We are all so very fragile.
Our sun kissed porcelain faces
are freckled with Achilles heel fault lines and chipped paint.
Shining through to our nervous nervous system and our tendency to over think things.
We hide so much inside of us.
Behind dance less masquerades
Our bodies held together only by cages of ivory bones
cages that cradle the thin winged heart beats of our chest
nervous moths stumbling around inside
knocking books off of shelves and
eating the sweaters that we use to keep our hearts from freezing over.

The autumn wind is cold like sad glaciers
and it's easy to break down at times like these.
Our bones ache and shriek like boiling tea kettles.
Making it hard not to shatter.

We are all so fragile.
Burnt out light bulb fragile.
Frozen lake fragile.
Defibrillated heartbeat fragile.
We are broken branch fragile
chronic alcoholics sobriety fragile.
The middles school girls reaction to the word “fat” fragile
We are the kind of fragile that set off big bangs.
We are, paranoid breakable.
And its got to the point where
we have begun taping up our light leak vulnerabilities
with perceptions of perfection and thoughts of rejection
spending our time in dark rooms as our minds just keep reeling
and trying to shut off feelings and unwind
but we have been over exposed to such ****.
To slides and slides of negative negatives

we used to burst apart with so much light.

but the sun isn't shining honest, the night sky is black
and its raining in all the wrong ways.
We're out of season.
sewing up the holes in our personality
with floods of insecurities and droughts of identity.
damning what matters.

****, its hard to know what matters.

But I am still trying to figure that one out
And the moths are still here
as the pendulum clocks keep ticking
eating the sweaters that we used
to keep our hearts from freezing over.

But we are freezing to the core.
The atoms inside of us splinting into half lives;
we haven't even lived half of our lives
yet we feel so ancient.
The dust piles growing on our slanted bookshelves shoulders
Our bright idea light bulbs flickering,
getting covered up by snowdrifts.

We are gas giants wrapping ourselves into open space darkness
hiding from the bright side of the moon.
Like a black cat superstition we are running from our own precondition
of lying about being ourselves
We pull dark black-hole hoods over our eyes
wincing at the light trails of shooting stars
though we, too, want to be brilliant.
We try to orbit the sun hoping that humanity is a symphony;
that being popular and having the most friends is what matters.
and we can be where the grass is always greener by fitting in and by being mirrors
Even though not being yourself is nauseating.

We can be nauseating, we can be mirrors.

Because we are scared that if we don't
hide who we really are
we may end up like Pluto.
Ostracized for existing.
floating around in space having stare downs with wormholes
A shivering rock entity with a complete loss of identity.

We already are so lost.
Our souls waning and waxing
Rocking back and forth
on wood beams and porches.
like an ADD moonbeam rocking chair.

But now its time to stop in one place and readjust our backbones.

Because I know that we are fragile, I know that.
I know that its hard filling in the cracks that have found their way down our back-stabbed spines
we all have our histories with being dropped and rejected.
But we weren't made to be cardboard box people,
packing tape and labels wrapped in all of the wrong places.
we are boxes full of wormholes into other dimensions
we are full of life and blood and bones,
full of oceans and stardust and daggers
There is so much more to us than our brown paper complexions.
So climb out of those kangaroo pouch caves that you have called home for the last few years
There's no need hiding anymore.
You can be safe in your own skin.
You can climb the Himalayas and scream out as many lightning rods as you want
we will all be listening as you burst apart into thunder claps.
As you bleed yourself into infinity

So, dim the lights

Throw your self at the world
and crash like waves into existence
you are perfect when you are yourself.
Grab that porcelain off of your face
and let your smile super nova fracture into a cosmic grin of constellations.

People will look up to you and be inspired.
A cardboard box rookie sprawled out in the stars.
Lighting up all of our faces with E.T. fingertips.
No longer hiding being reflective eclipses
There's only one person who can tell you who you are.
Only you can speak for yourself.

I know that your fragile
I know that.

