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These thoughts and feelings
flowing through me
every aspect of my being.
My brain  
receives and processes
the information
and then

No thought is needed

A highly functional automated algorithm
abiding by the learned lessons of interaction
and conditioning burnt into the once easily malleable
network of neurons that defines my personality

The heavy mask of logic and pride
so tightly wrapped
over the fabric of my true being
keeping me in this game


I chose to play
To identify
with this silly and burdensome sobriquet
To one day break free from the automated voice-mail
that responds apathetically to the glorified
archetypes, thought-forms, information
that originates from
creator of
signal and receiver
thought and mind
emotion and body

Once the original signal is found
a needle in a haystack
the mystery is opened
the opening of a book yet written

A beginning to all beginnings
An ending to all endings

this is you, here, now.

I’m sick.
I have a fever and flu-like symptoms.
I am alone, and have been for hours,
lying on my bed
with a lavender candle pulsating
to the sound of classical music,
dancing on the darkness of my

I am not aroused
but, playfully,
I slide my palm
over the underside
of my hairy
and begin
to gently stimulate
each hair
with near-static

I occasionally push
my fingertips
into the crevice—
my crevice—
my end.

How good this feels
to be sick
and allow oneself to
the emptiness too
and bold
and powerful
to be contained within us.

The comforting,
soft touch
we can give ourselves
is like a loved one
holding our hand;
it almost tickles, and this sensation
although distinct
reminds me
of the pretend animals
my grandma would parade
across my back.

Beyond our view
the guillotine,
slowly begins to descend
as we lie,
holding hands with ourself
on top of the covers,
sweat pants around the ankles,
grabbing our own ***
as the steady rain
trickles from the roof
of tenement housing
and beats
on the aluminum gutter
for hours
until it’s over.

The night has fallen
like a punishment
for finding no one
and it occludes my sight;
I shiver, and cannot *******.

Existence is too dark
to allow dancing candlelight
or baroque masters
to tickle its space.

It is filled with falling heads
and clutching grasps.
This is not a poem of heartfelt emotions
Or of declarations of love.
This is a poem of me.

No longer will I be chained
To love's unending torture;
wishing and hoping
for the same devotion
my heart gives to you.

I will not adhere
to the burden of your perfection
I have placed upon myself.

I will simply be me.

With courage and confidence
I will break the heavy bonds of my hope.
I will burn the pretty picture
I've painted in my head
Of what we could have
Of what we might be.

I will look at who I am
And instead of wide-eyed dreaming
Of the life we could have,
I will love the girl I see in the mirror.

I will not want to alter her
Or change her in any way,
She will be everything I want her to be.

