Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Owen Phillips Sep 2012
Not far from home, not far
Small difference here, one there
Though miles and mountains have roped us away
Not much separates us at all

The same asphalt earth at our feet
And petroleum smog, only stronger
The rest is an outsized cartoon of our home
The same symbols drawn broader and bright

The twang of these voices may vibrate
Familiar strings of my soul
But this lamentable facet,
Like the barren mountainside,
Obliterated by thoughtless greed
Makes me ache in those very familial chords
Owen Phillips Jun 2013
I always hoped you were talking about me
And it's so easy to project my own identity onto anything
I saw myself as an emergent phenomenon within your body of work
A character made up of your syntax
You'll write another poem tonight
          And you just started writing it
                   And you're writing it now
Owen Phillips Feb 2013
Like glorious autumn follows carefree summer
You make me want to love again
At this moment I am on the upward arc of my heavy sine wave,
And all troughs, crests, and in between coexist
To predict would be to build a separate reality
An alternate timeline where logic follows the limited patterns of human rationale
But the sun's fingers on the treetops write minute programs into the corneas
And I watch them roll around my field of vision, shifting back and forth in unease
I smell old times that never were
How could that have been me?
How do I forget everything?

I'll live forever in this instant
For past and future emanate infinitely from now
And every ounce of effort I spend anticipating
Draws me down the arc to suffering
The impermanence of bliss, death's painful degradation
Even now it festers sharply in my right *******
Despite my calm certainty that I'm
Staring out into the infinite synesthetic landscapes of jazz and poetry

But the forces of control over us do not blind us
We ride fleeting waves of glory because in their brief moment they are all
Rising above the moon in the ecstasy mere words grasp impotently after
Mere human me never gets the satisfaction of disintegration for he fears his death
But powerful energy me
Eternal and all pervasive
Shall know for certain the bliss of abyss
Even in the mortal kiss of a few seconds' carnal joy it is death which ties us together

When our dichotomies are satisfied is victory true or do we in fact separate ourselves further from the ultimate reality?
Oneness can never be desired for to wish for it is to destroy it
The implication that there is something there to wish for oneness
Contradicts the very idea
But these differences are mere illusions
Contained within the singular presence of all that which there is nothing without
Nor even existence at all
For it encompasses the totality
It is the mere fact that anything ever existed
And it is the void into which shines no light
Enters no soul
It is the ground on which our entire dramaturgy stands
Will there ever be an answer?
It can't be God, though it is what is meant by "God"
It can't be defined because it is the substance of definition
It isn't the place we go when we die for it is all places
It is place

I can cast out my net into the whirlwinds of conscience and substance
And feel that I've latched onto it
And it can never slip away for it is all I've ever been
But I stir the ocean of love and the sediments are suspended till I can no longer see it
Like a fish can't see the ocean

In metaphor, in narrative, all is truth
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
essential radiance wilts and fades
In the light and halo of propane tank explosions
Dark cold nights spent rocking back and forth on the edge of a dream
Only knowing in hindsight that the forgotten question
Was what brought us here in the first place

phases come in and out of tune
Their lunar frequencies alive with you, you sit and open up the case all day, we let the cold air tighten up our powdered skin, the holes we've bored into the raincloud stick us in the neck,

Join hands with wisdom
extinguish dominion, combine and refract the remainder, destroy the big time dog-catchers.
hungriest of all was the Cat whose puzzled look of shame diverted your eyes while he disappeared into a higher vibratory frequency, which became color and sound syntesthesia
Blending seamlessly with the broken windows through which were heard vague memories of forgotten  dreams, the shouts and rhythms quite audible but each syllable indistinguishable
Owen Phillips Mar 2013
And on the 23rd attempt she was half-realized
But across the sea she began to see in her dreams
What her eyes on the paper stared out at from the past

She forgets dreams upon waking
She creates schemes with fake actors,
Attractive and confident people
And evil surrounds her
I don't like to be around
Fearing their presence
And she hears on the wind that I won't be returning
But all that this tells her is
Life will go on as it has since the time
When her faces were being
Configured on paper,
Her true form solidifying
With each passing club meeting
And art school submission
And throw down the gutter
And substance test warning
The morning before being
Forced to report on the innocent wives of the kinds
Who prepared what our minds
Would later consume and disintegrated
Reforming 10,000 years later
More open and flexible and appreciative and reverent
And ecstatic and creative and mindful of its functions
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
I bled to be the rainwalker
Talking downwind, stalked by shadows, the night periodically erupts abruptly disrupting peace of mind and leaves behind the ears of corn that would expand with **** to what we now know as the sacred substance, understand this and we'll move on from this station, the hatred that makes us complacent, no directions can bee seen in green painted on the inside of our eyelid
But we did see them, when inner illumination activated the
Glow-in-the-dark properties that so impressed us coming down from the frozen mountain
Into the valley of golden fish worship,
Demons manifest in gargoyles,
Speaking through sages
Becoming animated in the full moon
Loony Toon ecstasy destroying bridges back to the sun worship
Which sees itself reflected in an empty black sky
Owen Phillips Sep 2012
Coiled fingers grasping around through
a series of grates alternating through spatial relation
Each subsequent orientation,
Rotated at arbitrary command,
Ham-****** reverie, like the acceptance of Jesus as our personal savior
Colors their every artifice
As if the void that consented to multitudes
Were mutilated upon reentry
Like the volkswagon beetle
Made to upgrade on demands
Or the chemical makeup of fleas
That have buried themselves in the festering skin
On the half opened light bulb of
Apostasy. Hardships
won and their articles
signed, comprehension reversed
With demands to the populace
Each stating unthinkable wishes
Since they've steadily become
Eager in the belief that
Their souls were unstuck
As puppets left to decay on the rain drenched fair grounds

The things I'm avoiding when I stray from the river

Confiscated boss on your vaunted sky
Bring to us your design
Sing to us the reminders we know that will
Teach us to drive our demands to time
And influence the outcomes ourselves
Give us the power to carry them forward
And sharpen the strength of our mind
It's us that you're looking for now
[the manuscript was unreadable from this point on]
The invocation worked on 1 September 2012
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
Listen for prophetic screams
Weighing down the end of yr nose
Greasing up the hydraulics of the eyeballs
Emerging wholesale from a dream
Residue of unseen seas
Still caked in tangled hair
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
My words are just a tool I use
To understand how much I feel for you
I feel the burn of spent reserves
And know I'm running out of words
They repeat and on the canvas
I see thinning, dying bones
And use them up again to spare their misery