We all are..,

You are a leader ship

how I know this?

cause I'm a leader ship too

I can see the sinuous fibre of your very being

take a look

I bet you can see it too

we are borne of the earth and the stars

borne in the wind

there are four cardinal directions, N E S W, do not forget about the intermediary

be an intermediary ~ who wants to be a cardinal?

we need our leader ships following their own true north

2D - 3D -- 4D --- 5D ---------------------------- >

following the wormholes ... the aether

following certain signs and symbols

trust in divine feminine ... .. . .. ... masculine divine in trust
trust in masculine divine ... .. . .. ... divine feminine in trust

" 'It's all this!' He wrapped his finger in his fist; the car hugged the line straight and true." ~ Kerouac

Ship builders choose their timber mindfully
Be mindful with your archetypes, Noah!

*** tiddy um,
    tiddy um,
    tiddy um tum tum.
My knees are loose-like, my feet want to sling their selves.
I feel like tickling you under the chin-honey-and a-asking: Why Does a Chicken Cross the Road?
When the hens are a-laying eggs, and the roosters pluck-pluck-put-akut and you-honey-put new potatoes and gravy on the table, and there ain't too much rain or too little:
        Say, why do I feel so gabby?
        Why do I want to holler all over the place?.    .    .
Do you remember I held empty hands to you
    and I said all is yours
    the handfuls of nothing?.    .    .
I ask you for white blossoms.
I bring a concertina after sunset under the apple trees.
I bring out "The Spanish Cavalier" and "In the Gloaming, O My Darling."

The orchard here is near and home-like.
The oats in the valley run a mile.
Between are the green and marching potato vines.
The lightning bugs go criss-cross carrying a zigzag of fire: the potato bugs are asleep under their stiff and yellow-striped wings: here romance stutters to the western stars, "Excuse ... me...".    .    .
Old foundations of rotten wood.
An old barn done-for and out of the wormholes ten-legged roaches shook up and scared by sunlight.
So a pickax digs a long tooth with a short memory.
Fire can not eat this ******* till it has lain in the sun..    .    .
The story lags.
The story has no connections.
The story is nothing but a lot of banjo plinka planka plunks.

The roan horse is young and will learn: the roan horse buckles into harness and feels the foam on the collar at the end of a haul: the roan horse points four legs to the sky and rolls in the red clover: the roan horse has a rusty jag of hair between the ears hanging to a white star between the eyes..    .    .
In Burlington long ago
And later again in Ashtabula
I said to myself:
  I wonder how far Ophelia went with Hamlet.
What else was there Shakespeare never told?
There must have been something.
If I go bugs I want to do it like Ophelia.
There was class to the way she went out of her head..    .    .
Does a famous poet eat watermelon?
Excuse me, ask me something easy.
I have seen farmhands with their faces in fried catfish on a Monday morning.

And the Japanese, two-legged like us,
The Japanese bring slices of watermelon into pictures.
The black seeds make oval polka dots on the pink meat.

Why do I always think of ******* and buck-and-wing dancing whenever I see watermelon?

Summer mornings on the docks I walk among bushel peach baskets piled ten feet high.
Summer mornings I smell new wood and the river wind along with peaches.
I listen to the steamboat whistle hong-honging, hong-honging across the town.
And once I saw a teameo straddling a street with a hayrack load of melons..    .    .
******* play banjos because they want to.
The explanation is easy.

It is the same as why people pay fifty cents for tickets to a policemen's masquerade ball or a grocers-and-butchers' picnic with a fat man's foot race.
It is the same as why boys buy a nickel's worth of peanuts and eat them and then buy another nickel's worth.
Newsboys shooting craps in a back alley have a fugitive understanding of the scientific principle involved.
The jockey in a yellow satin shirt and scarlet boots, riding a sorrel pony at the county fair, has a grasp of the theory.
It is the same as why boys go running lickety-split
away from a school-room geography lesson
in April when the crawfishes come out
and the young frogs are calling
and the pussywillows and the cat-tails
know something about geography themselves..    .    .
I ask you for white blossoms.
I offer you memories and people.
I offer you a fire zigzag over the green and marching vines.
I bring a concertina after supper under the home-like apple trees.
I make up songs about things to look at:
    potato blossoms in summer night mist filling the garden with white spots;
    a cavalryman's yellow silk handkerchief stuck in a flannel pocket over the left side of the shirt, over the ventricles of blood, over the pumps of the heart.

