Death is death
It is unmistakable
Today I looked into your eyes
And saw more love and calm
Than ever before
I saw in you
An inner peace,
A sanctum shroud
In honour
I heard from you a voice,
Strong and bold,
That had eluded me
Until today.
I felt you
Through my lips
As I placed
A silent kiss
A ripple through my soul
As your love
Flooded
Like my tears
And I said goodbye
Despite not really
Wanting to.
There is love
And there is love.
Thankyou and goodbye.

Today
Life is
A shade
Of dark and royal
Blue.
Today I am concrete,
I am ricochet,
And I am sliding
Like a shadow
Off a wall.
I stand tall
But the sun
Provokes
My silhouette
To shrink and shrivel
And I appear small
To those above me.
They are the wall
I am the nook,
Cavernous and angled
Tucked, chipped and caved
I am ocean spray
And secrets whispered
In the wind.
Blue white and Grey
I am ricochet,
And they are the bullet.
Echoes of emotion and
Commotion;
Like man
I am from mars
And I crawl into myself,
My hole
In my wall.
Today I am small.

Where to begin
I think to myself as I submerge
my thoughts
In you and what it is that
Gives the tick to your tock.
I think of your eyes
And the depth
That lies
Folded within
Green and brown
Layered
Life
Disguised
And smiling.
Lost glasses
And lager
That comes in pints
Accompanied by
Epic
And
Blatant
Action and statement
Your energy blasts
Fast and furious
Frenzy
I sense more to you
Than what meets my eye.
And in that thought
I lie
Here now
Creased brow
In anticipation of knowing you more.
I think of your nails
And the way they touch
Me deeper than
The welts
That are kissed
Crimson stain
Onto my skin.
Your essence
Seeps inside
Within
And bleeds out of my body
Through my lips
As I savour
The flavour
That makes
You taste
So simply
Divine.
You have this way
Of ceasing time
And pausing
The beat of my heart.
Just a smile
Is all it takes
And your laugh,
The way your eyes
Drop low,
The dip of your neck and
The way you glance up
And out from
Under your
Fringe.
You unhinge
The door
That stands
Shut and heavy
Before
My eyes
Wide open
Surprise
As you storm
Into my soul
And take whole
My delight
And spin its
Weave
Into gold.
I am sold
On you
And your cold hands
Warm heart.

Where to begin
I think to myself as I submerge
my thoughts
In you and what it is that
Gives the tick to your tock.
I think of your eyes
And the depth
That lies
Folded within
Green and brown
Layered
Life
Disguised
And smiling.
Lost glasses
And lager
That comes in pints
Accompanied by
Epic
And
Blatant
Action and statement
Your energy blasts
Fast and furious
Frenzy
I sense more to you
Than what meets my eye.
And in that thought
I lie
Here now
Creased brow
In anticipation of knowing you more.
I think of your nails
And the way they touch
Me deeper than
The welts
That are kissed
Crimson stain
Onto my skin.
Your essence
Seeps inside
Within
And bleeds out of my body
Through my lips
As I savour
The flavour
That makes
You taste
So simply
Divine.
You have this way
Of ceasing time
And pausing
The beat of my heart.
Just a smile
Is all it takes
And your laugh,
The way your eyes
Drop low,
The dip of your neck and
The way you glance up
And out from
Under your
Fringe.
You unhinge
The door
That stands
Shut and heavy
Before
My eyes
Wide open
Surprise
As you storm
Into my soul
And take whole
My delight
And spin its
Weave
Into gold.
I am sold
On you
And your cold hands
Warm heart.

Smiles
And kisses
For stiches
Sunshine,
You make my heart
Beat
If ever I were
To wish again
I would wish only for the same.

I cant be everywhere
Inside their minds
And holding firm
Within my own.

I have sewn
My name
Onto my sleeve
So as not to forget
Who I am
and to remember where
I came from
I have drawn a map
Inside my heart
Caged and inked
And spread
Smudged
And corners
Leafed
And burning

I am only here
For now
I can see you
All.

I’m sitting here
Alone
And its cold
And
I desperately
Need to ***.

But my ****
Is stuck to the
Leather seat
Of my chair
Not a care for my bladder
See, apathy matters.

You said not to burden myself?
Say what
Speak up
I cant hear you?
Yours is mine and mine
Is yours
And baggage is still heavy
With someone else’s
Name tag on it.

