Is there a failure in me

To control unsanctioned energies

Energies that are demonized

Yet as such energies I have given free rein to

That seems to bring prolonged misfortunes

Of unjust encounters with an obedient stream

That leaves one to bear the extremity of dire mishap

Of unradical transformations that mount strenuous protests

And hover like that of an appalling malady cast upon themselves

In grotesque confusion causing scenes of tormenting fear

Present me before Cerberus a position for me that is

At once pleasurable and disturbing

To elusive, to elusive a possession

This human identity, this love

To emulate the poet in justification

To imesh my mind in insoluble difficulties

To find strange colored images there

And yet with such derangement

A loving dispensation pours forth upon me

Extinguishing all else and restores

Stability to a battered self in awe and wonder

There is sand in my pockets

I am waiting on it to turn to gold

While the holes in my shoes

Refuse to tred carefully

On the contents of my unconsciousness

The constallated images of my mind

Giving them tangible form

Of opulent manifestation

Black rubies of forbidden thought

Who give birth to new emotions

Where galactic magicians sing

Incantatery truisms of other realities

Where banality is evaded with sharp realistic taste

That breeds on impulse of eternal heaviness

Of emotional anguish which seethe and bubble

Burst blisters of my charged inner self

My castle, my cell, my coffin, my grave

In ******* detonation of undiluted words

Concentrated, full, a blue fire of energized thrusts

Sustaining uninterrupted creation of imagery

There is sand in my pockets

I am waiting on it to turn to gold

I discard my shoes but retain their holes

*** did you hear him speak

Is it a mask

I really do not know

then *** you

I love them!!!!!

In the shallow capacity of a dream

Whose nightmare is compulsive

Whose argument is a melancholy

Of intoned attuned contradictions

Of that which is arguably another

With an express made more sober

By an emphasis of obscure fragmentation’s

That effects, in ambiguous contradictions

Mists that conjure in artificial reluctance

An unwrapping pretense that grows heavy in the palm

Making sleeping bruises weep

Those that have placed themselves

By treaty or inheritance upon a soul

And embalm a presence

On announcement of resurrection

For those who awake

I have seen their hands
Fingers that go everywhere
Those that wrest
ambivalence from themselves
To see a beautiful boy

There is….

There is…

Do you hear it

The color, the color

of a wall what r

Is there an r

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….