Bring a concertina after sunset under the apple trees.
Let romance stutter to the western stars, "Excuse ... me..."

wormholes.
they are so tiny--
a trillionth of a
millimeter.
maybe even less.
you cant see them,
you cant touch them.
but with them,
time slows
and everything
becomes new.
i dont mean like
a shiny new toy "new".
i mean like for a trillionth of
a second, things in our
universe change.
they change not by much,
but by how they are supposed
to originally be.
like port keys,
they take you to a new place
in space and time.
they open up a
whole new universe.
wormholes.
arent they beautiful?

You comfort me, my cover my blanket
Shocking how our electric bodies met
Interesting how I took you travelling
Overwhelming how you became a sheath of warmth
an epitome of hope

It is a mystery how people combine
Whether it is a case of conflicting individuals
Or the mere phenomenon of how souls pair
I need you before I meet you
I miss you and yet I forget you
Once with you I know I have what I've been looking for

My portal to higher worlds
My partner in creating new energies
It is in making love with me
How the physical eyes close and the ethereal open
Your etheric body glistening as mine charges yours
Joining the divine in creation, where those watching - entertained -
whisper words of motivation
In this centered point of fusion, lust is an illusion
Our vibration high and muse sinking as voice does sigh
Some advanced life-forms jealous and aroused
attempting to possess your body to have a piece of me
The low beings trying to possess me to evil bring

Drenched in sweat but not too wet you bring me closer our bodies frisson set
We dive into wormholes and white holes
The doors of the universe if not windows
Playing hide and seek, hearing vortex points beep
We make fire and plasma lights up
The liquids surrender to heat and speed
a connective energy created
and ******* juices exerted

This would be the end but the physical must be converted
We take a breath and sparks fly passing through the foggy smoke in the air
love is in the air and our chakras dance to rhythm adore
trust then flows and insecurity -jealous- abhors

We then talk about the nothings to avoid this wonderful something
Learning about each other we do not wish to lose one another
The Venusian Tesla would be proud of how we've done electricity justice
This science, this drug, this philosophy, this state
Time has nothing on us we cannot be late
In our future we were dreaming of our past to remember the present
so to figure out how time went

These tongues and curls I speak have me bent
Admiring the cosmic accents
Acknowleding the galactic language
Now I know what the words, "I Love You" mean
for it isn't only a noun or common thing
But a lifestyle in astral streams
A pronoun when brought to the matter world
A verb lived like a movie
A story I will never forget.

Was it luck as I was awe-struck?
It is said that these gleaming falling stars are UFOs
It is also said that at times when UFOs land they then become IFOs... They come to fetch a king as the king dies
Sending him home to distant skies

OR was it merely a sign that the Pleiadians have landed?
Or other races beyond, from Lyra to Procyon
not to mention the bellicose Orions
we wouldn't see this of course
as all that would be would be what isn't and what isn't would be what it truly is
Living in Alice and her wonderland
We see politics and earthly government
but the point is to hide exo-politics, Councils and Houses

We would be asleep when the unseen god is an emperor of just one constellation
We would be asleep as the centre of the Universe serenades Gaia
We wouldn't see as Nihahua engages Sol
We wouldn't see as Tiamat rises to the fourth dimension for we would think we are asleep

We would think of raptures holy as they are protocol to transport souls to other planets
Yes advanced some are as they are 4D others even 5D
and a means of exchange not being money
so that makes our planet a child you see
These things you wouldn't know as they are cleared by the MIB's
These things you wouldn't know when mediums or channelers form religions
These things you wouldn't as hybrids and starseeds form religions
These things would seem ridiculous for you are programmed
You wouldn't know what to believe for restricted are tools to examine
You wouldn't know what to concoct when access to information is limited
It said some serve the upliftment of humanity
I'm talking about the Andromeda Council and Christos Council

From Babylon to Rome
Or was it from Atlantis to Mu then Ur? Before the Annunaki went to Sumer
From Rome to the whole world
Was it Nibiru which heaven was?
Are we really living in Star Wars?
Are we ruled by Star Lords?

