we dashed our hopes, we smoked our dreams
we collaborated with our saboteurs
while the shots were still echoing

we tried to hide our tired eyes
with wired silent sighs
that were a final long goodbye
before our minds even recognized

too slow to get up on this rhythm
pulling pins down nicely
while shooting barrel fishes

and the polite, smiling, trusting
are the worst ones to grow up with

it's a long walk home with the sidewalk becoming headphones
footsteps keep the beat, the bass of your breath is baritone
the memories of the street call out in a chorus of overtones
you finally feel at home as you become a walking metronome

you're a movement or overture
crescendo in reverse composure
a serenade that plays over
common resolution, different closure

the repeating beats are deafening
the rising tempo is chasing me
the rhythm is catastrophe
and this is my symphony i made with the streets

the silent impact passes as movements become masses and the despised things become what we're after.  we're our own last chapter, ununique to the minute but maybe rare the moment after.  we're glued to television screens the preach our own defeat and don't even acknowledge our new masters or their dying dreams.  your life is a worried line and devoid of devoted patchwork.

dire sirens blaze as i ire lights to do the same
fire consumes desire and wired nights are left to blame
while the mired tired chime in that they also want a taste
the inspired have conspired and perspired away the shame

the flights are nights we've compiled into piles
and sights and lights are set on the ceiling and tiles
the fights deny what's right and blood goes for miles
and the right to die is what's sequencing our style

your moment was a second and it was shot to death in front of you.  but first it asked what you are going to do.  sit around and wait for a second chance to lose any moment that'll never come again and always shows up too soon? or sleep all day and forget you had a better life to prove?

i felt a tear, mostly in motion
collapsing into spirals, we find ourselves here
part awake dreams that lull you to sleep
or the way you tell yourself
you're not seeing things

how clever you are to be confused with a star
and when you implode i hope you recite alibis
because the truths you lie about won't matter anymore
and the dying few planets are how we even the score

the mighty have fallen but this time it's for good
misunderstood are the few who can't laugh enough
at the fire that's been alive for far too long
and the homes that have burned have become verses of songs

plead with the captors to silence the rapture
or at least mislead us from the treasure we're after
it's not like the dead can make promises reverse
but at least we're not still chasing that ******* hearse

scared melody, the sacred surgery. the sacramental  discrepancies
will remind us of the finer things
like circuitry and hurried dreams

despite what i've been reading it seems like the world has taken to leaning
on its side or on its head, we're sent careening
well past the point of believing

come at me with all the aggression in your possession
deny no weapons and don't wait for second guesses
because you always gave me that first impression

politely past sleep and still there's very little worth sobering for
i thought I'd heard another neighbor kicking down my door
turns out it was just my head hitting the floor

i've almost erased everything of this portrait that once made a face.  the landscape remains but the memories aren't the same and even without a voice I still hear a name.  colors become mute and grey, night becomes boring when it's permanently day.  so what is there really left to say; drawn down words are curtains on this place and the house lights burn so bright, eager to become flames.  

i'm a vandal of a curator or the wrong end of a metaphor.  i think "this is what solvent's are for" 'as I take deep breaths upon the floor.  it's a win-win if you're trying to ignore the opening and closing of windows and doors.  tell me how I wasn't supposed to even the score when i'm barely old enough to go to war?

a day late, a memory short.  a moment began long before either of us could breathe and each moment was what vaguely resembled telepathy.  dying dreams to go to sleep or sweet escapes that scream defeat.  your moment is your time and everything will rewind or soon repeat.

rocket ships can't hear us now when the stage two blasts have passed.  and the only friend we'll have will be the person we see in the glass.  auroras of mind won't be hard to find and the magnetism of the stars will reflect on you. i've vandalized our only way home so you know that I'm telling the truth.

i've utilized the moment and caressed it into motion.  I've become the self denying symptom of devotion or a universal explosion, or whatever it is that reminds us of what we're holding; a map for a plan that we can't understand as it's still being written and no one's around to promise the land.  

we'll dig until we find mars or at least a better path through the stars.

caught the grizzly scene, down on its knees.  a dark cop in the corner, writing everything down like prescriptions a ****** is forcing with a gun to his head.  we were weaving in and out of traffic and minds when the barriers hit the brakes for a second, and that was sobering enough.  we kicked it down to third gear and the radio waves became a name.  for a second, we existed only as guesses.

the coroner report will come back eventually, and there we will place all blame on discrepancies.  while burying our heads, we discovered our feet and only kept the left one around for sake of symmetry.

