There was a buzzing, woke me from my bed,
(in the place between my ears)
calling me to a place where I'm not alone.
Dreams are fantastic in lovers arms instead,
especially when you've been lonely on your own.

Faint, just a whisper, forgotten;
clumsily on the edge of infinity,
ready to drop into a pool of what's rotten,
you're lost in sweet serenity.

Blissfully alive.
                  But where is your buzzing?
                                                   Where is your soul?

Surely you would have noticed
the subtle silence of a mausoleum,
the clattered bones of yesterday
only scatter when ya see em.

And I'm too 'fraid to 'pollogize for my mistakes,
misdeeds and mistreating you.
I've seen the floor that you whip me with,
and its not worth meeting too.

So I've decided to surrender
                         to that sweet sweet serenity.

I've decided to surrender to that sweet serenity,
running on dreams, standing alone
on a crowded sea of enmity. (I just don't care anymore!)
Its time to sleep. its time to open this door and find myself home.

Green cascading from the smooth curves of her hips—
unmoving—of velvet flowers that I approach.
Silken, they are; and with balm applied I kiss her lips.
Wandering to discover Eden, without reproach,
hands and eyes journey together, seeking
what pleasure, what ecstasy, delight  
the texture of her soft skin returns to me, peaking,
I am only hers tonight.

And yet the sun is not in keeping
with the children of her Eden shores,
swallowed up by her catlike creeping,  
why side to side, like waves of joy
crashing in curves of green velvet cascading.

Eyes ablaze, yet shoulders coy
her stare implodes my chest, inflating  
waves of rapture, collapse, and drown me so
I am but a child of sudden, timid choice.
Why her eyes that say come hither, come slow,
that motion stills and vibrates with her voice,
yet I am a silent caress that goes
up and down her thigh intending, from her waist
to her lips; I am not a fool to woes
nor a child to her eyes unchaste.

Lo! Reflections of the crescent moon,
the night unfolded like dreams hidden behind her eyes
that call “lover,” to me soon
I know, and yet cannot impede reprise
for she is the sun that draws me out,
and I am the seed that sprouts ***** before her.

Choiceless and unaware of clout
hiding nothing as if nothing were
the object of my affections streaming
from the fingers stroking down my chest,
to lips that pucker open, and to her eyes, beaming
shatter the gray of storm and jest
that by the sounds of thunder repeating
could not find meaning in the apparatus of her smile
nor the significance of her heart.

Yet still I search beyond the mile
to understand what plays its part.
The answer must lie at dusk
between the hours sweet and bitter, which have no time,
but smell like musk
and whispers softly in sweet and gentle rhyme.

Hidden, behind all the things you do;
you cherish the mile, the medium, the money,
convenience is a specialty, and status the while.
The perfect personification of capital: a slave;
Property in a picture, capital a drug; the presidents on TV,
and we're all here because of love.

To use love--a materialist notion--getting wet, but not wed.
Going hard, but no rain, ice falls, and summer set.
Collect the dials and never forget that you are dreaming,
when you are stuck in that spiral, just reach out and find me.
Corporeal copulation: congealed cortex conversations,  collide beside me.
We are one self, and no status the while can stop We!

We Lost,  
are children now—
though we aged quickly
to become loveless, depressed, and
sighing.

Lying
a moment next to you
incognizant, impressed, reminiscing,
forever Immature.

Simple, damp hair down,
resting on my face, loved;
true eyes emoting.

Calm cinnamon lips
kiss my heart, (beating inward)
my life, to die slow.  

Gentle
is the lover
who dies to spring more love
and kiss soft upon the shoulder.

Riding in that car beside my father so,
Windows shut, a silent-glide,
The pond below
Was fingered up—and mirror glow--
And out, to the black-purple sky.

Hanging was an orange slice jewel  
Shimmering like an opened furnace
--A door to hell, but only creaked—
I even saw a daemon eye,
Scowling for my left and yonder sins.

I’d have plucked its cat’s-eye color from the sky,
But by god, I tried, and tried and failed.

