…and upon the turbulent storms of thought
bodies are abandoned
driven with a canabalizing
anticpition of deathlessness
that in effortless frequencies
selects that which can never be reclaimed
whose deliberate movements
recollect those tangents
that preclude inquiry and articulate themselves
in an awareness of vanishing imagination
that by its estrangement
visits the  finding of its self
in unifying bonds
that emphasizes the
immediate shape of shared perception
as of a field turning blue
in moonlight under snow

it migrates into purgatory fashions

and plays like a quiver on the nerves

oh so rich art thou in artifice

that would have me believe

in a cold and unattributed consciousness

like an infestation of infant prodigies  

for it is a vicariousness of viciousness

that leaves the music of C Major

devoid of untold homage

and a singular letter on a scale

is it a transmusicality of mutation

punctuated by red felt tip notes

for all music is life

the life of C Major in the time

of vicious vicariousness

It is a replicable dialectic

that swirls in my mind

like a spiral of cigarette smoke

covering fluctuations

of diffused expanses

of transferable hallucinated images

relying on an artificial artificiality

to generate a reality

one that amplifies a calisthenics

of maximized reduction

in the blank vacuum of space

allows those sophistication’s

where there is a scrutiny

of exclusions

that may perhaps betray

the concepts of others

those correlatives

of our own creative interirority

where a mind may repeal a transgression

for it is breakfast in the time

of the Wizard Pig

there is a numbed feeling
one of exclusivity
that suggests
a solitary reconnaissance
one of orientated purposes
where moods are reflectively animated
in individual focus
in order to infiltrate
a non sharing experience
but the feeling abruptly stops
it is a synchronized wound
it is the assassination
of the distant and complex
terminals of the human mind
i am irretrievably shocked
poeple live
but there are really no survivors

there is a strangeness
it hovers
hovers like an unspoken word
or an unshared sorrow
floating in the air
beckoning with
articulated device
it means to kiss me, I think
what is it, what is this that hovers so
and would take possession of my lips
leave upon them an impression of
indentured love
that would if so allowed linger
with imprinted hope of
future taste and would lay upon my heart
an imploration of immaculate understanding
what is this strangeness

my breath is gone
a misquoted understanding
it is initiated by
lost geometric dimensions
of consciousness
a sensory experience
unlocatable, ecstatic
reveals an unexpected discovery
that binds cannot have
constriction of
leaves independent physical space
it is the color of a realized hallucination
like trying to find ones reflection
in Shiva mirrors

Moscow now lies at an angle
An angle to the other side of silence
It is here where you don’t see me
When asked may we say nothing
Unnatural relations, unnatural relations
Are the unnatural words used
Ha, ha, ha,
But we are articulate flesh
What is  
unnatural, unnatural, unnatural
It is unnatural to deny
A vast majority of the human existence
Moscow now lies at an angle
To the other side of silence