I live on the inside, mostly.
Not on the outside.
I'm learning, more and more.
But yeah.

I am a galaxy of stars,
a universe of stories.
Sitting on the pinnacle of a rocky black spire.
Cross-legged, calm
in the whirlwind of ideas that I think all to myself.

Lines extend out through empty space,
like neurons in infinity -
thought connecting thought with thought
to build a web of life and consciousness,
a twinkling framework for my soul.

I reach to feel the soul of passing threads,
and craft the sparks into some airy nebulae.

Combine, twine. Jump that far synaptic gap.
Connect and catch the pulsing breath:
Idea with idea join.

And from the gauzy mother-thought
I watch the new idea spring,
dancing with that new-found heart-throb dance
and glistening still with birth's fresh fluid
flung
aloft like stars.
The threads, they grow.
To find the greater context.
To live.
To know.

But then eyes fly open.
Space contracts,
Flipping, spinning,
Twisting back into my head.

That place
Is beautiful, I think.
All I see there is my own.
Storms may rage but none can steal the threads that hold the cradle of my soul.
For my mind is a place
that no one else has ever been.
Where no one else will ever be.
-
Sometimes, darling,
I wish that I could take you there...
Unfortunately, the only thing that really gets through the blood-brain barrier is alcohol,
not human souls.

So for now, we'll have to do with words.

Fire and fear and falling shadows,
a promise broken and shattered dreams -
the tides break in with rolling billows
and my heart of sand is tossed ashore...

But I will stand once more,
For she is my anchor in the storm.

Kiss my brow and soothe my worries,
take my hand and cast your spell.
Let the demons you have driven from me
cast themselves back into hell;

for you are my anchor in the storm.

When the darkness grows within
you shine your light into my soul:
where the laughing failure whispers
and the future looks so dull.
When I cannot see the morning
and it seems I've lost the fight,
your hand is on my shoulder,
speaking wisdom in the night.

No words can sketch the likeness
and no picture show the form,
but if there's one thing I can say,
it's
You're the anchor in my storm.

I’ll love you to pieces just so I can put you together and watch you fly.

I’m sick of it,
The blasted hordes like dried-out gourds
Screaming, cawing for more water.
Feed the flesh, delight the eyes
Give us our shining fantasy. With flippancy
Strip down past all the layers of
My skill my voice my person,
And then take me, break me, make me
Into someone I am not.
Into something that is not.

Pull the paints out.
Imperfections had their day
Yesterday.
Today we’re going all the way.
Make or break you,
Take and shape you:
Tonight you’ll be the idol of the world.

Set the lights, hold your poise.
There’s a goddess on the stage tonight.
Not a person. Not a voice.
It’s the *** doll’s dance tonight.

But we’ll call it art.

I’m sick of it,
The cursed curve,
Numbers up, so clothes come down; and to think I started out
So innocent.
But the eye of the tiger is broken,
The clearness of crystal is crushed -

and those shards just make the perfect dress!

Crystalize, sterilize,
Put me on a different plane.
Separate, distillate,
Don’t let them see your pain.
“If you have to show you’re broken,
It’s gotta be so you can gain.”
Strip away. Everything.
Don’t show them who you really are.
We need an image for the covers
Not a person. Not a windowpane
Into your soul.

So break free, defying,
Undying.
You’re like a god.
No more trying. True flying
Means no more rules for me.
Don’t let them try to
Defy you:

You are now allowed to breathe free.

But only if you push the line. Flaunt your paints and shine your sparkles, leave behind your decency. You stand before a watching globe It is your job to entertain. So really, you are not your own.

The masses are the masters, though they pay.

So no, there’s no way out for you. There’s only forward
Which is downward. And no chance
To just be you. Because
Your freedom isn’t free.

They just can’t take a faulty human. It would be a let-down,
A break-down.
So let us shove you in a box.
Tell you how you have to be.
If you’re gonna keep your money
And your parody of free.
Then take the stage
Play the part.
There’s no more music
No more art.
Just a mad house, a cat house
Diced up platters serving meat.
Kiss my chains, take my gains,
For all my pains
I still ain’t free.

But still. We’ll call it art.

A bird sits in a cage.
      Waiting for the day he is set free
               He sings bright and clear at first
        But as the days drag on and on
                The song dims and dips
              He's so alone,
                    So afraid,
                      That he'll never get out.
                     He starts to panic
                   To flutter and fade.
                 He tries to fly away
               But the bars stop him
                       He's trapped.

             My heart is the bird.
                     My ribs the cage.
                           And I'm afraid.
                                So lost and afraid.
                                      Help me fly away.
                                                                         please......

cold mist
dark wind
and stench like death's own
firstborn son

i am a shadow
laid to rest
life's long struggle
under stone
and seal of spice

then
****** heat
pulsing light
voice beyond the dark
and stony veil

calling

forth you dead.
come forth

flinty foot
faulty step
to haste, obey the call
and rise
from chained slumber

filtered light
through crossing thread
woven cloth
to wrap the dead

unbind him
set him free

...

and halted there
in frozen time
his hand
has pulled away
a strip
or two
and sight from blindness
has restored

but still
the itch and irk
of grave clothes
not unbound

i feel it all around

a finger moved
an opened eye
the breath of life
and hope to die

to wake again

broken free
of death's cocoon

forever.