This life, although startling in its brilliance,
remains confined to the electrical shadows
cast on the walls of our brains.

Do you ever feel…
no, no, no
not feel.
Well maybe feel...
or sense…
that everlasting something

sometimes off in the distance I can see…

I’d love to take my hands
and, like the meaty instruments they are, dance
sweet symphonies up and down
your body.
Your mysterious mountains I wish to see closer
to land my ***** machine
among majestic silver seas and
strange beautiful grass of green.

I would use my subtle touch to say
what I couldn’t any other way and
drag you down to the depths.

But things are not so simple
in life
as in our thoughts,
nor so rough
as our poor idiotic language.

Every hand, give me your hand.
I’ll talk to you, you wont understand.

These electrical shadows cry at the ultimate,
but our mere conception shames it.
Like the dream tigers we desperately try to craft
they continue to disintegrate
like the castles made of sands,
rocks piled on rocks
reaching for the stars.

The firmer the hold,
the quicker it slips away.
“Just try squeezing the truth from water,”
the angels sing to me in my sleep.

And it’s the love of dreams
which is so greedy for recognition
swiftly performed in the sight of all.

And it’s the waves I feel…
well maybe not feel.
And I wanna say “*******”
because I still love you.

I sense…
well maybe not sense…
And I feel
my soul being slit up as if by a razor.
frenzied but beautiful and
an awful ambiguity grinning over it all,
cackling out the Tao’s opening words,
lukewarm to the point of being
enigmatic,

“The truth that can be told, that is no eternal truth.”

I guess after the laughter, then comes the tears.

*******, Lao Tzu
and your ****** ancient wisdom.

Why you staring at my finger when I’m pointing at the moon?
I got nothing at all.
The center, unapproachable
forever.

You’re willing to die you coward
but not to live.

*Love life more than the meaning of it.

When life comes to a point of light
trapped between the folds of dreams,
something needs to be done
in order for me to let go
and keep moving on.

When the light filters through the branches,
through my window shades
and through my sleepy eyes,
it hums me a tune of lost planets
and their eleven moons
playing amongst the rings.

The sweet nectar melody calls
and I start to walk.

I walk away slow into the languid ooze
humming and stepping the song
I will never remember
even if I choose to.

I walk slow,
as if I come from so far away
I never expect to arrive.
And that’s just perfect.

The sky and the street
and the breath of the trees
gently caress and remove the stress
in void waves of undulating bliss.

To free my mind and body
of the barbed spikes
that rob the eternity trapped in each moment,
I got to keep walking,
because if I stop
thoughts of the past
and worries of the future
collapse my ability to see, to hear, to feel
and to breathe.

I walk slow.
I got nowhere to go.
I got a moment stretched to infinity.

And that’s just perfect.

split finger tips
numbly bat
at the bits of memory
scattered in the snow

their touch slowly recedes
deep
to the sunken eyes

these helpless orbs
guide pathetic hands
fumbling with that forgotten feel

they watch as jagged shards
of broken senses
tear at paper skin
to reveal frozen veins
gasping for one spurt
of lovely red life
to ignite in the white

listen,
the final whisper winds
along breathless fissures

my cold love sighs to see
the first few fingers
into ghostly splinters shatter
and
without much fuss
drift back to the snow

go home
the musics
over
take cover
alone
not
forever
get ******
enter drone
run down
the list
of things
forgot
find
the zone
hits
the spot
taste
edge
makes sense
when
music stops
retrace
eyes
find
their stare
inside
the mind
kind
relaxed
void
slows
down
time
the musics
done
quiet
quite silent
echoes
off
skull sides.

When not doing anything
      is ludicrous
despite its obvious appeal.
To hold back from
      the pleasures
and how good they would feel

It’s not like I had a choice,
but my fasting continues.
Giving up for a spell
the **** that greases my mind,
the love that lets me sleep,
the spark that ignites me.
I’ll admit,
it’s probably for the best.
It’s like they say,
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

However,
here I am
awake
when I should be quietly slumbering
tucked comfortably into my head.
Instead I face
what will eventually come,
the theme of my youth
abruptly wrenched from me.

No one wants to be dependent,
but I am addicted,
confined to a cage
of my own construction.
A cage with comfy chairs
and all the confections
I need
to occupy my machine.
I’ll scuttle back there and
this particular fast will end soon enough
but I feel the end creeping up.
Its only day four,
and things are getting pretty weird.

Oh, you'd do well
to show me
how you move
and prove
you are who spewed
that spell
that sent me spiraling down
to this watery hell.

Tentacles drag at my heels
and menace my habitat,
of which contained
only a bit of that bad ****.

Now I'm wallowing in it
up to my neck
and I can't quit
choking on these eels and snakes
crawling outta the holes
in my face.

It makes for quite a spectacle
when a maniacal grin
spreads with slime
and slithers further
into the water.

It dissolves and withers
as it grasps at the miracles
swarming and spiraling
high above me.

It oozes and seeps
until it covers all I see.
The sea is alive with feelers
stretched out to reach
the pinnacle
I had tried once to keep.

Now I'm down here
breathing in the salt water
and the filth,
screaming at the sky
and dreaming of the guilt
I had once
when the sun warmed my face
and all fell under
the one light,
where nobody hates
the liquid they are
making it in.

So, I'll ask you again,
how is it you dragged me down
into this freezing marine oblivion?
And how did you give me
these gills
and these fins
that make life
under these unctuous waves
almost bearable?