Without having even opened,
my tired little eyes,
it was so clear to me:

This frozen ground,
frosted trees, && darkened skies,
yearn for tangerine drops of sunlight.

Patiently through the shadow of time,
does the dew wait for its prism,
&& as certain as the colors on the horizon,
line up, waiting to greet the day,
my heart, my grasp, will be empty,
&& gaze fixed upon a new found blue.

After you all left, your party that is,
I ended up parkouring a bit,
through a beautiful display of bamboo,
and wooden structures,
and found myself amongst friends,

Thai ladies who recognized me,
from the last time i had been here,
and we picked up conversation,
exactly where we had left off.

The one on my left was from Chiang-Rai,
she was beautiful, and spoke english well,
while the one to my right,
who also spoke well, was much more foreign,
and much less cute.

After finalizing the feelings,
it was off to the festival of life,
and the veggie food cart, once again,
was happy to see my face.

I told them as i had last time,
“Come to get a massage,
we can exchange for bomb food,
and all will work out well.”

Somehow these fields of love,
brought me back to prison walls,
and a game of basketball,
amongst angsty inmates,

and the soup that was bought for me,
for i could not pay, and we lost the game,
but all was not lost,
as i was given the keys to the jailhouse band,

and almost instantly i was back in that bar,
with my dad getting me drunk,
and buying tons of groceries,
to feed all the new friends.

It seems i had been given a deal:
they wanted 4oz on the front,
and i would be in the band,
and my dad could manage it all,

but just as easily i was sitting on a couch,
taking such a fat rip of bho,
that without missing a beat,
i remembered its exactly what i shouldn’t have done.

Feeling like romeo just after
drinking that ineffective love potion.
Instead of freezing myself in time,
i will love for an eternity
taking on new forms when we need.

That must make you my honey-covered blackberry, Juliet
craving more always, but understanding
why there is just never enough.

This morning rain is dark, clear, lush, and boisterous;
nothing like the scent you left me with,
which brings me back to our observatory,
watching atoms collide in chaotic harmony;
yes that was then, but oh how this is now!

Look out for fox this morning,
as he is sure to marry this certain dream,
if light rays peak through
varnishing reflective wash,
and reveal the rainbows streaking from our souls.

Song birds will sing as oxygen flows,
To where it was observed,
from nobody knows.

___
Intermezzo


Today the mourning doves cry out all afternoon
just as the willows weep, and swoon,
and sun masked brilliantly by clouds
that surround

shining brightly on everything,
but not directly on down
so the flowers in trees, in hope of new glee
look around and beg the Sun, “shine on me will you please?”

but the rain is still falling
gently like your tingling kisses
and the fox hasn’t stopped chasing
perhaps to find his rainbow mistress

Not even myself

The palms of the tropics,
Will clap if yu want to.

An image unsought.
Light rays burnt.
committed to physical memory,
reflecting the times,
the tide.

She asked,
"How do yu know it's an eagle, baby?"

Without a doubt in this world,
his lips formed in simple,
"Eagle flies higher than all the rest.
Carries man's prayers to heaven."

As the beat carries on.

To be your friend:
i bare,
all the weight,
of being in love.

To be in love:
i must bare,
all the weight,
of being a friend.

To be an artist:
i suffer,
all the weight,
of being alive.

To be alive:
i suffer,
all the fate,
of being man.

There is no greater Love,
there is no greater Love.

Just now,
as a man crouched ,
in the window behind the porch,
and i tried my hardest to avoid him,

our eyes met,
and i knew at that point.
He walked out the door,
and pointed his gun,

But before he could,
i grabbed his neck,
and i strangled that *******,
twisting his head all the way round.

His eyes that i had seen,
through the window on that porch
had light deep within them,
and i was to bring it out.

I used a shovel to remove his head,
the same shovel i used
to bury the pieces separately,
only moments ago,

And now i’m here,
with food and light,
no hatred nor guns;
only a thirst.