Flower of the spring to winters child
vibrant beyond her ever unfolding
horizons of sweet beauty blooming

There is color in the heart of winter
rainbows in the eyes of spring
and life is the character of summer
never sought and never seen

Love blooms on her branches
the seed of beauty, eyes abloom
lips of lilac, and kiss of wine
Intoxicating, cries of June
under lamplight and under moon

Silver are her rings, and auburn hair
dancing glimmers everywhere but here
yet closer, my heart is there
With her dawn of ecstasy in the hallow morn…
as the autumn wind or summer sun

You broke into my heart
like a vagabond, drifting in and out;
and I smelled the American spirit
you left behind;
the cherry burning
left a scar on my conscience
like the word selfish, uttered insipidly by your lips;
and I was broken, pumping not blood
but frozen memories from my veins.

And the feeling still haunts me--
of being ignored by the one I love;
I thought it shouldn't bother me,
we've barely met, and yet
when we talk I can feel your energy
flowing into laughter, from one heart
to an other. There is no other.

Now I'm the drifter, listlessly annoyed;
I thought you were the one,
but now its me that you avoid.
A, void, avoid. I feel the emptiness
without you--the one I told you about,
the one that makes me feel death
creeping into my very hands,
yearning for a radical change I cant deny,
nor desire.

When you build a fortress around your heart,
you not only make it harder for those who approach to enter,
but make it harder for exiles to find their exit.

In other words: the cage you build around your heart is a prison, not a sanctuary.

Why does it seem that the most beautiful things are the most fragile?
My glass heart must'ave been blown mere molecules thin
because as much as I thirst to be yolked from within
and find union with the soul of another just as agile

I am broken, shattered into pieces, every piece repaired in time.
And as selfish as all of this may seem,
there is nothing about me, I have committed no crime
in wishing that my life were held dear... a dream

I suppose I am asking too much from these droves
of human animals compelled to suffer and starve for meaning
Meanwhile I cry out of sanity for their suffering and mine, which proves
that there can be no sense in leaning:

Reliance on other leads to sorrow,
when I look to you, you see you, do you see me? I wonder
do you see me? I will be here tomorrow
to ask again and again, do you see me, or is that your blunder?

No Boundary, the mask unveiled.
I-I co-pretend, this game is real,
senses, so sensual, so gratifying.
Thought! Creativity, being; Wisdom
calms the chaos in radical transition.

The desert to the sea, the forest,
the map is not the territory, it takes fractals
to measure a coast line, and of course computers.
We are being made obsolete.
Best to reinvent the wheel of our mind.

Change the dialogue of our public service
Announcements that amount to nothing,
while the people speak nothing is heard, but whispers
in a land of the brave, this bunch of slaves may be depraved.
I'm sick of lying to myself. Lets be honest and transcend!

That quintessential flower
        resting between thy breast,
               crowned with thorns,
         silver, chalice cup of flames;
               the light within light,
         the spirit that remains;
              far from extinction
         the scarab of all ages
                    rises as the sun,
        and I the phoenix, just begun.

    These constellations, Orion's belt,
        and illuminated fractals in the sky;
       as iridescent clouds shift by
     The cold breeze, and that creaking tree,
         For I am the snow, and the stars; I am

  Everything that you are:

My life was simple, and everything comfy cosy
before you came along?
A stagnant slump, preventing me from growing.
The mere suggestion at first impetus, providence delivered,
but since you're a bittersweet memory, you will be forgotten.
I didn't really want you anyway, not your life, not your personality,
really just your affection, your honey.
Neither angry, just disappointed, not jealous, just happy.
But really deep down I'm glad you didn't pick me
and as I look deep into my heart, I know that you were poison.

There is a
Sorrow on the surface of
Your eyes, and a distance
in your voice like the
Stars.
Your love seems more
like Charity, and when
You sit, your attention
,down cast, seems
Pious. There is no
age in your skin
as though you are still
being born!
And when I speak with
You, there is an emptiness
In your words, and I am made
      Happy and Sad by
Your hidden silence.

And I made you a
Heartsong. I played it,
and sang it in the morning
when the breeze brought
dew, and the mist was
bright, and the birds
sang too.

