fan the flame
wick to wildfire
all the blame
to unjust liars
- - -
clinging to comforts-
my thoughts are shaped like death:
shortness of breath,
bringing about sudden sedation;
abrupt cessation.
vanishing back into the collective,
never knowing what it is to live.

reminiscent of the baleful days:
when the plagues sweep,
the emperor sleeps
on the bed of providence-
& there they lay, collecting dust.
- - -
clearing in the sky,
do you ever wonder why
full moon stagnancy
conceals the throbbing moonlit scene?
when can we reemerge from underneath
this adamant cloud cover?
while
waiting for the birth
of the mane in the manger
to blaze the way on earth
and make kin of all strangers.

citrus stripping away the pain
painted across my face
while subjected to a world
of linen skinned
with denim daydreams
laced & lined
in lavender leaves.

rain dance on my grave
where i lay still praying for rain
from heavens that hawks circle
wings cutting through winds
gliding on the air waves
perching steady where mockingbirds
pester with their imitation games

"all in due time"
says the sparrow
walking on the telephone line
sticking to the path
visible in plain sight.

"all in due time"
says the willow
waving in the winds
whistling sweet songs
to the audience of kids.

"all in due time-"
says the blind Pharaoh
"all will be mine"
held up by hands of slaves
to preserve this blood divine.

"all in due time"
says the hero
holding his ground
standing like a martyr
among the bombs that drop
on each and every town.

all in due time

full moon peaks beyond bare branched trees
rising with the tides on a dark unstarry sky.
all ships ebb
all ships flow
underneath the variable moonlit glow.
satin & silk
creamy filled ivory
still we're on the brink
of what? we will see.

where do i fit within your will?
why do i seek constant thrill?
how much longer until i am ill?
what do i hear? it sounds so shrill.
to know the answers, what must i ****?
maybe that's the destiny- i must fulfill.

how am i to know
what bricks must be laid?
when the game has been played-
which seeds should be sown
what garden must be grown?
will this house still stand to show?
there's really no way for me to know.
- - -
if i am the question-master,
i am Father Time's slave
for he holds all the answers
but chases only his own grave
- - -
there's nothing to be done,
save reclining in space-
while trying to become one
with this Mother Earth's place,
where lives her many daughters
and also her Sun
under which we lay
-sparkling & suffering-
there's nothing to be won.

open the history books
& dive right in.
live between the lines
of what they called sin.

see the secret language
spoken with love.
in the name of peace and justice:
know what must be won.

there comes a moment
when the printer lags-
but it's waiting for you
to choose what's had.

now paint the pages we'll read in our futures,
write the songs to be sung in tomorrow's lectures.
the colors and melodies are of your choosing
but don't forget the wise old, saying:
our children reap
their parents' sowings.

gasoline spills across the board;
absentee children i seem to hoard.
stuck to iridescent surface tension
not found within;
does blame live there
or is it truly shared?

digging through debris
hoping to find the one that cared;
who would never banish me to become
maimed, misguided, nor scared.

from whence will appear
the ginger-headed djinn
granting me the trinity
formed by desire driven sins?

sit idle with idol images
but only yours appears
nameless sin
kindred curiosity
divine providence
sparked by malaise
. . .
what will i find
swimming through the deep waters
coming from your soulful gaze?

i hear your pleas
and learn to respond accordingly
through rain
through shine
pushing past pain coursing through these veins
needing next time to be mine.
how do i act my age?
when i'm treated like some super-human sage
who's child am i?
i wonder as i look up to the sky

deep is this vastness that consumes me
gravity unfounded just as the force
planting feet firmly.
weightless wings can lift my ponderous
presence
alone;
left with nothing
save onerous scrounging
for only;
some.
        simple.
                     meaning

bygone tycoons and blind followers
traversed by taking all offerings
while offering nothing to their offspring
except a tainted world they left dying
and crude remarks about societal upstanding
built on the back of  insurmountable debt
and a grapefruit breakfast
that left much to be desired in the ways
of relishing our senses and drenching ourselves
in awe removed from daunting poverty of spirit.