Then, I will finally achieve the perfection I long for.
Then, I will finally be free.
wakefulness demands a certain clearness when asleep . . .
it doesn't come as planned
"tat tvam asi"
LaBerge says to me in dream of me
"this world you are, withstanding even torments thou art never seen."
and that's enough to suffer aching, opaque psyche summit, forward
heart to rise an interspecies knell when danceless fades the bee in droves...
aimless whales who singing deep in love are cut from evolution's murky chain...
fungal blight of hibernaculum, in deafened sonar sending sudden drop of death;
to horror fragment melt, the ocean swill from ancient caps to sunken polar paw
diverse in massacre of tropic forest fertile mists, lives dispersed
and balance tipped from blindness not unlike the sterile statue's, there
                                                          i­n dusty courthouse corner, shadow-lined with infamy...
what imagined cartoon causal Captain Planet              
                            villainy to blare across oneiromantic globe? and (dreaming?) civil strife,                  
       eradication's alter triumph pose to measure blame in inner life?
of empiric meditation's top, in *******
churning out abuse in deeper,
                                                         ­   younger hidden traffics yet to terrorize the net...                                  
                                             the scraping of the sky had punctured through                                
                         ­                                      from metaphor to fact
                                       the sooty barbs
                            in radiance rebound    
and irony affected 'green'
                  folds crisis and solution into one                            we hope
                like what we say we are, becoming change                      in wartime summer fling    
say we can in world of 'me'                                      
in guilt-assuaging verve
                                  the heifer-gift to village fief
    but then to rest against organic pillow-conscience gray                                                             ­       
                                                               soundly snoring smokestacks fill from ground to sky
still for sly investment windfall   fog  billow, shake...                             
transcontinental scape of dream imbued anew:
i am the genie of my ownmost inner lamp
in dreamtime-being spacious constellational of reach distilled
in contemplation's tratak zoom mInute
   with jet black finger trace
    i net                                                              ­                                        from out the inter-earthen air                
                                             ­                                              the lump on lump of coal
                massaging from                                                             ­      as if an ivory atmospheric                  
lift                   of      weight  
                           the sculpture of our past condensed in elephantine ******
                                                 miasmic fossil shower-haze of sporogenic fear,
mneumonic nail-tusk night of carbon-spirit back into its hold -- originary dark,
Dark light from burning black                                                 once again contained                                                      in elemental subterrain                                                       ­                                                       
         ­                                        --now it underlies the ground inside for triple shielding outshine
--outer-- light to cool us breathing once again . , ,    
false convenience in abeyance in a human time!                                
i am right now of inward self my soul supernal carbon imprint copy                             
for accounting every speciesistic mind to open wide enough and quell the "all-too human plagues--                                                                           ­       cheering all penultimates, in beams reflecting ante-truth          
                                                 down halls of mirror-minds that lightly discourse
on the ingress of a centaur saving power
channeling the leylines of inception,
ecstatic dreamworld of apotheosic glee:
parting the eidetic clouds,
commune an avatar intentionality . . .
ensorcelling the foodstuffs of the world to feed a dozen million refugees,
insectile diet pride attends in homes of affluence,
the abstract mass of media, become eupeptic cud of understanding bats and even bees--
for biospheres a Goodall stewardship arrives
(her perfect chimp call too resounds across the earth!)
and dwindled frogs their former ponds (unknown, destroyed without a sound)
return to chirping vibrant green symphonic swooning life
the glacial march of tears to halt . . .
all ecosystems rife withall
the panegyric of marshlands globally reborn  
along with shining waters, algaeic sun alive at play
in double-helix breath of dolphin families' bubble art
a sudden resurrect from ****** harvest cove arise cascading joyous leap
on final absence of the metal herding knock of trapping pods
no longer hacked in waves of pink, mere preparations for a restaurant sink--
they are free to swim the depth of worldheart dreaming unknown dream entire real again
marine apsaras dip in spectra (flicker eyelid) rays, reintroduce the dawn
her fine apparel calling forth transhuman destinies
unsplicing brilliant minds from ****** task of splicing GMOs
recycled randomness accepting death before we die
mycelium in runs of spilling-- all undone --
migrational attuned our resource use
and CSAs to thrive in eco-city scapes
no solopsistic somniac pretends
--the dream imbued in final hue
a momentary lapse, creationary flux--
the bombs defused in flick of wrist
indentured and enslaved, imprisoned innocents, oppressed and even self-deprived released
through selfhood's metaviral claim
ground of each dependent intertwining
whatness will to be
a place in which to hum in tune or out of tune
to heal and in a another dream aside from this perhaps with me partake
in true oneiric panoply of conflict held
--with permeating rigpa geogaze--
colliding ideologies transmuted into trust
in panharmonium of varied vision
and what the ever present boons of real, imagined symbol-real
create awake

 Sep 2012 Kurtis Emken
Today drunks got up,
on an upended axis.

And wobbled
on driven souls,
driven to ****
and let the hate loose.

A drunk walked in mud
to work,
and his boss sported a smile
of sad pride.

He had done a great job,
and no one knew.

When they were sitting down
on the couch,
cracking the air with laughter,
the country man
looked up
and saw
a daughter of light on the floor,
slitted through the blinds.

He wanted so badly
to cry.
But didn't.

An imp limped
and down, back again
to the basement,
and his old ma
heard him sparingly.

So much happened to day,
so beautifully
clear, and azure,
that the masks
of nails
spiking our faces,
slowly wore down
against steel skin.

When the sun went down,
aching for pain again,
they took the first swig,
then a second.
footsteps are echoing
down a corridor long since empty.
as they resonate,
a ghost stirs from it's slumber within me.
each passing sunset
a key turns the lock,
to reveal the Creature of the Night,
the sweet Darkness I'd forgot.
like the pages of a book
browned & tattered, lying unread
your scent awakens
a soul I was certain was dead.
how refreshing you are,
blood upon my white dress.
a release from gripping fear,
I crave your death on my breath.
let us massacre the stars
& chance Hell on the Kid's gaskets.
Heretics by nature,
we can spite the Gods
& waste life on their caskets.
you feed me the poison of my father,
& your name rings a painful past,
you've destroyed the world as I know it
& filled my nightmares with your laugh.
devouring words of evil
& Satan himself on film,
I think, my dearest Devil,
I have fallen under your spell.
still a single thought, it haunts me.
a doubt, deep in my mind.
when I smile, do you see my submission to you,
would you pleasure me with your bite?
I haven't fed in so long,
can I bind you to my dungeon wall?
each sunrise we part,
I pray to the moon
for my blood in your heart.
these tombs in me,
breathe life once again.
be my Dark Prince
& I, your Babylonian.
we can spread our scabbed wings
across the eternity of Zion,
put our faith in the flesh we see
& forsake the terrible dawn.
our eyes betray our sign,
& our hearts beat in the South.
but the torture we could bring each other is divine,
let our cries erase the doubt.
we cherish the scars of our skin,
yet we are not brave.
getting closer to God, becomes a Requiem
& the bedroom can be our grave.

— The End —