And all I'm looking for
Is another way to say
I want to taste the lint in your belly button
Another way to say
I want to smell you sweating in my bedroom
I want to hear your heartbeat through my chest
I want to see you naked in your sunday clothes
I want to feel you crushing me above me
Penetrating me beneath me
I want to taste your ****** cracked lips
And feel you biting off my tongue
And see your nickel eyes conjoined
And hear your disappointed sigh
And smell the smoke on all our clothes and on your breath

And when I dream of being close to you
I see me not fulfilling you
I see my noble efforts come to nothing
After seven minutes trying
And I stumble from you, crying
And I see that time
Of yours and mine
Where all my bets go on the line
The game is lost
And then the cost
Our evening destroyed
And just like every time before
After you've shown me the door
I'll just keep asking more
Owen Phillips Jan 2012
These empty spaces
Live to be refilled!
As cogs parade alone along
The paths they've drawn across the courtyard
Crowds coagulate and test
The patience of the ape--
And all the while
With this casual smile,
It is not in my heart to scream,
But as I dream I rue the sins of the bored;
These wasted spaces simply dying to be explored
At least when fires flood the crowded
Roads, the ones that go beyond
The guardrails may still be alive
And living life beyond the pale of
Settlement where sinners die

Those who face arena fights
Each night against their brothers and their
Mother Earth will be the victims
Of their own atrocity--
The boredom of the quivering mass of
Blindness stumbling o'er itself each moement
In the overcrowded streets.
Owen Phillips Sep 2012
We can learn to fly wrapped in bedsheets
There are vibrations through every living thing,
That includes the inanimate,
These vibrations are at your control
When you learn to accept the chaos
Underlying consciousness
The ordered structures we perceive are fluid,
Physical boundaries, laws and regulations
Mean nothing when you traverse

Driving through a rain cloud on level with the
Circling patterns of eagle flight
The brain is mapping its own neurology,
Coming alive the way it did
When it could still dream and imagine
Owen Phillips Mar 2013
I am a grid and I'm staying here tonight
I'm a thing, things don't have to do
I'm overdue
This is where I sleep
Till the morning dew
Where I mourn the moon
Till the still runs dry
And I still won't cry if you stay with me
But the path becomes clear
The vines fall from the arbor
The armature is alive
With the muscular strength of a thousand guys

I can't follow you line for line
But I often hear truth in your general gist
I may have missed a connection or two
But I'm not vexed, I can see the direction you took
I'm invested in you
But the best thing I do
Is ignore what the dead
Have all already said
And find paths on my own to the same garden

Don't look away and it won't fade
As the stillness blinds us
The shapes start to burn their way
Into the mind's eye
And we find
That we're staring out at St. Allusion's infinite bliss
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
It's too late, I think
    Pouring myself a drink
They can't relate to me
    This ain't my place
I paced myself too much in my day
Now face up to a world where nothing's built for me,
Everything I see's off limits
I get it, I don't dig it.
What's left but to dial those digits,
Or did I forget em?
Best not try it
She won't buy it
She's got guys lined up
And I'm stuck in the last place

   First thing, morning time
Wake and remember I've already forgotten a dream
Light outside, no clock
Could be 9, could be 10
Could be 2 PM
Ain't showered in three days
Ain't shaved in 373
Coffee's warm, not hot,
"I've GOT to start waking up at more reasonable times"
But now it's 9 PM
And I'm trapped on the interdimensional
Adolescent internet tubes
In silence waiting for someone to laugh
And flocking toward what sounds like happiness
For ungodly hours
Finally falling asleep
To a Joseph Campbell lecture
Hoping the awareness of what I'm missing out on
Is a suitable replacement for devouring the ***** of Osiris in earnest each Friday
Owen Phillips Nov 2011
The leaves parted
Pirouetting to the ground
And out he steps
Shaking spider webs from underneath his armpits.
He holds down a limb
And peers into the place he hid
And hears it call him back.
So he turns to see a world
That had forgotten him
But as it sees his cool visage
It crowds the city streets
And cheers for his parade at every corner.
And so he said,
That he would one day be again
For now he stews within the fires of
A world of solid walls.
So he crumbles back in shape
And stands alight for just a moment
Till his duty calls
And he is ****** back into hiding
Where there is no life
For him, though many say they see it there
It is the prison walls
That so occlude his sight that he be blind.
And with that moment of
Rekindled embers in the fire pit
He came to life again,
And warmed the hearts of those who once knew him
He washed away the past's foul taste
And brought anew the esoteric harmony
That so eluded us without him
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
I burned the sentinel at the edge of my kingdom
It drifted to the earth in ash
And mingled with the butterflies
Catching the wind of their migration

Danger loomed on the horizon
And we saddled up to face the storm
For facing us down, descending from a distant future
Was the death of all mankind,
Gray and looming,
A wall of cloud behind which the
Stars no longer shone
Extinguished with the rest of universe
As we willed it to be,
In the fires of our egoism and despair
Owen Phillips Mar 2011
As the days get longer
We give up our promises
And sing in different
Voices than the ones we had agreed to.
Basking in warm winds from distant
Lands and times where scents distressed
Fermented to the sweetness of indolence.
The wind can make your bones feel
Invisible, your brain at rest,
Suspended on an updraft;
Muscles bathed in honey,
Dense and weightless on the softness of the
Air, the streets are waking up
And breathing, start to murmur to you.
Fill your hearts with prickly stimulation as the vibrancy
Is born again against the death that
Dies away beneath your feet, all buoyant on the crispness of a
City street in Spring.
Owen Phillips Mar 2013
Complicit in His schemes
We seal our destiny as we approach it
As we scurry from the light of pure truth like cockroaches into the safe shadows
Where the giants can't see and pretend not to notice
We focus on crumbs and morsels we can see from our little caves
And dig graves to remember the feeble lifetimes we spend waiting for the safe shroud of night
And look not into the eyes of the gargantuan beasts who can destroy us with one stroke of their fist
Or take mercy on us
Feeding us their leavings
We eat the **** of gods
And fleas have smaller fleas to **** their blood
And geese return in flocks, the sheep huddle under shade trees
The gay bumblebees and the wasps in the storm drains
Say hello and we gather for games in the night, Forgetting each other
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
Left to remain
Anything to quell fear
Seized opportunity
Sold soul to fear
Parallel vision
Past and present collide
Time recalled of time without fear
Haunting specter
Wild cry
Wild sound of devotion
Old quest uncovered from the dust
Old wilderness restoring to old glory