******,
I cant just hear you
And try not to listen
What kind of friend would I be
Cold apathy
And dystrophy
Of the heart.

When lovers
Meet
And defeat
The unknown chill
Of strangeness,
Together they take on
And become
Like moss to the sea
And fossil set in
Stone.

We are portraits
alone
In our twisted
Insecurity
But together we are
Landscapes
Painted tint
and obscurity.

The burden is only the beginning.

And so I dug into you
So deep
That in One thousand years
You could not cover the same in miles.

And I kissed you with kisses laced with smiles.

It is through being;
My touch;
That my love can flow free
And you will see
That some things
Cannot be said
But forever committed
To flesh
Instead.

Lover boy
Dear man
I swim beside you
Inside you
And wholly within

It is a sin
To hold tongue
And bated breath
When your
Body
So responds
To mine.

You said to me
Stand strong and firm
And by mast you would
Set sail.
Stay and sate
Our love would prevail
The rampant hunger
That swells
The tide
and draws
The moon
Baited and starved
Into the night

Yet here I am
Alone at sea
With only the breeze
For company.
A seagulls song
And the sound of calamity
Lapping and slapping
At my ego.



Like bounty
Lost And found
In darkness and depth
And heaving chests
With rusty locks
And ghosts
Stirred and stricken

I cry silent and taken by the deep
I am green with envy that you might want me.

I am left to the birds
Stark at my post
And sailing single
In this boat built for two
I need you
To want me
Navigate and steer
And plot the course
Of my flesh
Saline sweat and brackish
Brine.



I am not a ****
Cast upon shore
A ***** to the
Land-walker
No more.

I am ballast
And tempest
Uproar.

Downwind
I wait for your
Scent/
The descent
Of your body in mine.

I have time
And rhyme
And sailors song
To while the time
In which I long
And sailing alone
You will find me
Your boy lost at sea

Funny place
That one by the beach
Where the water is pink
And every evening,
Windswept,
The sun kisses at
Crests
Of summit surf.

Waves that have
Tasted blood spilt
For fun and patriotic pain.
White face
And sand
And green and gold
And blue, red, and white
Bruised fight
Each dollar spent,
Sins repent
We were born here
******* y’all
And don’t come back now
Y’hear
Ya ****** queer.
No one welcome
Eyes avert
Man
And woman
And seagulls
Picking and screaming
At the debris
Of society.
You’re free
To ******* now
Y’hear.

We ate eggs
And layed in bed
And ******
Whilst looking
At the view
Nothing to do
Other than stare
And care
Captured
And fulfilled
Within each others eyes.
Oysters
And bomb-diving
Seagulls
And Scissor for hands
Without any sound.

Kodak moments
And dressups
Like cowboy
Dapper dan’s
And pomenade.

Coffee and Belgium beer bars
And pirates with patches for eyes.

Silver trayed room service
And a mat for our feet at the side
Of our bed.
And daddy’s boy
With a cammo ****
Underneath
A Cheshire grin

And for five
Short hours
We walked
And talked
And were kept
Enthralled
By the allure
Of retail
Therapy

We accessorised
As if fashion
Were to cease tomorrow
Silver and tins
And etchings in time.
Then tie pins and scarves
And hats with wide brims.

We were lost
In a city of
Bright lights
And street art
And didgeredo’s
And bag ladies with more
Luggage
Than Sydney international terminal.

Bell boys
And valet
And privacy lights
Respite and
2 nights
of enjoying each day
from the
25th floor

Door slam..
*******
Ma'am.
Take your tude'
i ****** your mother.
******.
Word.

Sit, stay, fetch, heel.

So good i have become
at controlling the rage
that I'm bound and cant feel
the truth
anymore.

So quiet and caged
(with the key in my hand)

Despondent and broken
with only myself as my
keeper.
Well heeled, like a dog.
On a chain.
(down boi down)

I wouldn't know freedom
if it slapped me in the face.
(those gloves, those hands, are mine)

I am my keeper
and for that
i despise
my charge.

Talking just the 3 of us
Me, Myself, and I
found a cafe in my mind,
sippin lattes
killin time.

Found a common topic,
the presence of my mind.
Thought we'd try and analyse,
but thought not to waste the time.

Shootin the breeze
with all three different
me's...
Life is like a latte'
time killed,
milk spilled
and a napkin to soak up
the tears.

shower.

