i always wanted to
try listening to the
debut album of
a british goddess
while ironically
killing my own
pair at sunrise --
but as plans often go
south for mice and
men equally, so do
my own;
               languid
wakefulness ran
down my gullet
like seconds on
a smooth cocktail
seasons too late,
and moreover,
my addled brain
forgot the catalyst
the night before
last when i was
trudging along
in the dark and
some saviors in
a cheap white
chariot pulled
into the parking
space beside me,
telling me to
get in --
like they knew
or i knew, or we
all had some odd
mutual feeling of
positive vibrations;
like reminiscing
about early in
last august when
a mysterious scarf-
clad traveler with
sacred arabic
etched into his
hands slipped
me an equally
sacred slip of
paper with
nothing more
to give it purpose,
reason, definition,
or validation, than
that single glorious
and grammatically
incorrect pairing
of expressive
awareness.

i don't plan to meet
the pilgrim again,
regardless of our
unfinished affairs,
but sitting on that
little square of cloth
on top of manicured
lawn in cosmic harmony
with strangers, new friends,
serenaded by sigur ros
and kept company by
grouplove, i've never felt
more enlightened,
more awestruck,
more tuned into
those frequencies
above human
perception,
broadcasting
the only message
we deny ourselves
indefinitely --
*happiness.

will you show
me that there
are good ways
to end such
years?

Wounded fragments of shattered dreams stain the pavement and sidewalks while we all move in a pattern unknown and unseen.
Poised perfectly in the sky are the ends of strings that pull us along, and we follow, apathetic to the vile disgrace of not being in control.
The sun neither rises nor falls, we circle around to have him stare at us with curious and diminished eyes.
The stars wink and shine like diamonds in a fog, long after their reign has ended and their souls have departed.

Half forgotten synapses and faded photographs are the pinpoint of realization in the half written tragedy and comedy of man.

Can we feel the shattered slice into our feet? Do we drink of the cup of color or our we drowning ourselves in a cesspool of grey?
Frayed and patched we are.
The wolf is ignorant while the sparrow is enlightened. They chase each other. Dream by dream, thought by thought, reaction by action, into the depths of our souls. Neither can triumph over the other and perhaps that is the design. Blueprints hidden carefully by an architect far beyond comprehension of morality and sustenance are the makings of an encore, a time for roses after the curtain falls.
For none can know the beauty and mystery behind the short circuit of synapse and the ceasing of beats.
Perception of dimensions beyond us our limited and jaded, causing lies disguised as truth. Fear of the mystery causes fear of us all. We are all that is here. We are the tourniquet and we are the axe.

Oh child of wonder… Oh traveler of distance. See us all.

We are two sides of a spinning coin. We are everything and we are nothing. Perhaps the strings will be cut. We will overcome the misfortune of breathing in that which is farthest from the truth. Be the crack in the pattern. Be the narrow path.

Be better than us.

I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.

I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.

My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;

"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.

I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.

A moment of silence

Can be the difference between a war and a calm.

It could be the gap between words

And all the meaning within them.

Just one moment of silence

Can provoke heartache or acceptance.

But after that moment

No others can replace it.

There are only moments of clutter

And mindless choices due uncatagorized actions.

A moment of silence

Comes before the the pull of a trigger

Or after the death of a friend.

It delays the inevitable of letting something go

Just a moment of silence.

Just one second with the absence of sound.

One last look at an alternate ending.

One final inhale of freezing resolve.

One last kiss imprinted in memory.

And a moment of silence keeps it there...

Untouched and unaltered

Free to hang in the air and fill our lungs

And spark nostalgic reminders at our expense.

And in all the moments that will follow

This will be the one that silence will conquer.