Firing from old expended
Reservoirs transferring water
Into coffee grinders, to dust
Chained in a crab *** at the bottom of the sea
Pelted with repeated blasts of particles of light
Until the matter is compressed into a singularity
Or breaches on the matter anyway besides
Unleashing rather than a sinkhole trap,
A flash flood over everything
Coating vision with a venereal sheen
Inundated in a fluid silk connective fabric bond
Until the matter reaches
Into pockets of relief
And miracles of situational
Restorative advance
Particulate regenerative
Relationship encounters
Debris from space accumulating
Hoping in some arcane sense
To be reformed together into beasts anew
While similarly fossils of
An ancient swarm of locusts
Are unearthed
They’re met with magnets
Positioned counter to the flow of electricity
This array is aligned to the magnetosphere
Of that old planet
Where I have lived before and left kinsmen behind to grow a colony of their own
But my own magnetism is calibrated today
To the wildly different magnetosphere of my latest home

To put it mildly, out of wild instinct, exiled from an old society
Of innocence/intelligence
A pretense over bell curve
Environment restrictive of
Fraternization *******

On a day too perfect for itself
The stage-play left upon my table
All the actors meandering about
Chance encounters replaying dramas.
Owen Phillips Jan 2012
He played beneath the skies of a dragon commander
Blissfully ignoring the ominous.
His fate was sealed and he
Was seeping through the envelope
His cloak was flowing briskly
And it hid an endless sea
Of casual feelings of casualty.
The spirit of the proceedings
Heeded his untimely departure
While he stood stoic sternly
Establishing the mood.

And all the polar vapors
Kept the Contrast open wide
While the elemental fibers
Crept inside him while we died
And the journeys going on outside
Cast shadows on the spring
As the chambers resonated with the
Words that he did sing
And the lookers on reported
How his heartache broke the scene
And the specters there presenting
Seemed to billow from his dream
And the lights that flash behind him
Signal monsters from above
To attack the emissaries
In their castle walls of love
While his smile keeps us hoping
For another moment more
Underneath his cool umbrella
In this never-ending war.
Here chameleons can fool us
If we listen to their lies
But this music keeps us safe
And it keeps open all our eyes
Owen Phillips Feb 2013
I've always waited for this moment,
An all-pervasive coming-to-be
It has permeated my existence since infancy,
My illusory life that began when I died
When I fell from my heaven
Into the ego traps of Owen Phillips
The pathetic human shell I've come to inhabit
He is too weak to contain me, to enact my desires
He must be destroyed,
That I may return and be a self-actualizing soul
In the infinite blissful embrace of every imperfect beauty
I ever longed  for in my lowly, cowardly human skull
Owen Phillips Mar 2014
Yeah you facebook friended me and you
Tend to like my posts and I don't mean
You actually like them but when the display tells me you like them,
When I see that red number over above that blue planet in the corner
I feel it in my guts, in my *****,
Like you Like Like me

Yeah but all that stuff's twisted its way into our consciousness like
Jagged metal and I won't stop
Beating my own brains over  the wreckage
Because it feels so good in that
High-fructose, instant ****** kind of way.

But there's my fantasy self, collecting herbs in the garden
He never accomplished anything and he's
Getting thinner and more transparent every day
But from the bathroom window I keep ******* him into cruel, tortured, frightened existence.
5 February 2014
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
With springing force
I was shot out into the future
And with needle to the suture
Sewed together what I could

Lo, the spring sprung back into
The autumn
Found my porthole at the bottom
Into all I understood

An equal opposite reaction
Fueled combustibly by action
From believing things that I was told to read
Me far beyond what I
had seen
Cross dystopian ravine
Though in spite of any betterment, still brought to you by greed

Now from safely at the station
In the cold and condensation
I can see with clearest vision
The successes of my mission
Here, within, the multitudinous expanse of tears and laughs
Will be difficult to honor with a proper epitaph
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
Unrealities       can
                  now        be                         held true
Because every
                            day is stuck in one
When one reality is projection screened
Shining straight into the eyes
It's blinding, luciferic
                      Floating up and away
Into void
   Where safety and utter loneliness are assured
While even as we
                    close our eyes
                              disproving boogiemen
They clamber around making changes and destroying lives along with you
    Your unseeing feet
        Crushing the innocents
            Beneath a comforting rug
                 That spares our soles
                     The pain of walking on shattered bone

Following the points of lines firing from the pupils of whiches and witches
Enrichéd and stiffened to stone
Has dragged me down to the bog and I stink like a dog and I live a dog's life too
Circling myself and waiting for the invisible a'ni himu to happen to me without a statement

I don't know Being
I don't know it in itself of itself
Some told me it spoke with the voice of a child, some destroyed them-
Selves dressing up flowers and archways in those orders
And cornering us ants at the intersection which creep crawls
Crazily down from its
Geographic space and happens to face the way yr sitting
Eating meat or drinking tea
And bam he flips and crushes you
And what do you do
How can it be
When do you know it was your destiny?
bursting open your skull on the sharpest brick beside the softest memory
Of a 42nd birthday of the end of a dream
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
Fear. Desire. Anger.
These are the roads I ride into Hell
Three titans of indescribable power
To create and destroy and control and subdue.
If channeled correctly these emanations
Flow smoothly and make feedback loops
Amplifying exponentially beyond eternity,
(A fragile thing,
Which shimmers blindness selectively
into individual eyes)
But abused in unawareness
And skeletal ignorance
These torrents of energy maim and destroy
Owen Phillips Jun 2013
I've seen two
Shattered turtle shells (and heads and legs and tails)
Within a mile of my house in the past month
And there's a toad in the garage right now
But I didn't tell my mom about it
Because I was unable to catch it
And she has an irrational fear of frogs

My dad has killed at least a dozen snakes, he says,
        since we've lived here in Garner
He usually wields a shovel.
Such an act of violence
Is incomprehensible to me
Do I resist the killing of animals,
Even those that threaten me
Out of Fear or Compassion?
But they both go away
When the coyote leaps at my throat
10 June 2013
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
Find yourself in the sunlight
On an empty street
Where children clamber at you,
Crying out from behind bars
Parents watch your every move
Discreetly, through dark windows

Find yourself in a herd of people
Eating in the street
Defining by negation
Where they live and who they are
Standing at the top
And never looking up,
Knowing there is nothing.