Small boy sitting and thinking
crouched in the shower
alone
(for now)
Deep in thought
shallow in action.
Little boy crying and
screaming inside.
As the water
relieves each sin and
conscience settles in.
Feeble boy drained and
soaked as the worries
of the day wash away.

This is no life for a soldier
a survivor of wars.
So young for an old soul
So old for a young boy.
Quiet boy who cannot help but to
hear the roar of discontent
raging from within.
Little boy scared of the familiarity
of a life lost to sorrow.
A sobbing boy drowning in sadness
wishing only to smile but alas,
alone in the shower, crouched down low
there is no show of solidarity,
only solitude.

Green pastures.
Verdant, like peas and pine.
This timid display of jealousy
of me, myself and mine.

Then crimson red
shades of fury
too wild like tulip kisses
too fluent to bury.

And blue songs
lyrical sadness
waxing my tongue
with thier tepid tune.

These colours before time
rolled into rhyme
representing each crime
committed, eyes closed.

Tonight you're black and white.

cammo

I'm swimming in blue cammo
Eyes closed
a vision within.

(Just holding each breath)

A million bubbles
trapped beneath
a sealed and silent
surface. My lips. Languid desire.
                                                  (I can feel them/behind my eyes)
Blue and black
Shades of grey                            (sweet disguise)
myriad moments
uncoloured by time                      (in blue, everything is you, disguised)

Only trapped like lime
in stone.

I cant breathe when i'm swimming in you.

Fake it till you make it

comic sigh

I'm laughing
so that each
forced smile
doesnt echo alone,
thunderous, beguiled,
each smile
a testament to
fake it till i make it.

I can lose you in this laughter.

so unprepared for
such a lack of
inspiration.
Theres nothing worse
than an
insular soul
with no cross to bear.
A voice without a message
is like a knife without a vein.

sick of your...

Every time you spit in my mouth
with your visceral vehemenence
i wonder to my wits end
Did you kiss your other lovers
with that poluted ***** mouth?
Does it make you feel bigger?
or more in control?
Does it tickle your fancy
to be taking your toll
On me and us and what could be ours.

Im sick of your words.

Your attitude
slung low on your hips
biting
deleteriously
loose from your tongue.
Tonight im not crying
just tired and perturbed
you're a tyrant to my self,
an echo disturbed.

I want to hate you for this
While i love you for the other,
but who am i to blend the boundaries of
love and hate?

and your love is the balm
you say?
that eases the pain,
keeps the demons
at bay.

I disbelieve you now
amidst this tendered rhyme,
spoiled stitch in time,
that is binding your lexis
to my tongue.

You're in my head.

and i dont like to savour
the rotted flavour
that is your shadow of doubt,
seeded so deeply in the terrain
of your self triggered drought.

Im sick of your words.

Ghostwriter

"Dear Diary" said the scribe onto the page. "What is it i wonder, that inflates my **** to as big as my ego when i write about myself + take the time to pretend that i care?

Tick Tock

fix-it-man

A voice to drive this passion.

Transitional transcendental trapped
betwixt
The written and the spoken
word.
A restless journey
dependent on interpretation and perception.

Then to become of word into form.
To breathe ink and birth creation
into reality.
Then i could sing these words and dance to each rythmic strain.
It would be life lived as it is written.

If time will provide.

Then of course this discourse will close the gap and bring me closer to myself.

Oh Myself! You're back again, how i missed you and your self indulgent interest.
If only you were there, the spectacle, you see, was me.
And for a nano-chromatic passing of time, you and me, us, you see, we were actually, honestly, one and the same.
The spoken word had become the written and with little contamination from self, had become true and of conscience.

And i call myself a scribe? as i pen a silent voice with softly spoken conviction

blooms to dust

Im losing sight of
You
in this black and white
Gausian blur
of  timeless pain.
Im losing sight of me
in this blighted plane
of quasi symptomatic
existence.
Do you hear the words in my head
as the scramble to
untangle
the mess
you've left behind?
The pills still thrill
but acid tongue
does wash down
pain
again again again.
Rotary madness:
this rhetorical drift
of  love
fighting
life
fighting
worth
loving
nothing,
save for
pain.
Yes, again,
i ask of you only
to bury my heart beside yours
as the blooms turn to dust
and
the composition of our love decays.

Comfotably numb-without the Floyd

Comfortably numb
not dumb:

Just mute.