Are we humans trying not to be aliens?
Or are we aliens trying to be human?
The strongest angel ever created, the weakest
a sad day in heaven
the angel of light then brought darkness
Not a mystery why light is sought after and its essence

I saw a falling star
Some are abducted, sexually indulged and barred
They are ridiculed in society as they are told that's how insanity starts
There are people who go missing in caverns, not knowing that they would be genetically manipulated and brainwashed
There are communicators of divine knowledge
They are called lunatics who feed ludicrous knowledge
We wouldn't know the difference for we are trapped in matter
We wouldn't care for the physical is all that would matter
From the Els to the Yahweh consciousness
From the Serpent gods to Sorcerer kings and Priest kings
Do we know where it all started?

Religion would be coded astronomy
The movement of stars, astrology
if we knew the galactic anthropology
We wouldn't think we are alone
Science fiction would present technology
Linear time would be no more
Wormholes the doors
The Ark of The Covenant a device used as a good weapon
We would know all and more of this if we saw more falling stars
We would know more of this if we weren't kept busy by the masters
We would know more of this if we stopped thinking we are free
Then we'd know who we are and where we are going
to that place of all knowing.

Quantum physics scares the **** out of me
Well it’s not really just quantum physics
It’s everything that stands in between its letters
It’s both the solutions and the questions that frighten me most
I was 12 when I first had a panic attack about eternity
I was in the shower, writing thoughts in steam
When all of a sudden
I was suffocating on forever
And showered with thoughts of before time
The all around terrifying notion of timelessness
Caused shivers that felt like our heater had gone out again
Tears rushed down my face
Faster than the speed of light
Not that I knew what it was
But it felt like lightening filled my body
From that moment,
I learned my truest fear of unanswerable questions
As I grew and grew wary
I took less showers in hopes
I wouldn’t find my fears
Swirling in around my ankles
Clogging up the drain
Lingering there
As the only thing that I could
Never wash off of me,
Never flush away

As time moved on with
A sureness I could never have
I floated amongst the thoughts of
Others so as not to drown in my own
But as night comes
So others rest
And as others rest
The Fearful attempt to count sheep
But even the sheep begin to wonder
About the unfathomable
And before I know it
I’m screaming into my pillow
Blaming the sheep for my restless nights
Insisting I’m not crazy
Insisting that wool blankets are the problem
Picking problems to bring me to now
Problems that make the present
Matter more to this masochistic brain
Than the questions that I should never have asked

Unanswerable, I’d repeat
I’d resolve
I’d allow myself to toy the word around,
Flick it around in my mouth,
As if to keep it too busy to ask more,
But also to make the original questions taste so sweet
That I never wanted them to leave my mouth
So I swallowed them
As if to indulge my taste buds just a little longer
But they sat in my stomach like seeds
With time they grew up my throat,
Watered with theological and scientific discussions alike
The first time I was told that my questions, could have a solution,
My stomach lurched into my throat
Now was the time
The questions were uprooting, ready to grow out in this world
But my jaw was taut
And refused to let others be haunted
So the vines
With no where else to go
Moved with intention
Past my mouth,
Behind my eyes
Into my brain
It had taken over
I became my questions
Rooted in the pit of my stomach
Paralyzed by the pain of
Wooden rigidity
Each move dictated by the unbending will
Of an oak tree caged by iron
Questions acting as a fungus
Rotting out happiness,
Killing the mind
That had formed the seed in the first place
I was immobile in my fear and
Planted in my questions
Unwilling to explore
And so the tree stayed
And I saw the world through
Shaded light
Always careful not to climb
Too far up
Too far in
Thankful for the fact
That not many aspire to
Plant seeds
Let alone
Climb trees