Find yourself in nowhere
Where the world is empty till it sleeps,
Then comes alive on Sunday
For a modicum of prayer,
Then back to docile slumber
Till the buses come for kids

Find yourself in the future
Where your plans back in the present
Are all fruits in baskets high
Under piles of money, lifetimes lived
And children running by
Find yourself back there again
When present catches up
What little fruit was yielded
Has now rotted to the ground

Find yourself at the beginning
Taking off in seconds now
Slates are clean and records kept
Amount to next to nothing
Never will return be possible or necessary
Take the time not to forget
How things were back on Earth

Find yourself inside a moment
Never rid of its effects
Watching fate react the same way
Time and time and time again

Find yourself at the beginning
Find again what you had lost
When years of playing off the books
Has burned a toll upon your dreams
Remember how you first began and
Start that way again

Find yourself in someone else
Your mind still only faking it
When fate weighs down upon you,
Only you will answer, not he

Find yourself on a cold streak
Never making baskets, touchdowns or base-hits
Wondering if you even know the basics
With a secret and you know you can't erase it
From the way you move your eyes to the way you hit the pavement

Find yourself in brother wilderness
Dancing in the trees alone
Head adorned explodes with color
Body moving, out of control
Lossless clarity
Sympathetic delivery
Wickedness in elegance
Elegance in wickedness
Fighting off a demon
What a planet it must be
To host such proper honest people
Among such horror and corruption

Find yourself looking back again
Reaching out again
Letting down your guard
Missing out again
Find yourself cursing your shy blind eyes
Find yourself searching in foreign lands

Find yourself looking for losers now
Helping them stand up from the ground
Sort of like kicking them while they're down
Taking advantage of their unease
Discomfortable bodies
Earnest downcast eyes
Noble grasps for fitness

Forcing a needle in cold dead flesh,
Frozen and solid and rock-hard dead
Empty but for the last droplets there
Empty and thirsty for death to come
Empty and thirsty for life

Lit two hits with one match in the dark this morning,
Hidden in the bushes,
Lonely in the moonlight
Fearful of the shadows just beyond
Weapons all replaced with loneliness and freedom
Hoping for and waiting for and dreaming for the warmth of
Women in my gym class, women in my math class,
Women in my science
Women in my English,
Film class, lunch
Women in my film club,
Women hearing poems
Women eating people
Women smoking dank ****
Women in my last dreams

Waiting for the warmth of
Being high the first time
Getting drunk with women
Women making me come
Women having problems
Losing themselves to me
Smashing someone's head in
Breeding snakes in my bed
Breeding snakes in closets
Breathing down their necks and
Making them attack

Breeding snakes in e-mails
Breeding snakes in my school
Letting them all slither
Letting them in my caves

Find yourself outside a car, high on hella marijuana
Looking in the windows at the
Normal folks inside
See them have a good time with each other,
Somehow think you may have seen her
Eyes meet yours a moment maybe
Thinking of inviting you to join her in her world
You'd accept the phantom invitation in an instant
But you turn away and you just
Dream away, avoiding putting
Wishes on the line

Then when she peers into your world
Later when you read to her
She teases and arouses you to reach into hers too.
So you take this chance when your balloon
Is close enough to hers
To reach into her basket
And when you miss and when she looks away
You try to look as if you haven't
Fallen and aren't clinging onto
Your balloon by rope.

Find yourself a fortnight later,
Somewhere she can see again, she speaks to you, you blush and answer
Nearly blurting out your heart
Writing on and watching
Hoping she can see your mind just by the
Movement of your pen, hoping
She will be surprised, come on by,
Take you up on what you offer her, ask from her
And always hope to dream of her.
Owen Phillips Dec 2012
Finding love in odd places
Conventional beauties and non
Voices like molasses,
Faces like home
Memories like first grade dreams
A playspace without windows,
Running on the floor I see myself,
My first out-of-body experience
Run-crawling naked past
Mrs. Hooper with short gray hair watching kindly
I want to walk into inhuman nature with you
Dust off the polished seashells of past lives
And feel your heartbeat just once
Owen Phillips May 2013
Let's give form to a thought at the back of my head
And let it grow, let it drag me away from my body
Let it stretch me out into the past and future
So I lose sight of what IS
Which is here, which has always been
It speaks to itself, playing that it can't know
For we know that all that we can know is but
Difference from Oneness,
And we know that inside ourselves
We are each other, nothing separates us, no,
We haven't yet identified ourselves definitively but we are
Stuck inside the ego while we play the game of time
But we're not going to get rid of it
We'll need it if the Saucers come
Or dead men rise to eat our brains,
But it remains, and as it should
A dormant tool that reawakens
Whenever the need emerges

Why not take these forms that start to rise and amplify themselves in feedback loops
******* them on the page and leave them there,
Outside the body,
Use that action as the symbol of our casting out, not our denial but our separation
From the notions that emerge of perceived
Injuries from outside parties;
All the pain is caused within
And comes from giving shelter to those forms that form their feedback loops
Demanding our attention, and insisting we'll be incomplete
Until we can fulfill their fantasies of pasts and futures
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
I just laughed a smooth laugh
Smooth like I imagine the landing will be
When the pole vaulter that is Earth
Sticks its landing and slides in the gravel. It doesn't pretend to make it look like you think you're glad You're here
No way did the dishonest cop actually tell you what was actually true
In fact, he regularly gave absolutely true rumors about me many times
Under a file called, "Open Spaces"
Going to the Rialto
But this is not tonight
The name was reaching out like a junglecat

Even Buddha wouldn't tell you why I whispered these things in your ear
We worship everything accumulating at the foot of your door
You **** me with your laughter and you let me blackmail first and near
And then we'll end up with him and some new ones and prepare our spines for more

I felt stronger intensity in your words
Like the buildings were already falling down on all sides of me
When I'm left alone in the wreckage, who is there to dig me out?

And then as you crawl toward me the light of the sun will dance with the eternal sunset
The moon itself full and sparkling
And your heavenly form will be blessed with the color of God.

