The difference between not having access
And not currently accessing :

We exist in the motion blur between moments

We bridge that gap every instant

Rather than be fused into paralysis within a caged world
We flutter through it all like
Glass breaking quietly


The machines do not have time.
Only a map of each moment .

We are
Striders between.

Everyday we trade away
Our
Memories for new ones
At the hands
Of unseen multitude devil moments :
Time .


In strong pursuits, we ask :
What is more valuable than gold ?

If
Lead is the alchemic force of rage,
It was used as an ingredient
In the making of the world

And
What do alchemists seek , if not the greatest treasure?
Not gold - a ready answer perhaps, for the convenient dismissal of
Fools who ask un-earned secrets of their
Masters .

No.
What do we seek, if not :
Tomorrow, itself?

And in doing so,
Become gods // spoken, these golden threads spun through like serpents along and
Down the tapestry of
The truest
Creation
      Myth .

We want only
Tomorrow.and a way to make it
Our
Own .

Can your mind conceive of it
Can your heart yearn for it
Can your hands make it
Real.

.you are a slow burn at the bottom of an ancient crater_
a hole in the chain link fence.





i am the broken clasp of your necklace,
your
knees buckling at the sight of
the job



//




Wielding a perfected form of
Inward
Arrogance.like obsidian mail


Sleeping like
Dragons upon great spoils

You are the arrow aimed true at the missing scale above the
Heart

Myself, having been roused to
Action -
Once last

There are only ways
And the time we spend
Together.

As we sway
Like stone statutes
Under the tideless
Moon

As
We
/Cold marble/
The night
Away .

As we plummet,
Wet-winged to the
Sea .

And
Me ,
Gun-faced    as
Children .

Wolf-mouthed , as
Love .

Bring me your/cities
To
Wipe   spittle-edge  .lips

With something to
Grip

To grip
T0

  .grip



I



   grip.you

All human emotion,
Is what we want to say.

Basking in the dead neutrino glow
Like forgotten serpents in the pit of
Dawn’s feeble attempt at breaking

A
Perpetual crepuscular
Homogeneity
Tucked in too tight at the bed-corners

Asphyxiating the
Sleeping
Beauty of

Mankind ,

A quiet
Thrill,

A peace
Broken by
Kinetic frenzy
Slowing
Down .

And you,
The
(uncertain) Cloud /
Grinding to a
Haunted
h a u l t .
h a l t .

Inside our gut
Gurgling forth it’s ancient
Hive
Mind

Mastabatory self righteousness in the
Plastic heart of the
Androcyne  

Churn
Churn
Churn.

There is an incredible somber
Poignancy in the phrase :
Don’t be a stranger

It is a plea upon the continual shaping world
And those who will remain within it
Bounds
For all time to
Come

dis/belonging ,
The broom-swish thrush (******)
curtain.fall of

your
lash-filled
scan

hits the side of
  my .  body      like

        [  ___ ] .






   zip-fold me  .   into

jackets
     full of
It .

.


   the ripples in purple fabric wrapped loosely around your crumpled
Frame  :

The
small ghosts seeking refugee between each automated
Stitch  ,
Which
Creates basket-hole //
Blanket-sof,t cubby-units
For
Respite after wandering

Store me away there for
Later.    
   alligator .


Radiate
Out
From

The film under your
Eyelids / it’s
Unbroken meniscus
World ,

Hiding
Big creatures
There From the.   interruptive
  view of
Mankind  .




Prism  .
Gun.
You





   /and
other short stories about the
  making of the.universe

In this age of instant gratification and expanding hive mind at our fingertips,
A 2D projection of the whole world is turning into one location .
These are the purest forms -
Untortured by corporeality .
These are the shadows at the back of the cave, if ever there has been .

With all of this here to observe and ponder ,
It would be disservice to ignore the nature of these tools -
This evolving human state

Man
Made
Man

And
The making has never yet
Stopped .

We may yet falter at the edge of the colliding tectonics /
Be crushed by nascent peaks /
Be swallowed by the sundering seas and cast into new abyssal reach

We may yet
Break apart into scattered pieces
At the cusp of escape velocity /
Disintegrate into nothing more than a debris cloud /
Serve only as a dusty web of obstruction for others who may come later to bat

We may
Become a spiteful
Net
That’s wrapping around the globe and the greatest artifact of all of our failures -
Ugly poltergeists looking only to hold back the light /
We may seek others only to
bring them down to our level, such that our memory doesn’t
Get
Left behind.


Or
we may hone a deeper focus
And a wider gaze of what Home really means


We seem to be afraid of knowing -
Of being .
We numb ourselves into perfectly manicured stupors ,
Cast roles for ourselves and the rest of the world such as to frame ourselves as victims of our very existence

How are we to know without knowing?
How are we to decide where to step without map of our footfalls?

If ignorance is bliss -
Then omnipotence must be a more supreme form of
Agony
Than felt ever before.

Yet here we find ourselves
Wanting both :
Seats at the pantheon - and also the kind of
Guidance
Offered to children.

Many
Demand it, even.
Demand everything.