but like the green that peeks through concrete
so too shall we live completely
with their legacy coursing through our veins
in the form of bloodened synthetic remains
they call: our inheritance

plunge the dagger
a little bit deeper
into the flesh of this body
of bellowed breaths
and unseen depths

plunge the dagger  
a little bit deeper
i'm just trying-
to get some sleep here

plunge the dagger
a little bit deeper
it can't hurt anymore
and i'm not keeping score

plunge the dagger  
a little bit deeper
i guess maybe,
this is how it's meant to be

transatlantic candor
sounding sweet
while masking falsities-
don't for even a second
think that i can't see
through words and pleas
so, please;
put my boots on the ground
for i will hang them up
when you can rest easy
and we can sit around
this place, your land or
around a passing home
underneath green old olive trees.

neatly laid, red-brick walls
behind them, my skin crawls

four corners, all empty
here i stay, on my knees

not knowing, when ill meet
the maker, the mover or the shaker

no windows, no way out
growing virulent, settling accounts

how many days, must i wait?
while the world within, turns to waste
- - -
deep confessions
swimming under the surface
no one's listening
when i shout them quietly
drowning in deception
mostly of my own making;
going through life while only taking

searching through shapes
traced by stars
and someday soon-
we'll live among them all

marred by addiction
nameless still--
remains an affliction

stern countenance abound
marking contemplation.
confounded by plentiful earthbound
fruits
not for the taking

clouds roll by
in a sunless sky-
they come and go
as i stare out my window

overcast days they stay
more often than not
atop of each other they lay
tangled in a knot

these days it's hard to see
any light of the sun or
silver-linings undone.
instead they paint
distinct varieties of grey
onto a backdrop tinted blue-

& where there's blue,
radiance can shine through
so clear, so sharp
and then i become
melodic like a harp
illumined by the rays
captured by my upturned gaze.
- - -
but these days are overcast
& the mornings drenched in haze
so i march forward
wondering how long it'll last
until we finally part ways

birds chirp at the sight of dawn
and the roaring drone of lawn mowers
meet distant echoes of dogs barking while
children chatter and play in the grounds.
- - -
despite it all, the voices
inside my head still insist
something is
gravely
wrong

syphoning all upon intake
where it whirlpools within
to a swirl of wistful nostalgia
of misty morning strolls.
safe in a valley amongst
the tallest peaks
sheltered from the expanses
& shrouded by warm embrace
of surrounding mountain tops
through which dew collects
in channels and falls
by grand design
reflecting iridescence
refreshing essence
rue of none.
-  - -
and with just one exhale
the storm is unleashed.

let it flow
whichever way
the wind blows
- - -
maybe then,
swiftly swishing through rocks
it can find itself
a nice little
home.

scrambling quickly around the ferris wheel while trying to look out and around at the passing summit only to see unlit streets and broken tambourines. riding the high not forged down to the valley between two foes. whatever comes to me now i show. put it on display with hopes that it grows into something beautiful. within me, it's little less than ephemeral. what goes up must come down must also go back up but it's sickening down to the pit of my stomach to find no altitude to make myself a home. wherever i go. wherever i go, i don't know what i want to know. some spark be it magic be it profound, dive in head first in water knee-deep. stream of consciousness not enchanting nor disenchanting like the babbling brook so often written about. a haunting presence to be read but like the divine cannot be known and only felt so too are these cards that i was dealt.  still- i feel nothing but sick by the thought of enduring on a breathless path removed from my senses. thickening of any sense or desire to progress into the darkness around, to find warmth aglow guiding the way. this way forward, walk towards me. one step forward and suddenly i can't see inward or outward, still i'm told- to carry onward. onward i must go but muddied conventions run quick and clear constitutions disappear.  there used to be places and spaces carved into stone in the jungles for those like me. sequestered from shame by not fitting a mold indistinctly so. not for a purpose, only for daft languishment fading back into the collective unseemingly so. biddings left unbalanced, dreams remain in the trenches dug by unequivocal noise surrounded by pomp and confusion. i take two bellows to fill my lungs emptied by a stampede consisting of one-only me. footsteps drumming to quicken my unbeating heart into action where none is wanted. companion of conviction resolute in distractions to pass through the present day into a land of unventured composition. befriending brutal honesty but only the brute reveals itself. masked and muted by blithe forgivings. destined for isolation made worse by longing for kinship that has long sailed away back across the atlantic into another realm colored by iridescence that no longer exists and very likely never did. there's no way for me to know though: which way these words came from or which way they'll go. so i stay entrenched; my feet wet in this unbroken stream of consciousness.