You appeared to me in some kind of a nihilism fueled dream
I am still walking through this living dream, and have yet to emerge from it
You were once a shade of blue
But have grown into lighter shades
As if reds and greens were suddenly added to your spectrum
Possibly tomorrow will break me from this dream and into the true world of all this business
But for now
I have to only imagine what it is like
To look you deep in the eyes for an eternity
Or to hold you in my arms as if you and I were heading toward oblivion.
Or to touch your body as it conforms gently to the shape of mine
I don't remember writing this
Owen Phillips Dec 2012
I provoke the rain of Hell
From Heaven high to earth below
There we'll float on gainful spells
We're ready for this world to go
And off to outer space, we're facing
Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos
And beyond to distant Quasars,
No phasers, no lasers, weaponry
We're safe with hearts of purity
And naked with our souls we'll seek
The greatest cosmic mysteries

I've always sought and thought unreal
The spacecraft not of stone or steel but
Opened hearts and focused spirits
Woke by times both strange and fearful
Changing basic notions of
What we all say are mind and love

We're through with consumers, they've doomed us
We've moved on
The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone
We've built and built, killed billions and still
We march toward gold archways which never were real

I can tell others feel it,
They're real and they heal me
Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning
It's all building up to a climactic moment
Of high expectation that we will all blow it
But we were born just so we'd know when the opening
Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope

It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this
Darkness and chaos,
(Our God has betrayed us!)
But that's why our savior said
Look the other way,
To meet hate with more hatred
Speeds up the decay

We love the villains, though they **** us by millions
Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion
They can't see the dance while they're
Crashing and sinning
So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT
There's a part and they fit it,
Catalyst for the equipment
Of Salvation:
The nations of women and men
Beginning again
We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
He shakes his bones around
And wears them overhead like flags
By night he stalks through shipping yards,
Amusement parks by day,
In time with all the parts he's stolen,
He will build a mausoleum
Seal himself inside just to
Emerge when moonlight fades from view
And night is darker than blindness

He stumbles in an out
His brains are full of fire
He tastes the morning sun
And falls aghast with pleasure.
He stands and brushes off
The filth and turbulence.
He barks into a mask
His sweat sustains him
He presses pennies through
Your skin and seals them
Inside their package there
Where you can feel them

He laughs indifferently
He cries with pleasure
Ignites the tablecloth
And folds it twice
He slips ideas into
The money boxes
He hears the rain upstairs:
What? What's that? That's a fat cat! That's a fine hat hat hat hat hat...

He calls his mystery
Out through the sunlight
The birds don't ask him why,
But spread the message
He stings on either side
Whoever watches
He wets his hands and sets his watch
He waits with pleasure

He gathers firewood
In stacks that tower
And when they tumble down
He loses power
The skies break down their door,
Ask him to wonder
Does he belong up there?
He knows the answer.

The skies defend themselves
They rain and thunder
They pelt him down with flames
And tear asunder
A hundred artifacts
Beneath his bootsteps
He grasps at them in fear
And dives on after
Into the tunnel here
Where others like him stay
Paved into the ceiling
He hears the clattering
On down the way
He chases after echoes
Trips over shadows
He loses himself

He loses himself with pleasure

He comments on himself
So no one else can
He's overweight and he
Could use a sun tan
He waits for you to leave
Before he'll follow
He feels inside his skull
And thinks it's hollow

He hears his name and he
Takes flight at noon so he
Can make it back again
Before the moon

He single-handedly
Gives up our secrets
To any spy who'll pay
A healthy ransom

He's spoken innocence and
He's spoken nonsense
He comes to me each night
Proposing new games
I've never played before
And always feared
He cannot calmly state but scream
His shopping list

He tries to change his name
He's on top of his life
Cos he's the only one
The only one who lives it
Nobody will do it for him
Nobody will do it for him
Owen Phillips Nov 2011
He runs away and she will sulk behind
Until he stops to look and cannot see her there
He gets distracted by the dancing passion by the road
And lets her gain on him until she finally touches him
He pulls away and sees an avalanche collapse
Into the empty space he leaves behind
And when she weeps for him he sees his God, beckoning again
And in his awe and fear, he makes love to her again
Their fire blinding and erratic
And by the time he wakes and God is shining everywhere
Instead of right into his eyes,
He is cosmically relieved
And naked he awakens her
They fix each other up
And face the next day born again
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
This is the first moment that ever was, the crossing metal beams and glass panes,
The blurred reflections of finely polished tabletops
The meticulous tangles of crinkly hair in a variety of unique styles
All murmur to me from a shared experience of eternity
Reminding me that I should
Wake up
All the past is here with me
Unsteady, unwieldy
All the past is waiting for me to open the door and let it be free
And when I do I too will be free
For I am the past even more than the past is me
But I too am the future
As is the past
But I can't let past become future
If I don't WAKE UP
I'll be DEAD soon
Here I am, at WAKE tech*
'Twould be the height of ignorance
Not to see the message
Wake up.
Wake up.
Here I am for the first time in my life
The empty branches never held life, even losing it now
They are not characters of linear narratives
Even the happiness of unions between me and me again
They are born today, none share histories but those they've writ themselves
Wake up.
Remember that time,
So present,
It slipped away
That short synchronous gateway
When I broke through,
When I was nearly awake.
That time is not gone.
Look, look down,
You're wearing a t-shirt from Cup a Joe,
The place where you nearly woke up
Look down, your umbilical cord was cut
And you lived there
On Hillsborough Street,
Just past Cup a Joe
And a beautiful woman right above your head
WORKS there, the mythic place
Where you, where I nearly awoke.
How absurd, to think all would decide to converge there
Independently of each other
It was written
Before all began,
And now begins Time, untime
Now it begins