What lowest common denominator
Will define us?

Shall we slumber
Ever
Again?
Shall we deserve to?

How will we recognize and be
Recognized?


How will we love?
Who will be worthy of such love?
Who will we dare to say are truly unworthy?


How much time do we have left to
Decide?











Here.
Now.
We.

keep pushing on ropes .   instead of untying our tongues
keep touching .   our sleeves to the table
like accidents in waiting
like breath on a bad neck  .i fight to remember     the touch of grass
i keep down
it's dust. it's talking behind the school yard
it is.
sunn beating down

the split door
glazy
doe-eyed
as a []



standing on the train, no hand holds

zip ofthe doorline oppening like leggy
flow like salt and diamonds chiming intercom
chinese bell

The spermicide in your voice
The sink drain spinning
     .After much coaxing


The hair clumps climbing in bromine drips

As the acid burnt label’s yellowing edge
Waits for  further  corrosion  in the cabinet

As we seek to photosynthesize.  Into greater     limbs reaching

We shed the jitters

Humble before the promise of our own smallness

We feel the growth in our bones.

Thin.

Not yet as a door.

Not as an ear.

Not yet as a scar.

Not yet as a shadow.

Not yet as a self.

Yet.

Yet.

The ebbing

Of your eager look

As we roll our eyes,

And are no longer noticed by each other’s fingertips.

And no matter how hard it comes down,
It never comes close.
Then, summer meant something other than sweating.
Then, we ran the abandoned shoppingcarts through pothole oceans on the side street behind the mall.
Later, she changed out of the wet clothes and came out pantsless in the oversized Sweatshirt that would define **** forever.


(With damp hair still clinging to the back of her neck)


And if all the sad anime teach us anything : It’s that when things change, they can never go back

The pen is mightier than the sword.

Yet, we find that the ink on the paycheck is mightier, still.

Is for everything to bother you.

A grief
To
Last

Learn fitness
From the cyber goth cam girl yogis
With big dreams

If there is any human history
Left to be written,
I hope that you will be
Remembered.

Oh. Oh. Shaboom.

.you are a slow burn at the bottom of an ancient crater_
a hole in the chain link fence.

i am the broken clasp of your necklace,
your
knees buckling at the sight of
the job.

What they call satan,
Is just self-awareness.

It’s a good time to be
Good
If you want the world to still be
There
The best to next to next day

It’s words
It’s the jazz
It’s the music.


The dancer’s waist,
Yearning to be
Grabbed.

Petri dish
Dead and cold under the little broken bulb in the silt-covered microscope

The hum of the refrigeration units
Suddenly cuts out
Leaving a deafening silence - even truer than before
The emergency power, now finally depleted
.

Sundering chorus pulled apart
Into stances//
Fanning out into a cacophonous god-Heart
And me.

Seeking council of the
Shoreline

Whitehead breaker
Drowning in the.wet
Air


You are what you search for :

Deranged reflection in the pantheon of
Spoons
Dripping dry by the kitchen
Sink
Flashes across the unknowable
World that wraps around every tiny surface that has ever
Been.

Buzz buzz.
Come the particles ,
Like electric.sand into our
Squinting
Gaze

In enclosing circles/and/between quick, jittering slices of their mantras .
Dropping staves of sing-song leaflets on the city from fluttersupreme
Aerial invasion

Discordant.diatonic_
A final, unheeded plea for
Human
Surrender


Warning the sleeping populace of impending
Obliteration   and
War.





They are here in my neighborhood,
As they have been
.

Rough-scuffed finger-tips
Touch the worn metal
Disk
Of the walk signal.
As the mad man blows polyphonic descending runs into a double saxophone
And screams raspy do-*** into the
Musky spring time

Oh yeah

Oh yeah.

We are

Smuckle berry
Finished
Here and

There was
A
Way
To
Behave

Is a shattered cathedral  .

Through the dusty air, hot light
Skitters across the corpse-cool
Glass

In perfect, manicured
Disarray.

1’ve been searching
In thrift stores and on eBay
For the kinds of windbreakers that were cool when I was
Little

I get to wear them now
And I know how

I pierced my ear a few years ago.
I did it myself with a hollow point needle
Slowly
But deliberately

And it was good.

I wear an earring everyday
To remind myself that I’m not
Dead
Yet. And it was something I wanted to do but never got around to it.

I’ve been
Making sure that I never stop
Growing.

I wilt like nothing  you’ve ever seen
In stagnation.

But I think the dog spit out her medicine tonight

I found it on the old hardwood
With tongue worn uncertainty

No dose must be better
Than double dose

With a custody so
Precious.

So I will hope she rests safely
Through the
Soft
Night.

And the late dinner can of minestrone in my
Grandmother’s last sauce ***
Smells like a lost thought of
Home

Home is
Something
I’ve been working very hard to
Dial-in.


My love
Is a pine-green toaster covered in
Crumbs.


And you
Are the bread I tried to bake from
Scratch
But I forgot to feed the wild yeast starter and landed with
Mold.

