He tried to spit out the truth;
Dry-mouthed at first,
He drooled and slobbered in the end;
Truth dribbling his chin.

Watching people compile the data of their lives.
Projecting and archiving information to stimulate cultures of us
when we give ourselves space to be about what makes us us.
To lose sense of myself is to
castrate
my own vitality
and why I fall in love with the toils of another’s expression.
The catalogues of souls that stand like sentinels in the arteries of the human race.
We were here. We know this moment.
We share it with you and you know the moment in your way,
in the language of your life
and you are heard while being spoken to.
Living to be romanced in this way,
to be understood in the ways we know
with the words constructed on top
of the emotion which was constructed on top
of a moment
now a memory.
A mortal drive of creation in evolving consciousness,
immortally moving another.
Now theres no going back.
I’ve challenged narcissism to grow from nasal gazin bathroom mirrors
into seeing yourself in it all,
to sense the language;
Lust
and fleshy aspects wrestle urgently in the song of your life.
Sorrow
and the audience retreats into the cushions of their throes
or runs from that back alley full of discarded mental furniture.
Love
and their minds explode with connections blossoming into each wonderful and terrible memory that grows into a mesh of a net cast out into the ocean of their heart.
Each memory connecting in a timeline of our moments.
The lines of our lives are filled in with dead words
masking all life to ever show its face.
If only we gave those dead symbols life
in the way life gave them to us.
The language of you while being born with the stubborn disposition
of restless curiosity of our being that begs the questions
of where our lines could go
and with what we could fill ourselves with.
Possibility bursting at our   s e a m s ,
spilling over into our realities.
Aligning our minds towards considering perspectives;
perspective being one thing that our paradigm of truth does not demand more of.
So eager to settle into a home in our head,
we chase the walls and roof of one truth and forsake non-sense of what has yet to make sense
when maybe the bigger picture
and all the multitudes of its non-sensical parts are waiting to hold hands together
in that same portrait,
framed on your nightstand
where you can see how it makes sense,
so the sense can put the weary wights of the unknown to sleep,
so that you may dream with certainty.
So then, what makes more sense than non-sense?

I’m listening moon.
I get lost in your moments so often I forget what you mean to say.
At least what you were never saying.
At least what could be said ever at all.
And I guess, like the rain and the wind, it grows on us.
No shelter could say to me otherwise and like everything else it is and is also growing on me.
My planned soaks and my calculated colds erected into a home against the unknown.
Wait, what is it you were saying?
Could I hope to hear it all?
The knowing enough keeps my body dry but tonight I want to soak in your thoughts
where they’ll grow on me again and again I’ll cast them off.
Making room for the next.
Lasting never,
never lost.

Let it all bleed out
Strewn around
And about

Shine out
From the ins
You have found

But never doubt
Or droun
In pouting out

Just be about it

About the stuff you love
And a part of it

Dully apart from it

Stand alone in a storm
With no phone
Or horn

To form

Your own opinion

the comfort of her personality
sofly rocked me to sleep
to be honest, in all actuality
I was dumbly fooled by this dream
I hung off of a rock face
and right when I started to fall
I heard the door close behind her
and that was my wake up call
I lied motionless, but content on the bed
my mind is cluttered land
and there's a forest in my head
growing with memory of every kind word she says
I was riding a bicycle in a cul-de-sac
wearing myself out
until I was in the grass lying on my back
staring at the clouds
and there were plenty around
I stood up and noticed my shadow
it was long, making me look tall
a feeling I felt but never acted on
the sound of thunder carried on
then I heard the door close behind her
and that was my wake up call