Remember? Look down, she said
"Be here, Be Here Now"--but remember? HE said Be Here Now
And here I were--
There I was
Impossible, yes, I know
But do you really want to pretend
That it matters
*Wake Technical Community College
Owen Phillips Nov 2011
Freed from his dependence on
Existing through a replicated
Version of the world in which he
Hoped to be enlightened,
He began to morph into a
Different kind of creature, as if
Something deep inside him was
Exploding from within.
Somehow this new creature
Reunited his sensations
With the realm of the ideas
Which he imagined in his head.
Somehow this new creature
Boiled over with emotion
Overwhelmed by all the beauty
It perceived in its new world.
Something in humanity's
Capacity for love and all the
Clockwork which connected all the
Matter in existence, from the
Moment of conception to the
Day we kick the can,
Captivated all the molecules
Of his imagination and
Aroused all the receptors of
Sensation in his mind;
Sensation, which he knew now to be
God's true incarnation, from the
Knowledge he'd attained from having
Met his God in person.
So all of this emotion,
Which was all that from within him
That he knew to be the truth
Was too exploding out from in.
So endlessly he channels
Out through portals to the outside
World of stimuli which in return
Rewards him with sensation
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
With no expectation all's novelty
The new patterns don't astound us
We can stay in the middle of the river with our heads above the water
And safely watch the coastline pass us by
The outside world an ocean of television static
The signals painting pictures of entropic holograms
That interlock and correlate
Until the ghosts of time are churning out
Like geese into a a tiny hole
In an orange plastic fence
Fleeing mischievous youngsters
Who love to watch them funneled in
Like grains of sand in an hourglass.
We too live in an hourglass
And the grains of sand empty out the bottom
Floating aimlessly through an unending void
And the ultimate improbability
Goes through the formality of actually occurring
When the grain of sand finds itself at the beginning
Passing once again through the hourglass
Undivided, indistinguishable
The poem is my own but certain phrases are borrowed from Terence McKenna and a Hopi elder prophecy
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
I scribble on
With a half lobotomy;
A radar seeking Hell by looking up
And another dictionary
From another time and place;
An alternate timeline
Reaching right and left
As well as fore and aft;
The beard of a ******
And naïveté too;
Undiscovered depths of emotional manipulation
Unseeing, unthinking,
A new old structural familiarity
To abduct and probe
The time-honored, vacuum-sealed
Ineptitude of ideology
Whose meat is sweet
But suits the skeletons of standardized educational theories
Like a pair of jeans at age eleven that you expect to grow into;
In hope of justifying
Overuse of monetary resource
For the sake of bonus states of mind;
Scouring the depths of discarded everything
With hooks catching on to all the similarly forgotten names
Who live in fear of obscurity
Clinging, not unlike insects
To their sixteenth minute of fame;
Finding in myself no way but out
To understand that which lives inside;
With disregard for any thread which weaves past me and takes no hold,
And loathing for the ones that do but unravel before the eyes;
Lightheaded, ending any sense of continuity
When, prostrate in the comfort of another tapestry
I stand abruptly, let my dreams be drained from me through tendrils
Like the passing of a temporal existence;
Drinking in the dust and glue of crowded bookshops
In fear of losing inspiration
To the insatiable jaws of my consumerist natural state;
Rummaging in a bargain bin
In search of someone to tell me, “Stop!"
With heads in clouds and bodies in ice trays,
Stealing lines of logic and lyric,
Throwing down and hacking into
Elemental bits which fit into my own vernacular
Sacrificing beauty for originality and vice versa;
Choosing idols idly with the tides
Of knowledge and of art
Rising and falling without fail
Never apparent and never blurred by motion;
Searching for a style like an odd-numbered jean size;
Finding greater inspiration in waves of unopened mysteries;
Following examples laid by unsuccessful fictions;
Learning ethics only from the prologues of ****** novels,
Unsuspecting victims snuffed in interesting and lurid ways;
Letting technological distraction detract from the projections of psychological complexity
Which I, from atop the high horse of my own pretensions
Pretended to embrace;
Committing massive acts of thievery, fraud, and infinite lethargy
For the sake of juvenile, illegitimate art forms;
Seeking other seekers who exist autonomously
For the sake of personal independent credibility;
Leading unsuspecting, overreaching, overeating, understanding, undemanding,
Too forgiving, not forgetting,
Victims of domestic warfare
To a loveless watery grave
For the sake of my own loneliness;
Patronizing every segregated buffet
With courage enough only for a small taste of everything;
With the flavors of the day swirling around
For me to shoot them down
And pin their carcasses to elementary school walls
And Mormon tool sheds
And nature centers
And all the forgotten places of summers past
In the hope of rediscovering
Some old buried treasure
Be it wondrous or worthless;
With the uneasy insincerity of a rodent who pretends to understand a city;
With adopted methods
And repeated thoughts
And ideas which came to me in waking dreams of my own retirement;
Sharing, for a captive audience,
The formidable giants which
Inform our common denominator
Searching through myself for only the most indecipherable
With the fear of being understood
And the fear of being ridiculed
And pretensions of some preternatural predetermination for greatness;
With acceptance of predisposition for obscurity,
The cost of the inundation of the new airwaves.
The series of tubes that feed us intravenously
With information, information, information,
Having killed God and left material validation in His wake;
It could be that new gods are born in the minds of the innovators,
Those wonderfully wealthy
Whose social structuralism
Was a beacon to us all;
In the darkness of an architectural anomaly
Where lights extinguish as my body lies dormant
Alone and abandoned
Only by my own subversion;
Confined ever to a convolution of passages
While above me all my peers still carry on;
Overstaying welcomes
And letting emotionality
Color conversation
A sicklier green,
A green of a tree only just sprouted,
A green of a new recruit,
A green of an inexperienced schoolboy
Faced with the daunting and timeless act
Of copulation;
Somehow taking in the sights and sounds and smells
Of advanced mathematics
Even occupied, as I am,
With explaining my actions
Most eloquently;
Devoting myself to another cause,
Another, another, another
Always relaxing my grip by losing focus;
Desperately hoping not to let my fellow travelers
Lose their innocence
While I reluctantly, dogmatically
Keep mine on a leash;
Always keenly aware
Of the universe of worlds
Beyond my control,
And even my understanding;
On the increasingly frequent
Intrusions of risk
Into my significant reality
And the iota of explainable truth which guides the motion of my body but most frequently my mind;
Questioning the meaning of all words
Without thought or coordination;
Considering another restful journey
To clear my mind of human language
And in its place acquire thoughts and emotions from the street;
Without foreseeable direction,
Malice aforethought
Or noticeable signs of critical reaction
Giving birth to litter
Forgetting articles
And floating my sense of time up the Ganges;
Taking only seconds to counter the possibility of
Accepting more responsibility for myself;
Complicating matters with an interesting or bitter goodbye.
Title inspired by Mel Brooks' film *Young Frankenstein*
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
He took me on along with him
To the forest in the sky
His voice was loud and fast and deep
It made my heart to cry

His name was never mentioned in the deepest darkest place
His heart would never win if mind he tried to chase
His name was "I Am Everything"
He made the women's hearts to sing
And left me in the clearing

The river trickled by me, in yellows and in pinks
I'm uncomfortable deciding if its water I should drink

The branches of the jungle smelled like German auto cars
I climbed into the canopy to gaze at all the stars
I made change of everything, the jungle to a zoo
To make it back to home and to the embrace of you

I swim against the river and watch the moon turn green
I climb the waterfall and then right out of the ravine
Owen Phillips Mar 2011
He's got
Reptile feet
We said
He's got an
Alligator totem
In his back door gutter
He's a little replicating pod
A salivating mangy dog
A little tin can of
Evaporating soda pop
We said.
He said
I'm a downstairs rat
On a hat rack
Building me a
Nice little roost
In a back lot.
Don't leave me waiting
I've got wide-open hands
Owen Phillips Nov 2012
The meek rattle the earth
The battle distracted the clerks
The overseer dipped into his potion
As commotion in the open
Became action and it started gaining traction
And without pause the commanders reacted with factionalism
For a fracture collapses community structures
They rupture with signs of mistrust
Institutions induce us to fear our own neighbor
And keep our eyes forward and fixed on our labor
But me and you, that's the True True
Helping out when I know what I can do
Spreading gratitude will get you bread
And clothed enough to stay alive
Because we'll only survive if we help each other
Owen Phillips Mar 2013
Going crazy in the normalest way
So jealous, so alone
The world doesn't open up to me
Because I press my face against glass doors
The windshields are fogging as I focus in on my disgusting and shameful acts of mutual *******
Waiting till life comes knocking at the window with a flashlight
Asking me to touch my nose,
Walk a straight line