I’ve got your memory,
sitting right here,
on my tongue.

Should i just take a bite;
Break open
your ‘hard’ exterior?

and on the inside,
so fresh, so sweet, and tangy.

This **** is so artificial,
i take you in;
i wont let you out.

i reach the bitter,
i wish this were better,
i’ll spit you out.

You don’t mean a thing,
you don’t mean anything,
you don’t mean a thing,
you don’t mean anything; to me.

This morning:
Neighbors loudly left,
Children ramped up,
&& mother short tempered.

My spirit followed them out,
where you were delivering mail,
despite Sunday ritual.

You took me with you to the reservation,
where life slowly goes,
&& days are bright.

The land was empty,
few houses stood,
each full of family,
doing family things,
on a Sunday.

I asked to come in,
&& wished to do my best,
heal the wounds,
of a culture torn apart in the past.

It wasn’t long before my hands,
found the body of a beautiful native,
&& i did my best to treat her right,
to make her feel better.

her family understood,
in heated healing, our bodies covered in sweat,
&& when i left i brushed her cheek,
a golden drop, to fall like a tear.

Then:
i embodied those that i came to help;
Warrior spirit of the west,
once again covered in blood.

You see:
this morning i awoke,
&& fell a little further into it.
All the agony of a peoples spirit,
in one d r a w n-o u t dream,

Both the bottoms of my feet
They had pierced
in the exact place i felt on hers;
the pain of an entire nation,
blood was drawn,
all over Earth’s floor.

i continued to walk,
despite debilitating injuries.

They came looking,
as if to return me to my cage,
but coyote does what it pleases,
&& this time around hell was to be raised.

I penetrated their deepest,
the “conservancy” as they called it,
&& it was almost as if i was welcomed.
(lucidly mistook for a part of the attraction)

Consequently the foreign men,
working the grounds,
opened the gates for me to limp through,
as tears rolled down my face,
&& blood spilled from my bare feet.

It wasn’t long after the guards came looking,
and found the trail of blood,
right back to their viewpoint,
as if they could really see what they had done.

The chase:
found the line they wished least to travel,
and forced my broken body down it,
knowing they would eventually follow.

When i was discovered,
covered in ****,
one man, then two, then five,
all took turns beating my body,

How it hurt, but it’s that i felt!
as i continued to snarl, kick, and break free.
There was no restraining my soul,
even as my corpse was beat ******.

With such a realization it all halted...
subdued sure,
but this spirit was not won,
they were wounded,
&& i, blessed enough to die,

Looking Back:
as if through a playlist,
song on queue: Ceremony.
In remembrance always of this ****** Sunday,

&& forever would coyote make a difference,
&& never would the Warrior of the west,
embody anything but a blood red, setting sun,
&& that is why today,
i did not wake.

Funny how the living laugh right in the faces of the dead.

Is it truly possible,
that i am turning ****,
out of the food
i can still taste?

Sometimes late in the morning,
when they think
they should all be asleep,
it’s the best to be awake.

The days you get out of work,
I haven’t gotten out of bed.
I’ll be up all the while;
Close your eyes now,

And so the rain falls;
a new green achieved.
Would you take off your shoes
before you walk into heaven?

I’ve buried my love deep inside of you,
all of it; deep down in there,
for to light your way when you go looking,
when you go looking; if you go looking.

I suppose its not hidden very well,
It only takes me a moment to find it,
each time i go looking,
what takes you.. well years it seems.

You never seem to look for it,
nor really anything else you might find,
that just happens to get lit up,
by the warm glowing fire,
in the deep space of your soul.

You have been much busier than i,
looking for love inside yourself,
You know it is there, shallow, but there.
Others have been burying theirs as well.

One day I’ll retrieve it all,
remove it from you,
so i can do whatever else i please with it.
Logically i’d want to give it to another,
I’ll probably bury it in the ground,
give it to Mother Earth,
and call it a life.