Riding silence
instead of life.

A presence atrophied.
An altered mind.

The kind
of
High
that drops you low.
The kind of stale
that leaves you pale

And weak at the knees

Id cry,
only tears take time
and the
seasons
will change
without waiting
for
my voice
to saturate
my face.

Translucent
liquid nuggets.
...
noiseless
as they slide
off the record
and onto my plate.

I'd offer you a bite
but
we all know
what happened to the hand that
fed
the hunger.

You look at me
as if
i were a ghost,
a spectre:
The nightmare
that anticipates your every
move.

Look in the mirror
for
an emulation
of the degenerate
debris
that is,
was,
has become,

U/us.

Comfortably numb.
in this
miasma:
This miriad of  mechanical madness.

I can hear the wind

The darkness consumes

A room
Darkened
but for the
resonating brightness
of
Pain.

Yes Sir, i can hear the wind, but your silence is blinding.

Stale stone
cold
eyes.

Dont  leave me alone, the light is gone
my hands are empty and my vision sold.
I need.

A cellular
place
to exist
in Silence
and code.

A shadow to my grief. A widow to my pride.

This is my Land.
These are my walls.
Faith
tests more than
just limits.

Dont leave,
I can hear the wind
I need.

Silence.

drank the bullet

I drank the bullet
{mercury silk}
from your mouth
{so dry}
as you came
{then left}
fast and bidding
again
without moments pause
to reflect on
who was
shooting who?

survival is cheap

This is how i feel
this onion peel
discarded
shell of wasted empathy//
this is how i taste
this furry filthy *****
waste
of
flavours savoured.
This is how it feels
inside
to die
then lie
in hope of faith
restored.

Sitting
while it rains
outside
my thoughts.
The seasons storm
while thiniking//pausing//stroking
i climb back into the safety
of my mind.
it is mine.
To hibernate
a pleasure
brief but
still so much
grief to grieve.
A cliche,
this damp patch
of regrown
faith.
This testament to
survival.
perhaps not the fittest,
but always
a stayer.

Dear ****** diary

I know i'm not alone
but i'm tired of talking to
myself.
Outside of these walls seems
so very
far away.
I never dreamt i'd learn to love
this life,
then feel as if i'd given myself away
in pursuit of
a different me.
I cant see past my lies.
I cant breathe through this smoked
den of
filth and anxiety.
This is like drowning
without the
******
of death.
This is like suffering.
All over again.
And i thought i was
all and encompassing,
but i am only
small and encumbering.
for every day i live this life
(of filth and lies and strain)
i hope there is another
where i am raw
and can still
feel the pain.

I come unstuck when it seems
That my influence
is not enough
and solution is the job at hand.
When I don’t have an answer
And can only be me
And all that I see
Are boxes
And clouds
Floating in my mind
Unattached and
Drifting
Lost in thought
And a whisper in the wind.
I am of whim and fancy
And fleet passing thoughts
That mean the world to me
Free and flotsam
Ebbing
Then crashing
And bits and pieces of me
Wash up along the shore
To be picked up and carried
Like bounty and wealth
And good health
Clasped
Tight delight
Within a treasured chest.
I crash and thrash
Each day
I pray
That I can be
For you
For me
A lighthouse
Tall and proud
A beacon in the dark
When my presence is the essence of the solution.

You are a jigsaw boy
A piece amongst pieces
Like chess,
A token on a board
Are you the pawn boy?
Or just the Queen
Dressed up like a King?
Makin’ moves
And grooved
You are worn
By time boy
Manhandled and played
Displayed
Like a ***
Of monopoly dollars
Dyed parchment
You are spent
However
You are classic
And everlasting
Boy.

Little kitten
i would have your
purr
and bristle fur
inside of you
i'd be lion
strong
And you could scratch
and cut
and use me as your
post.
And i would drink you
up
up up
my tongue my throat
a
vestibule in time
catching and licking and suckin
and taking you in
sublime.
All fluid and raw flesh and blood
My hunger for you is feline *** canine
Bloodthirst, this urge
this roar
inside of me
for you.
Animal intent
I am your awakening,
the ache to your throb
you pulse through my veins
and i want to be taken
in your claws.

You are not submissive
and i am not Domme
but you'd melt in my paws.
Up high
Against a wall
i would carry you on my shoulders
your back against the wall
and drink and breathe and become your flesh
from within you i'd break and re-mould
and detail the design of your love
for me.