And I made you a
Poem. And your cheeks
were roses, suddenly blooming;
and trailing behind me
were ten thousand peddles,
each one representing a
thought of you.

I knew once you had the chance, you’d take it
So I bottled up my sadness in pride and manhood
In the hope that one-day you’d come and change me
But that day never came; I’m still on the ropes
Where the days are still and my hopes are changed
Your smell is still on my mind, and the feel of your clothes
Every moment is the last; every memory is calling

There was a time when the phone rang, and it was you
Those moments were the light of what I knew
I held them dear once, but I know the truth now

All known things are meaningless in time
My death will bring the swift end to what I consider life
--security and the wonderful warmth of such—
The relationships I held so dear were nothing
Because they were between untrue self idols
I know this now, and I realize that unless we hold no
Imagination
Human beings will have no relationship

Let go of “self” to be self
Feel for another and not for security
(The ubiquitous trade)
Know another and not the image constructed
Find no comfort in me—that’s my job—
Love me and not your imagination
Know me and not your imagination

For so long we’ve been playing as puppeteers
Our false images make fumbled motions as we watch behind curtains
Come out and meet me and I will meet you
And we will share movements that no strings can orchestrate

Trysts of beached
          and branchless relationships
               have led my mind to call the    
tides insecurity for truth,
        but this old jug of liquid fire is melting glass
                  so I think my craw needs a-wait f’r a-asking for.
       When I get the slur off my tong,
          the day will be done
And what happens tonight’s gonna kick my *** ‘til Tuesday.
                                              Goodbye worries;
                             I hope to see you in hell on Wednesday.    

                                  Let me sleep,
                                     or my dreams
                                         will explode  
                                             into reality.
                                                  Please.

What deliberate words--contrived symbols--convey
this withering dissatisfaction, this love lost and unrequited?
That I am too good to be loved,
too beautiful to be tainted by your narcissism,
too innocent to be scarred by relationship?
My heart dreams of a daily death,
ribbons of rose red, seeping into a skyline I recognize as my own face,
and it's beautiful impression makes my heart too true to be known,
too real to be understood,
and too lovely to be shared and passed over.

The power of the almighty surges through contact with a chemically induced innocence
drinking **** and alcohol, one sage experiences a heightened level of unity consciousness.

It's only when silence fell between us
that I knew how lovely was the sound.

My thoughts betray me, as I betray you.

*
And more and more I am starting to see
there are too many dip ***** on the dance floor for me
to continue to dance, and seek romance
with a foolish face of humanity.

When I feel my hand
And the sensations feel
My world is real
Strange reality, love reality

Mother reality
This is the source of my fantasies.

To be, to this immense sensation
Knowledge
         and time and life’s
Uniqueness, displayed in every moment.

Daily, this is but one day.

The words I have not to say.
The world I have not to understand.
Moment to moment, stranger by the day.

How unique? How unique.
This unique! This. Uniqueness,
Displayed so believably.
But death is the truth, inconceivably.

That, is belief through ignorance.

We do not die. We do not live.
We love, we are nothing. Death in life.
Suspended in the air. Subjectively…

In this dark chamber, I am brilliant and cold,
vibrantly awaiting the moment when I'm told
that there is no reason, to be worried, to be scared,
that time has met its end, and space has been prepared;
for freedom dangles at the doorstep, a wedge of mistletoe
waiting, perfectly opposing, for our eyes to meet and know
that love is beyond the darkness of self and season,
beyond the charms that mock the right of reason,
and beyond the tides that bring forth treasures-
from lands beyond effulgent minds and measures.  


In this dark chamber, the world is but a mystery
unfolding before the eyes of dawn, and misery,
pretend victim of the thorns of love and life
stands as a messenger of the sacred knife,
to sacrifice the comfort of this ****** confines
and transcend into the heart, the center where he finds
the truth, the sun, the mystic heart, and yields
standing humble, arrogant, in Elysian fields
beyond imagination, beyond the darkness held,
a world beyond the mystery, where everything has meld.