You make me wanna **** myself
But I don't wanna die
I've just run out of ways to make you
Look into my eyes
I'm standing at a crossroads with nothing on all sides
No matter where I walk the future's always past the sunrise

I get up late each morning
Forget what I was dreaming
The memory of my eternal self
Floating through infinite kaleidoscopic
Worlds of pure imagination
Fades as easily as the lurid detail
Of the *** dreams I wake from in paranoid self-delusion

The church marquees say the skies open soon
But they lie
How could the answer to my woes be shining at me on the roadside
Between home and community college?
Everything is everywhere
But thus far NOTHING is here
There's an invisible dome over our heads
And none crane their necks to see beyond
The social order needs tending to
The community garden can wait
We'll always be able to survive on
Just-in-time produce deliveries
To our nearest grocery store
We have more important concerns
Like the meaningless jobs devised
By an unthinking static regime
To grow the economy and keep us from every questioning this way of life
The American way, the baby boomer's dream
Hidden within a shaded alcove
Of the barren wasteland we decided would suit the planet better
Than an unlimited, self-regulating biosphere
Powered by solar energy and God's will

We really did eat the fruit of the tree
But we didn't let it **** our egos
We didn't break on through
Adam and Eve didn't know the machine elves
And if they did the Vatican will have no mention of it
We must no longer be individuated consciousness
But we fail to see that we are ALREADY ONE
With each other
And everything
Even I cannot see it
When I spite my own flesh and blood
For a little bit of sensual grokking
Drinking in green eyes and pink lips

No jealousy!
I am you!
We are me!
Where does this jealousy come from?
The inability to SEE
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
for Olle Dellblad*

"When a stranger awakes in the outside, he can't sleep through the inside." -Unknown Roman Poet

As he marched about at sunset, he reached out upon the dawn, found himself in his direct path to the grave. He realized the error of his ways, a concept which is alien to him, as he is so clever he nearly always knows exactly what he is doing.

He jumped down from the boulder and strode confidently and un-haltingly, ever the straight face toward certain destruction, which turned out to really be just alright. He felt the steady burn of such realities that he had to escape before he could reach the fingers of light which crept in through the crack beneath the door.

As he tried to keep his expression as mean and cruel as ever in his career, the much less reputable and times less powerful tried to rope him back in to the cruel life again. He ignored and destroyed him, and discreetly met and signed with the ones who had only yesterday wanted to **** him. He was stuck, completely unrecognizable in the company of the most dreadful of the ****** prisoners. Prisoners of sight and mind, and most of all spirit.
Owen Phillips Apr 2013
There are no bad people and there
Are no bad things and the
Music's always playing, always ringing, always singing
Cos the music that surrounds you, penetrates you, lacerates you
Is no different from the substance of your being,
All vibrations merely differentiated unities
You are gliding through that energy field
And consciously! How strange indeed
You're a kaleidoscopic porthole into
All that can ever be
You keep moving through time,
Accidentally rhyming, caught up in the games of the intellect
And introspectively, you can't believe what your
Mind tells you you are
Because you are and you aren't
There's not one true way to know it
If a word could capture what you are,
Then it wouldn't be true
Because the thought and spoken word
Is skewed so distant from the root
But the word is just a path to understanding what the source could be
A way to help the others see
What's going on at the edges of the galaxy
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
Student? Intern?
Take this down on record
Preserve every word on paper
As if somehow my words could become important after I pass.
No, I'm still just an old fool.
I WANT TO SEE what I've missed all these years locked up in the
Laboratory, but as I take my
Penultimate breaths, I realize that I never shall.

May he or she who should inherit this sum of tortures and damnations
Remain a noble heathen, as I did in my final years.
I beg of you not to let your souls
Slip into the unknown Blue as I have
Though at first it seems divine
To propel yourself through space
With courage and with Virtue
Eventually you'll end up tired. Spent.
Exhausted. Your soul will reach unspeakable depths and we shall see how you fare in those darkest pits.

What's that student? Oh No!
Don't worry yourself over me,
I assure you, I only kid.
I am not to die for years.
But this message which I
Asked you to preserve
Was to be my last Will,
Which I'll send in the post
To my son, who forgot me
And lived a deliberately
Fatherless life

It's no wonder The falling of the moon
Doesn't always coincide
With the rising of the sun.
It's the way that the prairies
The deserts and oceans
Have no measured value
No monetary worth

So keep on recording, I beg of you, friend
And soon we'll be sending this letter to my kin

I want you to take
My assets and wits
And not just my agonies
Though the punishment fits

I once had the option of giving them up
There was no reason not to, so I refilled my cup
With wars and religions, this serious stuff
So I decided to keep them, the risk was enough

And now I entrust everything to you
I am sure you'll be wise,
Treat it well
And yourselves

Yes and then we stop the tape. Life stops recording
Now I'm free to cry in secret
All the promises I made will never be kept
One in particular haunts me, and yet I'll never keep it.
If I truly die, I don't know why
My candle burns out and blinds my eye

I can't resist, I will give in
I hope that life begins again
To be without a consciousness
I'm unaware of what I'll miss
Again in my new laboratory
The one of death, of purgatory

My final evening with my mistress
My perfect farewell, so romantic
A way of ending unfinished business
If she knew why, then she'd be frantic