Catching Butterflies
with a broken net.
You’d think i’m trying very hard;
really i’m just blowing in the wind,
like you, and yours.

Just give me some more,
while i’m here, while you’re here.
That’s all we’ve got,
and god knows you don’t want,
anything more from me when that’s over.

And i? well i’ll act like i do,
but, actually, that’s no worry to you
for Wolfy’s got no room for 2,
and what am i worth to you?
Nothing more than gum stuck to your glorious shoe.

I can’t make you feel better,
i can only help you help yourself,
and as far as jobs go,
well i’m one for play,
so pick yourself up.

I’m going to be here when you leave,
i’ll probably think about you,
but once again, i know better,
than to actually distract myself,
with the beauty and light you have.

When the dark comes,
i hope you stay lit, baby,
because i shine brightest at night,
and these times you may not need the light,
i’ll keep myself warm and tight,
and hope you feel alright.

This spiral’s on its way down,
and watch all you want,
but keep your distance,
as i don’t care to take you with,
and god knows i’m not goin’ anywhere.

So maybe just tonight,
under firefly light,
we can catch butterflies,
with broken nets,
and you can leave, feeling alright

There is a certain love,
communicated only through the hip;
It is much more a ******,
and much less a shake.

There is a certain type of love,
that exists between:
the smell of your hair,
and the back of your neck.

There is a certain love,
that forty-four words won’t tell,
and even after sixty,
it won’t be understood well.

There is a certain type of love,
between two things that don’t exist,
and the way they do not mingle,
and the way they are not mixed.

There is a certain love,
i find, and many many more,
that express themselves in everything,
and not one thing; you can be sure.

I enjoyed my cake, thanks.
Actually it came in the form of a rootbeer float,
&& i took it in by my self.

I noticed the chicka-dee-dee on the fence,
as I listened to a timepiece from another era.
It fiddled with the **** from a cigarette long since smoked,
and i wondered if it was hungry, or just trying to catch a buzz.

He set it down, i leaped to action,
Threw the **** away, && returned to my seat.
Thought the loud chirping was directed towards me,
but of course he was getting laid in the rafters over yonder.

The significance? Not,
but if only to break the silence
between lovers long since broken apart.
Fresh laughter, lightness, and.. and..
Long, long pause, and return to silence.

If there aren’t any magnets,
left on the fridge,
You better not open,
another bag of chips.

For the magnets there,
all had clips,
perfect for holding shut,
plastic bag rips.

When these tunes play,
words say,
"Nothing."

In the space,
only in this void.
Between your ears,
heart plays coy.

Pages blank.
Rivers flood.
Midnight passage.
The moon reflecting,
Clearly in murky water.

Expressing not,
but that which wishes;
The scent left by her hair,
on the back of her neck.

Kills it in a moment,
Regret not;
Love will **** us all.

We won’t ever see,
nor will words communicate.
Lights shut off,
through slits unopened.

Sleep now.

Through the glass,
FLASH!
her pale midnight glow,
dripping orange, unabashed

She was there,
right there,
through the glass,

outwards, freely,
with her at las..

...


nothing.

I would not have dreamt of you,
If not for sleeping on your couch.
Surely that is the only reason,
You were on my mind at all.

As i try to rescue myself,
my thoughts, and my actions,
Somehow you came crashing;
crashing in.

Your involvement was minimal,
in my dream last night,
and in the memories of my past,
You served your purpose,

And since?
You’ve come to remind me,
All the things I have worked so hard,
to give up

Today is the motif.
ideas daydreaming du corpse,
Superior attaining interpretation,
to my silly comprendo.
Twirling.

Make no mistake,
in this place, here,
we trace lakes.
Lying down; face-to-face,
when the mask breaks.

Make no claims.
In this; have no stakes.
in this.. Love's misfortune,
unfurl my bed, close my eyes,
&& rest my head,
in gold flake.
Suspended.

