it would seem
this boat we are in
took on some water

were our hearts too full?
too heavy to bring about
the bouyancy that
drifting at sea requires?

were we paddling with impatience?
that song we sang it had
a cadence that left
little time for reflection
no time to notice
the water lapping and rising at
our own feet

despite what we've been told
rarely is one prepared
for such a trip

after all
who could anticipate
the severe solitude
one discovers
adrift at sea,
hearts unmoored,
souls all afire
all aflutter
sails stormily snapping
and lapping up the
tempestuous wind

Oh, hope
make your mess again.

Hope
don't keep asking more of me
than I'm willing to give.

Forreal tho,
I was in trouble before the boat sunk
and the drowned
finally let loose their blood
in bouyant droplets.

Because I was a little boy,
on the ship,
and you came in to my room,
and laid beside me
with a watermelon smell in your barrettes,
and a "I'm forever"
in your  siuking voice,
as the ship tipped.

So much of me shrieks;
you make me.

Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.

Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
Only.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
Exist
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.

My nose is above the water,
My lips just below
The waves sweep over my head
And I struggle to breathe
I’m trying to survive here,
Trying to stay afloat
But it’s hard to stay bouyant
When I’ve become so numb and cold
Just above me, I can see a fogged-over sun
I wish it would shine, clear and free
I wish it could spread its blanket of rays across me
Warm blanket of gold thread
Let me sleep here, warm
A wave sweeps over my head
I’m drowning again
I can’t sleep here, it’s much to cold
The only way I can close my eyes
Is if I let myself die
But there across the sea
My love is waiting for me
He sits on an island, toes in the waves
He’s waiting there for me
My limbs are weak, my heart is giving in
But, **** it all, I will still swim
I will keep fighting these arctic waves
Until I have finally reached my love,
And I can be warm with him again.

Symphonies of time echoes for long
traversing the roads unkown
Left were the imprints, haunting bold

Singing rivers of deep melancholy
seeping beads of nostalgia in air
dancing vacant bouyant wind
uncovering the mystique affair

pieces of broken sense
mosaic of moments scattered
paused and captured in the time frame

heavy loaded steps
reminiscent of the baggage past
placing perspective right
We account for nothing in the galaxies vast


Manisha

Burn the way money burns,  
clear into ash our feelings glow.
You could write a book through me through you.
You could be my father when winter is snow.

Me, like some precious stone, I sink,
like the one I grasp around the nape of my neck,
the turquoise one with the ivory glow,
some symbols are lost but this one grows.

You, like some enchanting pond, you pool
hard like truth, like summer out of school,  
colors blend the songs of you,
and speak to me though an invisible ear.

You're bouyant and I float on my elbows,
inching to gaze down the deep end of me.  
But you feel the whiplash of my current
first red hot, the cauldron of morning, then blue.

Your eyes get hard and lidless;
you're a cyclone off the South Pacific of my heart.
I hear you wailing wind into me.
You sound like the bagpipes of my life.

You think I don't know,
the weight of me in the pool of you
but even a fool can see, thats not true,
because the myth of me is found in you.