By the time I first saw you
Many rings had formed
You were passing through crowds
Like you walk through forests
Letting things be
What they were
And
Watching people act as they may
Imagine my intrigue
As I saw the callous on your hands
Smelled sap on your breath
I felt a friendly fear
In your eyes
But your hands
Did not look pained
Only worn
Still with care
Only when you spoke
Did I feel the logic in your branches
The whips of your leaves that
I had refused to grow
You were questions fully blossomed
You had leaves made of
Wormholes
And
Budding flowers of dark matter
And as I drew my trunk back,
Insisting I was allergic
I got lost in your bark
I found possibilities
Buried amongst your ridges
I soon found a taste so sweet,
It brought shame on my appeasing mantra
Without control
Like forces of nature tend to be
I grew into you
Yet still,
It was not the color of your leaves
Nor the feel of your vines that took me
It was your ability to blossom
Your permission of exploration
The blossoms, though pleasing to the eye,
Grew through your watering and sunlight

As if by some evolutionary revelation,
I turned my face upward
And found the warmth of the sun
Didn’t have to burn me
I opened my body up
And felt a comfort in the waters that
I had once felt would drown me.
The budding flowers I had let wilt
For so long
Arose from my branches,
Now growing toward the stars
With a few more rings
Of sunlight and starlight,
You’re much better at blooming than I,
But with questions now being watered,
My trunk grows with possibility
I may never grow to such great heights
Or fully know the universe beyond
But I do know, that no matter
The truth
If the wormholes
And multiverses
Are as real as
The Redwoods
And
Cherry Blossoms
I’m infinitely pleased
That I’m in this universe,
Sharing starlight,
And questions,
With you.

the glitterball in space
wrapped in wormholes
caressed by distant quasars
peak at optimum speed
before floating falling
toward the muted aromas
of space age earth

the bile of industry
smears the planet in neon
one giant shinning marble
city lights stretch
in the haze from pole to pole
whatever hemisphere
whatever timezone
whatever continent

aqua is the precious mineral
few places exist where
hope springs life eternal
rivers were rerouted years ago
run by power corporations
who package it in sachets
with dehydrated memory

a planet of consumption
tectonic plates stitched
stapled, bridged and woven
the fabric of the world

we unzip to consume
revel in the electronic tune
that breeds our contempt
for the the lost seasons
our reason dilluted, polluted
by the tune that remains the same;
beautiful stranger
dream a dream for me
because now all we have
between us
is acid rain.

I closed my eyelids.

a unique space-time I've
created. A new world with I
               and you,
and in it we're us;
pseudo pagans
               adjust
in my multiverse of could-have-been's
wannabe's and forget-me-not's,
there's a million wormholes back thru

it's a glittering new world
where we're happy forever
               (embalmed)
present-perfect continuity
we'll never need to question or worry
               of it
because it'll be ours to [edit]
a spiritual instagram. sorry for the link.

I'm a believer.
our story is brick-bound & pyramidal
it's worthy of true realness
I'll never let that faith fade.

and all I have to do is stay asleep
seal myself, artery by nerve, in this bed.
eyes closed but moving underneath
               (forever)
and here I'll lay; 1,000 years on
entirely petrified. a fossil of trust.
everything/everyone I had known - gone
               forever.
fleshy eyes, solid as stone now. Blissfully
(always) unaware of their end. No matter the time,
my (      ) still eternally & happily
               in dream.

If I could travel on a one way ticket
to the other side of the universe
instantaneously, I would do it
and take the other one. My scientist, my
love, my strayed away boy who will never
be. If those wormholes we dream of existed,
we would be together in a heartbeat
and away even sooner.