gone through
                with dry fingers

the scent lingers
                        on my pillow
                 long after you've gone

I wish your
               pale winter skin
                                   would remain as indefinitely

A drunk mind and a heavy heart combine here
sifting through visions of smiles and tears
unique to our years, we've been here all along

We've imagined a song unsung
we've exchanged these words unspoken
through the silent stares and precious glances

A flame dances through the night sky,
I take a drink and wonder why
it seems like nothing's changed*


[Sunday, March 21st]

Spring came and opened my eyes
to new streets on which the numbers
sang and everything made sense for once

I saw your face for what seemed like the first time

the books on my shelf had rhythm and rhyme,
I saw your face for the first time

I was born there in that bed, howling  with a desire to not exist,
I find it odd that it should come to this

Howling in the night, laughing, crying
Running through the early morning mist
With visions of a new day

This isn't the way I had it planned
My legs feel new on the ground I stand on
but this isn't the way I had it all figured out
in my head

It's been two years..
It's been an eternity..

Things made perfect sense once..
And then never again did I see such unity
in the passing of notes,
the passage of time,
and the love unseen by human eyes

I just want to see that perfection,
once more, before I leave this world

I want to see your face again,

I want to go back to that place where
everything made sense,

But you weren't there,
you were the many pages lining the walls
of my catacombs,

You were the twilight between the night and day,

You were the crumpled sheets I curled into,
crying, and wondering what I did wrong

You were the music that woke me up,
I opened my eyes for once,
and saw the spring time for what it was

All the work we had done in silent
through the winter nights
was for naught, she came
with gifts that can't be bought

I started smoking again that morning,
the first day of spring,

I decided that I should do what I want
with this new life of mine

I walked the city streets,
smiling, and waiting
for sundown to come

So I could see your face
for the first time

Labradorite and northern lights
give motion to
sights unseen and sounds
heard in dreams

It seems I've been here
before, on these worn wooden floors

Neon lights beckoning me
through the next
                                 open door

I've been here before

My eyes have been sore,
looking for the prize in the lies

-Grab a rail drink
               for the times

I've failed too many times
to think that the rabbit
beats the snail

in the race of life

It's love, lust and strife from where
                  I'm sitting

and listening to my tongue
                         on the knife

and please don't be disillusioned
                           if I cut you

It only means that I love you

An all-white angel approaches

A pale-armed Athena to dress my wounds
in sympathy
                         She cannot stray from her war

For it is what she loves,
                                           and what she loves
                                                       is to burn
          
                               with an intensity reserved
                                              for the start of
                                          
                                something new

A clearing away of
                                     tired wisdom

Today, she runs her fingers
through my wild mind

Tomorrow, she walks alone
through sun scorched dirt,

              dry as the oldest bones

Everyone is *****, and no one
                  can escape the dust of time

But once in a while, she lets out a smile
                            that makes us feel new
                                            and clean

                                      like her

                        shining
                            ­          ivory
                                                 skin

I just dont know what to do with myself when the days seem too familiar.
                                                       ­                               
                                 ­                                                 Everythings a little brighter,
                                                              bu­t the sunlight makes my shadow darker.

The average things bore me,

                                                      and as much as I love being anywhere, anytime...


I don't wish to appreciate mediocrity...                           I'd much rather pay tribute                    
                                     ­                                                          and enjoy the great moments
                                                         ­ 
                                                                ­                                                          that make me wonder
                                                                ­                                                                w­hat exactly it is that I am.


The times where I stand up on two feet and it feels so strange to be a human, so new.

The times when I lose myself in music and become it, through sound and motion.


                                                              ­        (I look down from above and smile inside)


There are times when I get into perfectly absurd conversations with homeless madmen,

                                                        ­                                             and we understand each other
                                                                ­       for a single tick of time next to a no parking sign.

I light his cigarette for him and we both fail to understand God, but we still stand
                                                                ­                                              in perfect confusion.

We prophesize, hypothesize, and then, like lighting, something comes and sweeps me away from the scene, and I'm lost again,

                                                        in a flurry of passion and perceived progression.


There are times when my heart is nearly bursting, flooding out to the world with the invisible blood
                 that flows  
                                         through every man,  
                                                          ­                       woman,
                                                                ­                                     child  
                                                       ­                                                             and tree.


This is when I feel the weight of the world on my chest,
                                                          ­            I get choked up
                                     and leave the room to get fresh air.

This is when I look into the eyes of another human and I see something new.
Something that wasn't there before,
                                                                ­ 
                                                               ­       and I can just feel the balance of our similarities
                                                    ­                                                                 ­                               and differences

and I can't help but wonder whats going to happen in the next ten seconds.


There are times when I come into the scene unprepared,
                        I improvise and stumble through my lines,


My blocking is off, my motion is absurd but somehow the show goes on.

The play of life never ceases to amaze the players


(who think they know what the play is about
                                                      but in reality
                                                      the audience is casting their vote on how it all will end)

These are the times when I feel something ancient, something timeless,
                                                                ­                                                       still present.


The source of the moment stretching back millions of years only to show up in a crowded room
                                                            ­                                                      in new clothes that fool the eye.


This guest is ever present, even if we refuse to approach and say hello.


These are the times when I can't look away from  what's in front of me.

                                                                ­                      
                                          ­                                             [ The light in your eye...

                                                               ­                          The simplest motion...]


These are the times when I lose control of my limbs
                                                 and let the music of the cosmos move me.


I'm a slave to light and sound, attracted to shiny objects and mystery.


(I could fall in love with you in seconds,
and never return to my old life again.)


These are the times when I feel so old but so new, a child in the womb of the world,

                                                         ­               imagined by an old man looking back from the grave.


These are the times when Love speaks to me as an entity, assuring me and chasing away my fears,
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                     
                                           ­                                    Saying-


"I am present in everything, everytime, everywhere-"


"-I am the life within death-"


"And If you truly live once,

feeling the weight of every mistake,

learning the lessons of this life,
         and losing yourself in all its passion,
              
               you will come to know me-"


"And if you truly live once...

                       you will live forever"

Subconscious typing. Stream of Consciousness. Type streaming from source, rhythm or no, just keep typing. Fast fast fast. You can edit later.

Say what you mean, honesty really is the best policy

Make things disproportionately huge & cosmic or tiny microscopic personal. Be the soul telescope.

Relate to memory,  good times/bad times, unrelated action

Relate to the body/senses

Evoke ancient names and memories of forgotten gods

Appeal to primal self/instinct/latent human reaction to symbol & stimulus

"News from the edge" -- Report from the edge of the universe, tell the folks at home what's going on at the source

Praise things often, condemn things when they deserve it

WRITE

(The following was written under extreme duress, within the usual conditions of life and death.)*


Look into the night and pick out the brightest star in the sky.
Once you find it, do not let it leave your sight. If you must venture indoors or underground, do not let it leave your mind.

Once under the influence of said star, allow it to think through you, and record these interactions on paper; written in sand on a beach next to the ocean; scrawled on walls with black marker; or stamped into hearts using blood for ink.

Leave these messages laying around in places that the heavenly bodies may look down and catch them with a glance, or throw the loose papers into the wind and let them travel where they may.

Once a soul comes into contact with such energies and becomes fully entranced in dissolving the self in the waters of the perceived,

Only poetry is spoken...

Though it may sound like madness...

Only poetry...

However broken and disjointed it may be.