I would be your strength
embodied
a boy of flesh
of depth
of passion
of friendship
fashioned intrinsically
with love and
Oneness.

I can only be the only one.

I feel a familiar wave
Of apathy
Washing, creeping, aching
over me
That self propelled
Ignorant kind of numb admission
That reaches into the bleeding
redness
Of your heart
And wraps black
Stained greyscale
Morbid pale
fingers around the
Aorta
Choking
Silencing
Encoding
A defence
Repeated
Completed time and again
Pre worn
And cut up
And burnt
like a leather
Shield, a muddied bloodied field
War ready



This is a Mexican stand off
Where the pistols
Pull their own pins
This is a temple
Unforgiving of sins.

I can hear a call
For help echoing
Through the death grip
Of regularity
But the voice is familiar
And if I remember correctly
It fades after time.
The voice is mine
one of many
The cry is loud
But habits old are hard to break
And, after all, a rolling stone
Will gather no moss
moss ,enough I have already.
And with the ignorance comes
A steady.
And with the steady
There comes a surface calm.
And with that calm I can sit
At one in a room with myself
And not find cause to cry.
(despite the never ending, it will always be ok)

You know
I held you
I felt you
I wrapped you up
And unstitched my skin
With invisible scissors
For you to slip into
To imbue
Like glue
I stayed
steadfast and ready
I held on for dear life
Through your restless night
My feet contoured around yours
My arms a blanket in your dreams
Small brown birds
For hands
That fluttered
A delicate mess
Of visions
To loud for your
Eyes
closed
Your head in my shoulder
Body curled
You
So small
So big
Love
Needing
And me
So wanting
To be there
In truth
Consoling and Chaste.
I breathed you in
And presented my presence
Like never before
I opened a door
That then became dust
A shadowland trust
Forged dark in the dawn
Of y(our) sorrow.

I am cage fights with boys and girls alike
I am splintered hardwood floors
kneeling/crawling/hard working
indoor/outdoor
day/night.
I am balled fists
Open palms
I am Chains and
a footstool timbered from my back.
A rent boy with vices
I am violence/dicord/visceral
Bloodied and mean.
A machine built of sinew
made for binding/unbinding
lashing and flogging
I am a service receptacle
a boy built of honour
of instinctual intellect
of bruises and bandages
i am cut and torn
roped and worn.

Ribs
and pointy sticks
and scarlet ribboned
sanguine teeth
all down my side
they slide
from chest
to rib
they bite
from skin
to smile.
I itch and scratch
and nick and pick
and all the while
a supple
smile
licks
flavoured
at my lip.

Pretty as a picture
Gilled and arced
small crescents
and the presence
of an ornate touch.
So much
{silence} unsaid,
{sweat} unspent,
{sense} unfelt,

Choked and bound
skin ground
and breathing
beneath the blade.

Trussed
and
Trust

Etched seamless
strokes

Volatile,
then comes the
Calm.

Wordsmith
Writer
Of songs
Of sounds
That roll
Quietly full
From his lips
In short shallow whispers to himself
He sings
He breathes
Stories
Passion, love, belief
From grief
Then right on through to gladness
He climbs mountains
With slippery letters for feet
And sails the seventh sea
Pieces of flotsam forming tidings
Of vision, rock pools of  indecision
A collision of the imagination and tangibility
Penning of peril and threat
Breaking cold sweat
Cigarettes and coffee stains
Window sill
And rattling chains
He shakes cobwebs down
With etched verbose
For a broom
In his clandestine room
That serves as a scribers sanctuary.
Sewing, threading
Silk worm stitching
He is itching
To fill
To spill
To take the thrill from his heart
Straight onto the page.

I feel a familiar wave
Of apathy
Washing, creeping, aching
over me
That self propelled
Ignorant kind of numb admission
That reaches into the bleeding
redness
Of your heart
And wraps black
Stained greyscale
Morbid pale
fingers around the
Aorta
Choking
Silencing
Encoding
A defence
Repeated
Completed time and again
Pre worn
And cut up
And burnt
like a leather
Shield, a muddied bloodied field
War ready



This is a Mexican stand off
Where the pistols
Pull their own pins
This is a temple
Unforgiving of sins.

