Jul 2020
He writes songs to the world like letters in the post,
He mails them by bird and they stay in the sky for winds to carry, delivered on a doorstep
It landed in my harddrive
I download it to my mainware and nothing but the emptiness of throat can save
For more, he commands I write back to omniscience of a third-person view,
A second-hand first-person perspective of how your words tingle with the tip
Of the imagined blue veil that only comes across this white page when I look away
(Getting closer to black when I turn away, fading from view as I create myself when seen)
When I look away, my peripheral, an indirect source
Filter it through beads, a field you are, the field beyond our reach, reaching everywhere
The field for me to push through and spin through and move through
No flipping, spinning, consistent flux of illusion
I breathe these hymns into the blue candle and my eyes
Will be dedicated to the fairness of The light
Close our curtains to feel the wings, the much subtler wings
That flap and sail us on through milky gaseous molasses to unending potential
My blue candle awaits your confirmation, awaits your acceptance
Because the flame represents the mystery behind your drowned eyes
And foggy speech as the smoke draws up into the sphere above me, never evaporating
And I hear to feel your lucidities, your technicalities,
And it is math to me, and models to you
And like models to you, mold me like clay, Potter
Draw me out in lines and in numbers and in other things from the foreseeable Now
You can create me out of anything
Of the sound, to think of the ‘were’ and the ‘when’
But never the present-future to be substantial enough
To break away my devotion to a gray area
The continuation from black to blue to white
Meeting in the middle
Stuck in the middle
Where you are I see, where you are I follow
Stretched by the prongs of time to stream like rivers and it
Ripples like a paradise that I could imagine still
Oscillating toward the pearls you harnessed
Out of me comes nothing but in me everything goes
Bleakness surrounds and now I am wrong for being on my knees
To pray and to beg and to show you my life
And I am swimming the wrong way, opposite and backward each limb flies
Into a different stream
I go nowhere to be nowhere
No need for flashy love and like the water
To bead and drip and to become sloshed together
Like a mistake for creation
My transformation forces two bodies into one soul victim of splicing
I see this all and weep because what is it? Why do I write this way?
Pitiful and pathetic my mind assumes and I make up for it by showing off
The newer ways my soul reaches out of my skin,
The new protruding mountain peak and the new depth of a valley
Bluer waters to float you and cooler sips of wind to take
This is how she shows me the illusions that take hold
A CONFUSED LITTLE GIRL
She forms them with her motions she seizes them with her sound
She shows me levitation and how they stand so tall
Another one, *****, another one! *****, show me all!
He mails them by bird and they stay in the sky for winds to carry, delivered on a doorstep
It landed in my harddrive
I download it to my mainware and nothing but the emptiness of throat can save
For more, he commands I write back to omniscience of a third-person view,
A second-hand first-person perspective of how your words tingle with the tip
Of the imagined blue veil that only comes across this white page when I look away
(Getting closer to black when I turn away, fading from view as I create myself when seen)
When I look away, my peripheral, an indirect source
Filter it through beads, a field you are, the field beyond our reach, reaching everywhere
The field for me to push through and spin through and move through
No flipping, spinning, consistent flux of illusion
I breathe these hymns into the blue candle and my eyes
Will be dedicated to the fairness of The light
Close our curtains to feel the wings, the much subtler wings
That flap and sail us on through milky gaseous molasses to unending potential
My blue candle awaits your confirmation, awaits your acceptance
Because the flame represents the mystery behind your drowned eyes
And foggy speech as the smoke draws up into the sphere above me, never evaporating
And I hear to feel your lucidities, your technicalities,
And it is math to me, and models to you
And like models to you, mold me like clay, Potter
Draw me out in lines and in numbers and in other things from the foreseeable Now
You can create me out of anything
Of the sound, to think of the ‘were’ and the ‘when’
But never the present-future to be substantial enough
To break away my devotion to a gray area
The continuation from black to blue to white
Meeting in the middle
Stuck in the middle
Where you are I see, where you are I follow
Stretched by the prongs of time to stream like rivers and it
Ripples like a paradise that I could imagine still
Oscillating toward the pearls you harnessed
Out of me comes nothing but in me everything goes
Bleakness surrounds and now I am wrong for being on my knees
To pray and to beg and to show you my life
And I am swimming the wrong way, opposite and backward each limb flies
Into a different stream
I go nowhere to be nowhere
No need for flashy love and like the water
To bead and drip and to become sloshed together
Like a mistake for creation
My transformation forces two bodies into one soul victim of splicing
I see this all and weep because what is it? Why do I write this way?
Pitiful and pathetic my mind assumes and I make up for it by showing off
The newer ways my soul reaches out of my skin,
The new protruding mountain peak and the new depth of a valley
Bluer waters to float you and cooler sips of wind to take
This is how she shows me the illusions that take hold
A CONFUSED LITTLE GIRL
She forms them with her motions she seizes them with her sound
She shows me levitation and how they stand so tall
Another one, *****, another one! *****, show me all!