This time,
I will give
Thanks
To each pea and
Carrot
In my
Broth

All paths lead to certain death
Do something good along the way

Hip space dog
Peanut butter days are here again.

The name of the thing
Is not the thing /
The measurement of the thing
Is not the thing /
Nor, the unit of measurement /

The costume of the idea is not the idea /


That is to say,
The house is not made of wallpaper, nor
Paint


The words we are using ,
Serve as only the lowest common denominator  -
Seeds
Carried between
Islands

By movement in the air.

Things are much
More
Thing-ful
Than that

The
Gods
Have come
Home
To die

There is no true discipline :
Learn everything
And use the best of
Each

Good luck.

Heads adorned in plastic thorns
Teeter
Side-long across the neighbor’s dead
Lawn//:tongue-******* the anthill
Orifices.busy little workers for a
Long-dead god.


It’s an arms race out here
It’s race wars in their
Char broiled
Minds

It’s kindness, broken evermore .
Ring around the rosy-faced, ****-eating grins//:We all fall
Down.

The stairs still splinter out dry laughter, muffled in the gloaming plaster
Hall -
Spackle-rough to the cracked fingers running along those century old idiosyncrasies
I, belly-hurt to the passage and the passing of it
All.
I return there from excessively average physical distance _yet from many dynastic   Wheelings of
Contemplative
Removal.

A broken thing
And
I, the faithless
Steward -
Throneless
Amidst haunted
Kingdoms of a dismembered corpse-god
And other short
Stories


With threadbare
Memory of
Patterned bedsheets crumpled in perfect modelposed gesture of blissful entropy, the
Nearby school stadium spotlights still send tower beacons into the mist of the night
The cars still slur by in the wet black
Crackle and
Hiss
Destroying the fidelity of other songs in
Perfect, humming

Obfuscation .




Void-fellow, home
.

On the cusp of infinite knowledge
The human race
Shadow dances at the cleft
Face
Of the mountain

Daring the pits below
To invite it into belonging
There

Yet still reaching outwards
Embracing me one last time before
Flying.


Inviting me to hope and love
Again
After such fimbulwintr years as it has
Been

Now comes the third spring
And the dawn of
Soft eyes fluttering
Open


We shall
See.

Or

We shall see…

Than a
Perfectly
Machined
Enigma .

As the gun
Rolls of the countertop
In the
Cyber cafe

Blue
Sky dome
We
Roam
With entangled
Groans

And the saxophone
And the saxophone

Fill your spaceship
With things you will want and need

Me and my space dog
Shoot on and
On.

Kindness
Tolerates pain

Animal skull mouth
Bride to loneliness
Upon cliff top watch
I return to you

From the sea
From the sea

From me, I see
I see.

If you brew the perfect cup of tea each time
By taking the exact temperature of the water,
And measuring out the powder,
It ceases to be perfect.
It ceases to be anything at all.

She shook like a leaf
And she rolled and she slid.

Now we woke up to the sound of that
Now we cool to go around like that.

Now we laying down peace bricks one-by-one,
Red
Clay of the earth
Well-nourished .

Boils over
As god’s soggy **** reeks out from
The unbuckled Bible Belt of
America.

Take lashes to your
Crooked
Spine, for
Our thoughts and prayers
Go out, this night,
To the unburdened
Minds

Adorned
In crimson. (Read : red baseball hats)
Crowned
In thorns.

As each day passes,
It churns.

Weep for your daughters
Bow for your sons


////

And now we find that
Spoiled milk drips
From
Plastic ****.

//

A dying exhalation spooks out from the cracked and bloodied lips of the
Earth .
And      the

Saints
***
Marching in-

Devouring each other,
With gleeful religiosity in the dim light of our final
Awakening ,
While the very concept of humanity itself
Is being torn apart and
Reborn


Our final prayer :
May g0d’s children
Be
Hit by an f-350 full of unsecured
Kitchen knives.

A human’s religion
Is its most beautiful
Story

Itself,
The author.


It tells of
Us.

What
We are.



A
Seeker of
Truth .

Fooler of
All.



What are we doing?

said Odysseus, “i was meant to be a
sailor.”

The secret is
Active rest

Just as water seeks its level,
So too, do the oceans
Churn.

A humble god
Would chose to be powerless
Seeking only to observe and learn.
A god which is not humble, is not god,
For selfishness and self service is a folly belonging only to that of the living.
It is the natural byproduct of the need to provide to one’s self in order to sustain and survive.
It is the folly shared by all living things:

I must take
Such that I may live.

To remove mortality
Is to remove any native proclivity for self service,

Therefore, a consciousness which needs not,
Asks not, and takes not

Does not seek to introduce, nor extend, the influences of its own
Will
Externally.

A humble god
Simply
Observes it’s own
Breath

As it decays
Into

Nothing .

Rolling downward ,
With the simple
Ease
Of
Gravity.

I let a few drops drip into my tea as i peel the fruit,
Separating each segment as an individual piece.
The fisherman painted on the inside of my cup looks out ahead
My green ripple, matching exactly to the location of his water’s edge.