now go tell the press and demand them to redact all contents of their articles that had an impact

composing an ocean, devoid of emotion
    complete within it's motion
  we know how to start commotions

minds wander higher than the tides
and the feeling that everything is just right
    begins to subside for just a little while

we've brushed against our wisdom
  devoted life and limb for symptom
of a better type of income

    remember chasing words through the sea
as a vagrant form of poetry
or the times of make believe
i thought you reserved for me

now i truly hear how
my heart beats

thumbs to the sky as we cosmically hitchhike, distances we can't find on earth but somehow hide inside our minds.  ignition sequence, a countdown said in rewind.  one more time for the sake of headlines that will seek to remind the exploration we've stopped and now just pantomime.

we are a planet sized diamond or the birth of galaxies in ultra-violet; the fusion of an atom or the things that science can't fathom.  the creation of a star and the worlds that are suddenly becoming less far.  Let's hotwire a rocketship, vacation in zero G.  we'll redefine gravity and finally understand relativity.

this is the last time I go to NASA for an answer.

we caught a magnet in the stars, just to remember just how far
we've come and where we're going to

it's more convenience than truth, more denial than proof
more for appreciation than getting used

i've been pulled back, after defying the track.  
anticipating collapse of systems no longer intact.

proudly on display, those who gave the stars names
in hopes of a better place, or a forgotten face
or for all those things that got away

it's almost pointless in the grand scheme
but that doesn't help, when you won't share my dream

been feeling out of luck, or in a funk.  or like a wanderer with a broken pickup truck.  a hitchhiker stuck in a rut or the feeling that you get right before you've been struck.  

we've taken names when we conquered this place and later sold them to slaves for minimum wage.  your hate remains the same even when you have love entering your veins at a staggering pace.   now i know why your name is tied to a face i can't quite place as I remember all those shots I used to keep my memory erased.

there's no compassion for passion, no rest for the wicked, no waking for the altruists who've stayed away from stigma.  no place for complacency, no words for the mute.  no changing places now, except for the resolute.  

there's no home for the tired and no plots for the conspired.  no truth for the useless, no downfall for the liars.

antidotes become a long walk home
after leaving everything you used to know
the swaying trees speak in tongues through leaves
and roses become chloroform

tied to a a mast i'm set to outlast
sirens on horizons, harmony intact
this boat becomes a home for everything still unknown
as the hull breeches from impact

can't complete what i'll never believe.  
been forced to deny what makes sense to me.
and while the tired are now wired, and begging to flee
i'm still addicted to whats worst for me

lethal dose established
now tell me what your plan is

marked:  hazardous materials.  
special handling required;  

contaminants.  corrosives.  
radiation.  explosives.­  
pathogens.  psychosis.
before even touching this
you need to know this:
it was a cure for war,
a solution to pain.
it was something that should
never be attempted again.
it was chaos, it was peace

it was the last second of time
before either of us chose to speak.


now the moment has passed, the HAZMAT crews amass
i mention casually as they put on their gloves
"is there usually so much destruction"
replied "what do you expect from love?"

growing closer to where asking questions is cancer waiting for an answer.  essays, and mindwaves, and backspins, and moon rays.  Eyes above my mind, but it’s the truth now that makes me blind.  and all the pathways i can’t find because somehow they have left me far behind.

the density that carries my mind, like lead floating on air: casually undefined.  but there exists a lie i’ve told a truth behind - told in fast forward but experienced in rewind.  the fluids become ink and words against your spine, while worlds reroute and minds align.  it becomes a certain sign that the best hand is held by time - who rewrites headlines that forget to remind the stock dialogue for the witness of the crime.  back again, past enemy lines, at least we have explosives we can hide behind.

so remember those who will perish
  
in the war and all the truths that
    
they died for

but it was the only way
  
really,
to even the score.

i would **** you if i didn't wanna kiss you
i would free you if i knew i wouldn't miss you
i would feel you if only for the misuse
i'd leave if i wasn't an addict of abuse.

the tipsy dance of ambivalence becomes the lasting moment we thought was chance.  we killed our dreams to believe in telepathy but it was pathetically lost to romance.  and where we go from this point forward was once written on a postcard but the times have changed and nothings the same - the words were true but the message you should disregard.  

and what you once became is now what you can’t remember.  and i find myself in the same place every december - the cigar smoke, the coughing clothes, the spaced out mind that no one knows.  the paper sheets become the ground under our feet and we draw what we walk with our footsteps as the beat.  Somehow it’s deafening.  

passive tones become our new home and the greetings we used before are now goodbyes.  everyone that was once familiar is now just a passerby.  so now we look to the moon to tell us noon, even as a lie.  no wonder we say we’re trying to catch each other while we lie awake at night.  

