poetry is my remedy for apathy
strange how simple words can
cut away through my indifference

the act of creation in the written word
helps me connect to something greater than myself,
so slowly but surely my numbness subsides

poetry leads me into mystery,
where beauty can be found in
simplicity of a single moment

my mundane life flowers into
a spiritual experience,
when I flow into love and service

there is either apathy or poetry
in changing a poopy diaper,
pausing before saying a hurtful word,
and letting go the need to be right.

my life moves and quakes into new being,
and all because i let words flow in me and through me.
i am a living book bursting at the seams,
waiting to be poured out and shared.

spoken and written words break me out of isolation,
and sets me free.

two simple words cut through my apathy,
"thank you."

Solitude is a boat
In murky waters
The only place where the souls of the world still sing

Solitude is the song of the brave
Who ignore themselves
obedient to
The Infinity  within
Solitude chooses you
While taking a dump
Or dreaming with obsessed
Souls

It drinks alone with unspeakable boredom
Do not avoid it
It will shower you with
Gifts of endurance
Amongst the most incredible
Odds
Like a saint wiping his nose
With inimitable style

Shadow kisses

Take Flight wings

In endless pursuit

Wind foam creating

Gods bound in time,

biting lips

Surrounding the cracks where

breath becomes liquid

between the legs

nose hand and voice


Electric and primitive

strong desired leaf

In the same loveless floor
An astute mare
              Begins to chew on nightly
                  Pains
Mine as well the bone
               Of past joy
      Oh! the lovely mare
   I once saw
                 When love was all and none
            In you're liquid lust flesh
                hair of death
lonely pale
                     Night of veil alike
     Distant tree my soul
             Shall never see thee
                    Again
Ever ever more
                             thy sleep
             Shall end like a bent
               Elongated Neck

She resembles a make believe song
As if my sorrow for the staircases
Of the ocean
Blue because the nymph stretches
Around the ring of perfection
When the world was as dull as a sink
When the sky looked like a pillow
Trembling behind the doors of ***
As if the leggs weren't enough
To ask for a second meal
Then
The hand cuts the melancholy pear
Swift and shinning pear
Before the branch broke in half

There was a sitting cow on a prairie and a small **** came flying who resembled a martini glass that resembled a train, but if you sneeze the whole thing might fall and become an egg sandwich.

It’s simplicity
Its cradle and skill
Evil in bed
Disturbs your conscience

Born worthless
No miracle there
In delightful fast
Storm holds its vine
Selling naught
Desiring naught

Its words
     Sounds
Its actions
        Gestures
The beast fears naught
Unknowingly knowing
Swollen senses
Glorious aliment
For a crooked tree

Its breast bends
Its hands bends
Insults are loves
Wars and artifacts
Antechamber of death
And says naught

Not one will remain
      Responds
Not one will prevail
      Responds
Your dust will be eaten
By democratic worms
Of all brothers
Despised by all

Beasts fears naught
Nor life nor death
Who says?
Who comes?
Who goes?
The breeze only alone

Eternal
White on white
Atop the dead walks
A single hair of grass
Grows, lives dies
Beasts do not share terror
             Abounds in its symmetry

Without choices
Alone as the lone sun
That from three stars
                 It hangs
Empty and nothing more
All perishes
Something In the middle there
Alone Only

Embracing the extremes
The beast has been a beast
Over million a trials
And even then, nothing in the middle there
But the seen
Growing to naught
Perishing in naught

Beasts
Aware of this not
As ornament the imprint
Of its fiery tenure