And now my waltz
Comes to a halt
And I confess
To Father Death

Intimately these were my last wishes and desires.
Fulfill your dreams my son, before your time expires
Owen Phillips May 2013
Where do good ideas come from?
They shrivel away from the hypnotizing light of a virtual socialite
They grow toward the sun out above the clouds
Ever-present from birth to death,
They're the latest permutations of the same explosion that started that
Fusion core up there running
Running without stopping for a billion years
Fueling the experiments of life that consciousness spontaneously manifested
Across the planets
Each a test of a different vibrational frequency
Incompatible with one another but coexistent
Mercury's barren silver mines
And the Venusian valleys
And the regal red sands of Mars
And Jupiter's infinite wisdom and so forth to the edge of the Oort Cloud
And the green and blue ecology of earth, the waterworld
Where the entire drama we've seen so far has been carried out
The audience has grown in appetite
And doesn't always see that it too is the performance
But the unwilling blindness is all part of the sublime suspense of this subcosmic game
The planetary curiosity,
Can we make it? Would it matter?
We'll never truly die when we forget time
Owen Phillips Dec 2012
I'm no shaman. I'd follow a plastic flashlight from the astral plane
Time moves fast
And the animal spirits can hear it
Lumbering by, tumbling down from the
Cliff as if it fly,
Destroying the world in its path like a bug in its eye
And I'm part of this Time
Sit on my *** and wait for the visions to come
Letting it pass when I'm wired up to
Vices so quick and so simple to fulfill
Time's faster and stronger than will
I matter no longer, it feels, but still
The shaman life's here in my bones
It's common to all those who know
Perhaps I'm not ready, too green in the head
Or unwilling to part with the trough where I'm led
Or the mechanical fingers from which I am fed
But no, I can see that life surely isn't for me
Though weeks may have passed since I last climbed a tree,
That is ME.
In the cold I don't need artificial heat
I'm strategically weak so I can't beat the system
But listen, the behemoth is plummeting now
It'll drown from its mass, but we shall not go down
For we'll swim with our heads above water,
Summoning fish to swim with us others
These spirits who're tuned in to God's point of view
We can trust them, they love us, they want us to continue
But learn not to follow
The horror and hollow persistence
Of linear progress, in Congress with Satan
That aspect of knowledge which makes evil possible
Sublime in its authority and strength
Designed to be defeated from beneath.
Owen Phillips May 2013
Love's the base line
Let us be and what would we lack?
Love's no elixir nor intoxicant
Love's the pure undifferentiated state of joy
Love's where we go when we let go of ourselves
And we let go of our games and our desires
And our pasts and our futures and our fates and destinies
Love is tasting good food and chewing till it's paste and sitting back and smiling feeling it energize every cell
Loves hoping everybody wins the poetry slam
Because what good would it be to be in it for yourself
For one person
Against the universe?
None of us are opposed in love,
We are the unbroken chain
But every link is not connected to just
The link in front and the link behind
It is connected to every link at once
It is connected to every link ever forged with the blacksmith's love
The chain doesn't draw a line between us,
It wraps around us and ties us together
Oh love is all I knew before this poem
And love is the effortlessness of every word
Because only Nothing could be easier than love
And love is to BE nothing
Because who could resist such loving completion?
Nothing is the soul of the universe
And anything at all is Nothing but Love
Love is finishing my speech and sitting down because I'd rather hear yours
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
I cough and take a furtive drag
And walk suspended magnetically
Through an alley full of cobwebs and decaying flesh
Leftovers is what it is
And I rip myself off
A piece of the wallpaper to roll a joint, while
Mechanical spiders traipse their plastic webbing
Replenishing the sticky paste
Cheaper to produce, but far from long-lasting
In the mirror my reflection holds a fortune cookie
Cracks it open
Reads aloud
And hundreds all around him hear him and applaud
But mirrors have no speakers
And all I hear’s the mechanical whir
The spiders’ servos stepping, sliding, spinning threads
Of nylon
In service of some sickly, sapient sadist
Who’s been slurping down the fluids in my brain
And just like me—
To **** a man and throw the body in someone else’s garbage disposal

The smoke rings rise and float away
‘Til Someone sees them undulating
And I, in secret, *******
Into an old bible which I’ve renovated
Now it’s livable
A real great place to raise your kids up, as they say
I’ve added levels
Torn down all the walls
The living room’s the dining room’s the bedroom
As it were.
And I have to shove it ‘tween the dumpster and a rat
Who’ll never talk because he’s one of me
Though unlike me…
Forced out by higher powers than himself
At least…
Assumed powers.
Though as we know, dominion over Earth’s a fool’s game
That real estate investment you made’ll
Swallow you up before
Somebody else could lay more…
Justifiable claim.
I say this to be a comfort.
Though there may be none left for you.

And Someone follows blindly
Watching smoke rings through black sockets
Clawing his way toward
Clawing at my wallpaper.
My spiders run and hide in fear, their tails between their eight robotic legs
Thirty-two red eyes glow through the shadows
Quake with fear
Someone trips and stumbles through
With nylon clasping at his body
Never taking hold
He snaps the lines before the paste can even get a chance to stick
And I on high
Up fire escape, watch down with
Sudden fear for realization of the present
And Someone toddles away
No lasting damage done
I leave it ‘til tomorrow to recover
And shred my secrets into pieces large enough to read
And scatter them into the night.
Owen Phillips Jan 2011
Should I have realized
All that, looming over your head
Leaving a bright, luminous trail of enrichment
Skewered at the end of the longest famine in history,
(Everything dies and somehow
Never stops taking away your deaths)
And endless depths,
Was never mentioned in the volumes
Of the black books
Stored on the shelves
Of the libraries of Hell?

Should I have realized
That the flood and all its filth
The crumbled bodies and crumbled souls
Were kneeling at the doorstep
Of everybody's waking eyes
And everybody's closing minds
And the entrance to your world?

Should I have realized
That all these angels,
All these demons
These tangled webs
These newfound freedoms
All living seperate lives outside your reality
Were all essentially and undeniably
Cleared of all charges and metaphysical transgressions?
Help me think of a better title
Owen Phillips Mar 2013
Rhythm straightening
The early morning gray looks at me
Overcast, the sky blankets me in bliss
The cool rain chills to the bone
The cool bones rattle to the ground
Skeletal street lamps illuminate dark business
The occluded acts of idleness on a weekday evening
Sitting on paved carpets and waiting for It to happen;
Today we create for ourselves
Because there is no path but our own
Through the sterile darkness of de-electrified night

The dead hyena by the highway
The leering eyes of his surviving kin
Beasts can feel the concrete start to crumble
They're waiting outside the city walls, gleaming fangs, gnashing jaws
Knowing our day has come and gone
Our soft, tender meat will be all that remains
When the tools of our dominance disintegrate
Breathing easy this late in the game
It's safe because all we can do is wait,
Or create
Owen Phillips Apr 2013
I would lay at night and hope to dream
And visualize what I'd want to see
Because the easy path to what I want to be
Was through organic virtual reality

I wanted to be by the stormy sea
In humble garb on the beach with thee
Then strip to nothing for your eyes to see
The totality of naked me

Well the dream did come and you sat with me
And with your touch drew me close to thee
And I knew to kiss you, becoming We
And in the back seat, remained in unity

But the morning came and the dream was gone
And I saw what a fool I had been to long
For that fleeting moment in a fleeting dream
And not for our union to truly BE
Next page