i’ll believe what I think til my blood turns to gasoline - or deny everything while smiling for the guillotine.  you got the best of me and though I can barely breathe - I’m still standing and never made it to my knees.  So keep your eyes on the great machine even though I can guarantee it will never give you what you need. just don't share the dream if you can't make it mean anything.

exhausted, accosted
feelings lost and
still dishonest.

bled dry, just along for the ride
all kidding aside,
just for a second, we die.

my moment is yours
wars of past are cures and
time lost is its own curse.

sleep tight, its the insomniacs
that dream tonight.

life is death is life again, blisters crawl across the skin, the story of a scar’s origin.  on the losing ***** of our next big win - gambling your heart like it’s got a twin.  fall becomes a sense that’s deafening as the particles that make up empty bottles are lessening.

when a star dies, gold is born - a partial explanation for the colours at dawn.  seeing two suns where there once was one is the universe explosively laughing all night long. cosmic alchemy radiates down, passing through everything without making a sound.  iron becomes gold, becomes the mined stuff of the ground, becomes some of the finer things we see passed around.

a star is a death waiting for itself, we are life waiting to be a star.  gravity is now our only friend so we can become what we already are: a slightly conscious carbon, waiting to become semi-conscious platinum, waiting to become the next vibration of a fully conscious solar system; a cosmic circadian rhythm.  we’re the REM cycle of a deity who’s chasing dragons and half asleep; ******’s to help the dream for those who’ve shot all the counted sheep.  we’re the descendants of a star too afraid to go soft, or the galactic equivalent of a mad-man with a sawed-off.

you aren’t lost when the rest of the world views life less as a value and more of a cost.  life goes back to the earth where it becomes the making of a new star’s birth.  that is our real worth.

calling all cosmos
the media has poisoned the air it's borrowed
the frequencies are deafening and become waves of sorrow
no one to maintain the signals through the rain
or be the one who follows

calling all established breath to relinquish the skies before you forget, leaving a hole in the center of a sunset. eyes complete the sentence i'll soon regret, placing the moon in a hole a whisper away from where we first met.

a house of cards made of perfect hands, built in a way you can't understand. it could topple down with a master plan or be the symbol of the promise land. fifteen ways to bend the mind, i believe love is the most difficult to find. words rewind to see the future of passing time. and all of this from the sights left behind.

a man tells a joke he can't quite remember the punchline for, the setup still follows.

the ion we once relied on has gone the way of pressure and made a diamond
the alchemy we once cheated enchants our dreams though we feel defeated
i've seen gold in the rain that collects on my window pane; i'm only rich on rainy days
i can't disagree that the finer things are sometimes those most killing me

conversation meets symmetry. life beyond telepathy
holding out your hands in cosmic reach beckons
the nebula to both learn and teach

i found the bottom of my shoes gripping the past like cement fitted boots
i recovered your heart like a star with the arrows that i shoot
i've unearthed more than words with copper plated truth
but mostly i've thought of all the ways to repeatedly bury and unbury you.

Constance; it proved delayed again, true. The battle scars of all you are remain echoed in the hue; the blues, the reds, ricocheted off your head as energy goes missing and Diaspora winds up dead.  I saw your silhouette on wanted poster, defaced with time and vandalized past words you could even recognize; your fugitive legend lives on just like a Johnny Cash song.  

I remember the dual in town square, the fight between memory and the noose left on a chair.  The regrets defect to recollect – a photograph I hold, the flash, still bold, doesn’t mind what it is told as the radiance completes and pleasantries are sold.  The countdown between the gun and the ground reverberates off windows and feels more than it sounds - I remember silly things like the way skies alive with blue are the surest bet to the memory of you.

The dance we sing relates everything; the time, the place, the soft lines of her face – the lust and love as shadows drop above.

I’ve never loved anyone in the way I love everyone.  I feel the warmth within my empty pocket, a pocket that weaves tales as eyes set sail.  A piece of dust rising from the ash as memories defy impact; alone again or, since no one can tell me, I reinvent myself so I can say that it is what I’m told.  I am the flashing of an instance that re-presents the equation; in symmetry, in manner, in form.  

Lies alive become a vague, anarchic form of truth.  This is the truth I live; a broadened form of self destruction, a manic repercussion from an emotions own eruption.  It’s hardly worth discussion, but memory has suffered a concussion and the only words worth trusting aren’t true.  It’s me and you.  You and me, or so I see as you see it doesn’t depend on symmetry.  If only I could vocalize calligraphy, or politely excuse my entropy but the main part that’s bugging me is the only air I can not breathe.

