independent of time and space
webs of light creep into reality
surrounding a white rabbit
who simply stares at me
as electric visible energy
crackles and curls around its
simple shape, only to
disappear in a flash of blue spots in my
vision that tells me
I am about to faint
yet I stand
and begin to sing

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
your sun dances over head and
aching skeletons rattle their bones,
drinking bottomless cups of sand
swept up with the dry wind into their eyes
and garments that rot and rag about their femurs
as they smile dangerously and wink

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
a small brook turns into a fierce demon
sweeping eddies full of names into its depths
and the meek grizzlies paw at
the rotting bits of fish left on the shore
who gulp in deadly heaps of air
for their water-ridden lungs
chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
leaving an abandoned shock of metal
as a refuge for the lonely
and frostbitten potatoes are the only accompaniment
to twenty five pounds of rice and a lean frame
hiding huddled in a mass of snow
lay all of the accused

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
as thick steel drives through flesh and boe
grinding rubber against gravel; metal against metal
and screeching high-siren pitches nonstop day and night
boring into your skull with the urgency and ceaselessness of a hungry wolf
who scares off the weak and the poor, the hungry and the searching;
who became
one

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
and those strange and lonely souls scared off by
the fierceness and emptiness of corporations and concrete artists
flee into the fierce emptiness of the wilds instead
sparing one hardship for the other
searching for a fullfilment not found in a box
and an empty space that can only be filled by invisible wings

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
a frantic dance in a great big monastery
the lunatic portrays a Zen within his twitch
to layer understanding beneath Zen beneath lunacy
with his mad fervor he becomes great
and understands real truth - in his own way -
and then dies

there is an ancient desert,
which grew
that can bask in oceans of bothersome airs
it pulses alive
with a blanket of simmering sand
pilots divebombing the dunes
and slowly moving creatures wave their arms in soft red light
smoke sifting through the air
and my tongue is the desert,
with worlds upon it
fractal by fractal
and you are stuck, your vision refusing to stop zooming
and zooming in and out out and
IN, their feet swaying in the swirl, rocking
back and forth
(forever)
and you see a pear in the sky but
it is in two places at once
larger and smaller
the screen turning red, green, normal
choosing nothing but
getting everything -
lovely and still, a girl,
eyes closed,
hair tied back in ribbons,
sits, a smile slowly creeping on her face,
her sundried and bleached waves
framing her silent face,
she sees all this and understands
that we are one

There are prisms of light
reflecting from the hunters eyes
gleaming, glistening they
move with agility
virility, stability
blue and clear
water crystals in eyelashes
no more solutions
ancient and tired
I sit back

Evolution tries to see water and monkeys
blue sky and islands, no one cries
except the children
I believe, sweet
he mutters

Rectangles and geometry
reflecting rainbows
soar across the sky ‘cause I’m about to die
arsenic is always arson -
but in Atlantis the biggest monster
subsides, trials and tribulations
hunger is as bright as the sky

Human nature futile
no more options to trace
thick soles and black lace
my soul has no trace
the treasure is your heart
of which there is none







A broken train in the rain
sits and erodes in bleak light
tangy and bitter, blood is seeping
the hunter comes nearer - so close
he doesn’t wait, it’s far too bothersome -
shoots the gun and he’s off

I was once a rabbit
ate carrots every day
lived by the ocean
near seawater and sunsets
my mind is now broken
no love will ever show
just what I did, so pointed and slow
a dinosaur he was -
they don’t ask questions -
cabbage and eggs,
things I will miss
and the magic of life -
sure, death is bliss.

wanderlust
the naked cry
for something more
and nothing less
she pounds her chest
all slick and wet

wanderlust
the yearning soul
for something told
its for the best
he winds his bed
out for his head

wanderlust
the water lily
that is never there
always rare
on the parallel verse
no one cares

wanderlust
i am one soul
who speaks her mind
by being bold
who else will try?
for fear is cold

swoosh and swirl i sway
the air convulses and contorts
pouring my limbs from one movement to the next
driving one mad with the slow moving power of the
strings

blow bubbles made of sand
and spill them upon the earth
with a sweet blowing breeze
similar to the chickens upon the ground
made of gold they eat gold
kernels

i am an axis of movement
a slowly rotating turnstile sparkling
in orange light drowning
time out of the hourglass
with the twitch of the inconsiderate wrist
bright red and gold the kernels fall into sifting
sand

There are no wilds. The most dangerous
places where I live - are inhabited only by humans.
The woman with the most plastic surgery
sits idly by
as each day her features are torn down
and reassembled by someone who
obviously has other plans for her face,
carefully plotted on blue paper.
Where once her pores gave us shelter,
it is now her plastic features which we hide behind,
forgetting the simple beauty of a woman without makeup
or a tree, in a forest of others.
The woman with the most plastic surgery
sits and weeps -
for she was once powerful and magnificent, omnipresent
Mother Nature we have recreated
in our own likeness, instead of hers;
We are the ones who cover the dirt in cement.