

speaking without thought

becoming present
    


becoming diaphanous, intangible

permeable sheets of white light

transparent vessels of time

we dissolve and become

Forever

Here comes the drum of the unconsumed
through mountains churning under burning moon
from the open eye of a sky attuned
to the stars in the mind of a magical loon

He sings to the rain; it’s said he’s rot in the brain,
but the madman sees what the people flee;
sees the thrum of the pulse of the ancient trees
through the veins where the life flows of each lived thing

Cast their pain to the wind and he breathes it in
and it drips from his tongue, and the earth drinks sin
but the stars in his heart sparkle out from within, 

cause the madman transposes chagrin

In the haste of a world that unfurls by the sun
neath the moon of the loon is the veil undone
as he watches the stars turn an hour a tick
by the fire whence transpires, his an endless wick

So, tho judge ye will, he cannot be killed
for he’s traced all space with delightful trill
tho an empty man, he has had his fill
for the madman belongs to the moon

Forests part to form a road,
as the Earth swallows itself
erecting mountains which split in two
and on the horizon,
basking in the glow of the rising sun,
your outstretched hand draws me in at shimmering speeds  

Together, we adjourn, to radiant morrow
my heart settled comfortably in my throat
radiating warmth, and love, and truth
nourishing me deeply,
setting me up for a beautiful future
full of joyful tears

it’s not a simple pulse
or glow
or ebb and flow

it emanates, effuses
moves
it hums and shifts 
and breathes
and teems and bleeds

it waxes as it wanes
it sustains

it blinks and basks
in fog and shadow black
but ever holds them back;
it sits, unyielding

if I peer into
the center, sole
within the tick of time,

(litany of light’s design,
the shadow of which is the mind;
the split becometh sign;
an augur, yet electrified,
divine)

I find

it multiplies
from sources slipped

into ever pocketed perpetuity

divided throughout space, beyond acuity

through you and me,
through everything, coursing

are spheres that surge in unity

that swell, and lose their pressure

only to return in equal measure


forever
and ever

and ever

As I walked into the bar there were already tears in my eyes. So much stress. Was I meandering or chasing my tail? I wasn't finding answers, that's for sure. I glanced around, struck with a subtle sense of irony. A few sorry souls sat speckled throughout the dimly lit confines of this stuffy, run down establishment. You'd think they'd have the means to keep a place like this in ship shape, here, considering the nature of spirit. Anything you could imagine, freely given, when the soul should rise... Maybe it was just a load of ****. I took a seat in a corner at the far side of the room. I didn't know how I'd arrived here, but I had no intention of leaving. I was too exhausted. Life had had a tendency to beat me down. I felt battered and bruised. I felt as if I'd been flattened by a steam roller. I always used to say I was tired to my soul; I hadn't realized I was speaking literally. It wasn't long before I was approached by a waiter. All dressed in white, save for a black tie. An amorphous effusion of light and shadow erupting from the place where one's neck should be. A piercing whisper, vibrating through my skull.

"Can I get you a drink?" it.. said.

I was a bit dumbfounded. It hadn't occurred to me until now that this place may actually serve alcohol. Did I even have a body? Regardless, I don't drink.

"I don't drink."

The haze blobbed and bobbed, and ebbed in mirrored tension, as if shaking its head from side to side.

"I think you'll want to try this one." It echoed, sing-songing slow motion distortions directly into the depths of my consciousness.

It was becoming hard to focus. The lines here were, or, are gray. Things bleed between. Every soft, dim light consumed the room. Every noise resounded throughout time. This ideal of a bar, this place where people drink their woes away, stowed away in the afterlife? What must people be trying to forget?

"I don't want to forget." I said. "I learned so much in life. Still, I know nothing. Still I don't understand, but I want to hold onto those lessons. I've left everything else behind."

"I think you'll want to try this one," it reiterated. "Daniel."

It hit me, then. This thing knew all there was to know about me. Not only could it speak into my mind, it could see. This was no ordinary drink, and after all, what did I have to lose?

"**** it," I took the glass from the tray. "I guess I could use a drink."

It looked like nothing more than a shot glass full of water, but as it went down my throat, an unearthly warmth and peace spread through my chest cavity and into my heart. It was the ultimate feeling of pure joy, as if I'd consumed a liquified sun. With my first breath, it made its way into my brain. Stark white, endless plains of emptiness and light. Everything dissolved before my eyes. Cascading was illusion: is illusion. I hovered in the pulse of the everflow.

"How was the drink?"

I needn't even respond. I was awake.

"Ahhh!" I released relief, and let the spirit seep.

I merged with this, the Infinite.  The song of Heaven, I could hear it.  Vibrations of eternity  surrounding me,  and written throughout everything,  the lyrics.   All different pitch  of perfect wave,  resounding to fragment  the quintessence  of this presence  to which I now belonged.   Yet, this energy condenses.  Readministered,  from essence to presence.  A blip within the static of magic.  Eye could not exist,  in reminiscent wishes,  avasting existence.   The depth within the deep  of endless ocean called to me:  to stimulate emotion  in the impartation of separation  from Infinity.   The pull of gravity consumed me.  Here, again, within the fill  of fragrant, illusory "being,"   I live to speak of bleeding  into everything and nothing.

I merged with this,
the Infinite.
The song of Heaven,
I could hear it.

Vibrations of eternity
surrounding me,
and written throughout everything,
the lyrics.

All different pitch
of perfect wave,
resounding to fragment
the quintessence
of this presence
to which I now belonged.

Yet, this energy condenses.
Re-administered,
from essence to presence.
A blip within the static of magic.

Eye could not exist,
in reminiscent wishes,
avasting existence.

The depth within the deep
of endless ocean called to me:
to stimulate emotion
in the impartation of separation
from Infinity.

The pull of gravity consumed me.
Here, again, within the fill
of fragrant, illusory "being,"

I live to speak of bleeding
into everything and nothing.