concrete milieu
prime for the scraping
of  knees that hold me
while i'm praying for
reprieve shaped by space
for flowers to grow-
out of my vision
- - -
the colors still impression
clearly in periphery
escaping my gaze

all or nothing.
all or nothing.
someone please save me
from this all or nothing.
for ages i've teetered back and forth
between the extremes of empathy:
no one's right
no one's wrong
when you find yourself
traveling alone to
the edge of both
how do you come back
to sisters
living in the mind
to become the mountain
used to churn oceans
and save the world?

all or nothing
please teach me
the ways and walks of
my sister
delphine

trudging along the mountain
barbed wire guard rail
holding my place
words losing meaning
horizon still shortening
when they tell me to
alchemize these wounds
it's something i'm not able to do

in plain view i see the truth
not palatable, nor pleasant
simple as syrup
maybe for everyone else
but not for me

pray tell
which way will set me free?
listening to the head
i'd let go of the railing
and leave you in my wake--
praying for
my dear departed soul
the truth i see so obvious
but confounded by the
twists & turns
different rivers, different roads
all going nowhere
to the same ******* hole.
- - -
so pray tell me,
what does it mean to flow?

the cocktail swirling in my gut
slowly dissolving to ease
body and mind
but suddenly my soul
gets enlightened and I'm queasy

it should've been
easy
but the tempest thoughts
take control and they just wont
let go

slight shift in countenance.
contempt or consternation?
up for my contemplation
swirling around in my head
like the cocktail in my gut

really makes you wonder
the jarring push
out of the nest
swishing you into new age.
- - -
stumbling to steady
only took the best of me
to find barge at sea
whose buoyancy still
fails to carry

linger around the yuletides
heightened senses swirl
like feathery snow sparkle
carried by the wind
dancing in the chill
like a ballerina
that knows not of
God's will.

stormy weather-
my consolation company
i feel at home
even knowing
without you
i'm all alone.
more so than i
thought i was
before i took you
selfishly
for complacence.

public entrance
to the festival of deliverance:
what they don't show you
is the underbelly of temperance.

cold seeps into extremities
reminding me once again
that i'm getting older &
more intimate with frailty.
slowly but surely-
becoming the reaping of
my younger selves' sowing.
here i retreat inward
to find the soul
for the world outside
has lost its gold
that was never there.
fear fuels my nightmares
but i'm told to stay scrambling
for the light within my dreams
and the threads painted by love
to weave anew.
but the skeins stay drab
and the pastels tangled.
however will i continue
with my thoughts all mangled?

i crave the abuse of hot coffee
warming my insides
and setting fire to my brain
already on amphetamines.

together they ride the chariot
lead by me-the workhorse
yoked by the weight
of the world.

their whip lashes me to action
for without it
i am nothing
but
futile

until the yoke is lifted
i must keep fueling
my one & many
addictions
that set fire to my insides.

if you met me twenty years
down the line
how would you know
it was me after all that time?

i set a hundred-thousand birds free.
though all they know is captivity,
fresh air beneath their wings
teaches them once again
how to sing

oscillatory specks
dancing together
resting on the back of
that which can't be grasped
as wave nor particle
resounding gravity.

their delicate balance
and ballet offers
a stage in which
all is seemingly revealed
in its presence--
but,
nothing is ever
as it seems
so at the very least:
it is the ultimate carrier
weaving together
elucidation & illumination
highlighting the seams of
simple magnificence
that is contained within itself

threads of violins
shredded by violence
to stop the song of sirens
shrieking on the live wire.
it's twisted by air not felt
underwater
& captured by flash bulbs
that blind not deafen
- - -
suddenly we begin witnessing:
the tides are shifting
the tides are shifting