I can hear a call
For help echoing
Through the death grip
Of regularity
But the voice is familiar
And if I remember correctly
It fades after time.
The voice is mine
one of many
The cry is loud
But habits old are hard to break
And, after all, a rolling stone
Will gather no moss
moss ,enough I have already.
And with the ignorance comes
A steady.
And with the steady
There comes a surface calm.
And with that calm I can sit
At one in a room with myself
And not find cause to cry.
(despite the never ending, it will always be ok)

He' a furtive
sneaky quiet boy
scraps of stories at his tongue
Small slips of strings
waiting to be pulled
Undone;
He is nothing without his lies.

Sitting there
with a smile
tattooed
imbued
lips stitched
with invisible thread,
not misread
more unwritten.

He sits smitten
by his undisclosed.
He sits savouring,
favouring the silent stealth
of hidden words.
His privacy is coded, arcane,
It sustains his urge
to keep his as his,
a little something
for his soul, his
alone to feed on.
His alone to feel.

Sad Sailor songs
and a roll my own
staining brown carcinoma
spit and strand
upon my lip.

Close my eyes
and hear bells,
i can feel them
pealing through
the quiet slippery air.

I can sense
without feeling
An urge without
momentum
{ripples in the breeze}
whispering trees,
this disease
(a spreading sadness)
a badness
sliding, slinking
ink and blight
into the bidding
night.

A smear upon each
dead
shining (dying) star.

Smoke curl, unfurl
and waiting, watching
for another
starry tear to
slide off
the burnt out
face of
the sky.

Life moving fast
Like storm cell rain
Washing, running
Torrent and quickly
Through the drains.
Some daze,
In this cold and constant place
I wish I were a folded paper boat
Tipping, curving crests, afloat
And chasing the stream
Downwind.
Away and washing clean
A waxed vessel
Escaped
Pouring through
Concrete flooring.
I would steer for the sea
On waves awash with
Urban weeds
Detritus sweeping across
The deck
Of my paper boat built
For one.
I would run
With the water
A creased and soggy me
All folded and falling apart
At the seams.

No feelings
No depth
No core to strike the iron hot
Upon.
I regret to inform you Sir
That I have lost the capacity
To care,
That I have dropped the
Ephemeral Ball of belief
And have become tangled
Undone.
A shallow
Hollowed
Cracked
Broken and busted
Shapely shell
That contains only dust,
Particles of Mistrust

I am bumpy rolling stone
No moss collected
Just cleft reflected
On a surface
Not shy or unscarred of pain.

This is today
This empty decay
This is now, this dust cloud
Caught trapped aloof and uncaring.

(Frustration)
It's not working,
all this grinding of the
literical wheel.
Push push slide.
Trying to find
a part of me
from the deep;
inside.
Something pulled out and
penned, something to like,
to love, to call my own and wear
with pride.
It's not working tonight.

All that's left is the taste of
too much tobacco
high and dry in my palate.
All thats left is an empty milk bottle
and not enough black coffee in the world
to wire open my eyes.

These pages are lies
the minute they leave my fingertips.
The words are fleeting
These feelings brief

There is only grief
for the loss of my tongue
when i need it the most.
When i need it to speak
from my heart
despite not hearing
it beat.

Helpless
speechless
Doubtless wasting
my time.

The world I’m living in is getting smaller
The walls are closing in
And every thing feels
A little warmer.
Reaching out
(I’m wearing gloves,
too hot to touch bare skinned)
I feel for the impermeable skin
Of reality
Moving in
(I can’t breathe in,
the air is thick, congested.)
The partitions
Between
Dreaming and Real
Are becoming a radial blur
Of movement and confinement
Trying
(aspiring)
to share a space;
A geometric pace
Of shapes and shifting,
I am drifting
Only to sink
again
to the bottom
of the world,
where the stars are grey against
a pitch black (falling down)
sky.
Sing me a lullaby,
Close my eyes,
And sleep me through the
Slow death of falling walls.

Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.

Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
Only.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
Exist
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.

I am lost and falling
Crawling, a shadow
Sliding oil slick against the wall
defined
By another man’s
rising/waking/dying
sun.
Not knowing how I feel
About growing old alone.
Alone is where I started
And alone is where it ends.
Not sure if I like
The way
My heart keeps beating
To a different drum.
Always the unsure
Forever unknowing
On my knee’s
And going going going
Down then gone
A day will come
A time will turn
And fallen I won’t rise again.