So now I live a vacated tomorrow; an equal sign divided and subtracted to its sorrow.  A life of lies, a life alive - I refuse to accept truth and instead wind up living when I should be dead.  I go missing with a beacon on my head.  

It’s in the shadow of truth that my mind feels abused; I know the words but have forgotten their use.  It’s the fear of reality that lies are the truth and all the echoing sounds that remind me of you. As though I’d actually gotten away, my fists raised high in victory, a chorus of rain began to follow me.  Thunder lauded the sky as though begging an encore and the hair on my neck began to dance – a thought I believed that could not be left to chance.  The electric disruption, a faint form of percussion, clapped louder than the bolts as all of the volts caressed the dreams of circuitry and the form faded from memory.

This is how I learned to breathe – or learned to fly or learned to jump through a needle’s eye.

I am the everlasting pattern of a beginning that’s already reached it’s end
I am the worrier’s captain, the executioner’s co pilot and the prisoner’s only friend

I escape wisdom through leaves as I dictate the vibrations of trees and all along I was just trying to find home.  It’s now known that we escape with what we once held to be etched into stone. migration creates alchemy of a new degree; the kind we know only through circuitry and lasting impact of memories.  Spacing out now I realize it’s still far down and the capacity to emit this frequency is killing me. Urging and purging and filling it in, filing down the commitment of irrevocable sin and now twenty feet higher than the lasting impact had promised, I reach completion of the pattern and remember everything I’ve forgotten.

So pure light envisions me, lapsed through time frames and enhanced by my memory. Instilled decisions distilled through the liquor leak as all the men without tongues are the ones who most need to speak.  Hanging men hung and gassed men with cyanide for lungs are perhaps those we most despise but it’s never been my choice to pick who sees the sun rise.  Deposits of emotional carcinogens that block out the victim and ignore the vibrations within will be the death of everything we’ve ever believed in.  


Trust pure light and forget what it is that makes you so dry

And there in a name, yes, I too know the name; I found a cause.  Not really what the stars had written on my fate but what fate had determined to be my stars.  I figured the virtue had lost it’s novelty, so I explained my caution to the sun, “you were right,” shouted, “my circles finally caught up to me; the past is finally present.”

And how I could run, as though flying – and flying too.  As it elapsed I felt subliminal orbit, your eyes rotating my mind.  I tried to chase the vision with your lips but got lost in the eclipse.

And the eclipse, too, it was beautiful.  The mind-bending awe of sunlight gasping.  The last breath of radiance before it masks itself as visual silence.  The momentary delay of heat still touches my skin as the sky becomes black and then the sun exhales and aim’s it’s arrow for me.

A parade of commonsense motions; lisping love through our lips as it forms into an ocean and the reflective quality of the water is just enough to make the moon skip backwards and chance an encounter as paradise.  Your body is smooth and lips long loved.

stuck, sprawling from the city, making tracks
still calling.  the speed lights have stopped,
now their just stalling as the moon on the back
traces a drawing like pencils
experience the feeling of falling.

i've corrupted youth far past use,
and it was only for the thought of you
one last hit, a final fix or two
as i tried to find your love in
a melting spoon

i've got my dose, i can get some sleep
but without you I've lost my dreams
and tomorrow, as the sunlight screams
i'll start all over, and not remember anything

Of recent stories, i’m told our moon was the largest.  i denied fact as truth, as is so often used.  i wrote a report filled with errors only a universe could make and killed time for old time’s sake.

but the buried limousines have somehow grown into trees where crows drink wine, and talk of future times where their only worry will be which way to glide to empty their minds.

but talking to the doctor today, he was convinced of impeding biological holocaust - where bodies pile up as your vision is lost - and all along you were the fastest crook, spending money like time, and quicker than you took it.

my vagrancy knows of great discord, the kind my mind mutates into a reward but the last vision of a dead knights sword is the exterior of the universe after all our inner wars.

vapors collide in one last goodbye of both our love and time.  i breathe your lips for one last eclipse and forget all the reasons why.  we’ll meet again, on the run - towards the sun, but not with everyone.



my mind goes blank

   with every breath of mine

that you take

standing breaths away
   from an atom bomb
too far gone

     it is the tiptoe of our
echoes
    or the fade in of a song

i rebuild the evening
   to tear apart the day
so what exactly is it

that you have to say
because i’m fifteen seconds
   from a post-war impact
while bombs whistle down
trying to make contact

but self destruction’s repercussions
are silent obstructions  of all the things  
  i’ve been loving

so make believe for the sake of cosmic buoyancy
that when density met gravity
that it was not destiny
rather just the dying dream
of a passerby[passing by deity