Our mother, she is kind.
Knows just what she does.
My home is not this hell;
nor s p a c e above.

Alight anew for ceremony,
&& i'll be the last to leave.
obligate engagement.
my place. In-between.

con paso de los días
mi corazón deambula aún más,
y se une
a mi pensamiento:
               con usted

&& to think:
All of these,

heart-particles..    &&     ..fragmented
                                                                 little
                                                                         rainbows..

In the wake of...   you...

Your angelic endowments,
joyous *****,
&& delectable secretions

Wise we once were,
harmoniously ravaging.

My temple is empty
&& All that i can see; i steal.

It’s days like these,
that make the owls,
forget they are nocturnal.

The sun is shining,
illumined fog above;
leave your sleep,
enjoy this love.

Sit up slowly,
open your eyes,
morning dew upon us,
dreams realized.

Wake up slowly,
after many tries,
dark as the evening,
the sun is not yet high.

Forgetting inhibition,
apprehensions all at bay,
an easy time as this one,
still tired from yesterday.

i feel the love,
you left for me,
when we went our different ways.

The night is dark,
and time is long,
but this owl is seeing beautiful days.

I prepared a beautiful meal today,
both tasty and nutritious,
with all the proper ingredients,
spices, and with love.

It took quite a while,
to figure out just what to put in,
but with proper timing,
it all came out perfectly.

And i devoured that food;
that nourishing food,
and loved every universal bite;
down to the last atom.

It was a whole process:
the careful nibbling,
and scraping of the plate;
a food covered canvas.

Now i’m lying in my bed,
both warm and comforting,
with all the necessary pillows,
naked, and alone.

It has been quite some time,
since last licking my fingers clean,
but as with all things,
it is all turning into ****.

It's just one of those things...

Yu haven't got to check,
whether or not,
the light came on.

Yu know it.
Deep in your heart,
that **** is on fire.

Yu can't even butter toast,
the same way anymore,
&& whatever is cookin' in there...
Smells **done.

When they say,
“don’t lose your moon,
while you’re staring at the stars.”
They really don’t mean
your moon at all,

Your moon will always come back,
here on Earth,
and she will shine, shine, shine,
until its time to take a break.

Always near though,
never too far,
waiting to be reached for,
and ready to glow,

Instead; when you loose your baby,
she is gone, gone, gone,
no matter how far,
it’s never near enough,

So you float towards those stars,
those twinkling stars,
and just know:
she’s probably doin’ the same.

Looking at you,
through dream eyes.
A colorless light,
cast upon your figure.

an image reflecting,
upon itself,
has no start,
and has no finish.

The ether is dancing
around your pretty skull,
outwards from your heart,
and into the nothing
from whence it became.

It is so much more rewarding,
to eat the food brought by dreams,
than any worldly delicacies,
and the weight which they bring.

For in your dreams there is no reward;
nothing to gain/nothing to lose,
and the tastes change tremendously,
as frequently as the frequency of brain waves.

There is no need to fill up,
count calories, protein, or nutrients,
and when it settles in your belly,
makes you realize you didn’t need, but only wanted.

In the dream however,
there is no want or need,
and it entices itself into your mouth,
only to return to eternity.

Sattvic?
Maybe in my understanding.
I’d rather sleep three times daily,
than consider an American diet.

If you are what you eat,
perhaps i consist of dreams,
and this food it makes me feel good,
not fasting, merely fast asleep in dream.

Always whispering to the world,
as she is my lover.
Mumbling nothings,
P A U S E;
&& return to silence.
If only she were listening,
if only i would listen,
to the blood,
seeping from my heart.
__

I've an intimate relationship with the ground.
We sleep together,
&& leave boundless,
little hidden gifts,
for each to find,
&& appreciate,
with Lovers' eyes.
One day i will return to her.

I live in a slim rainbow hue of reality ,
where this is actually the dream,
&& waking up means living today,
Meaningfully.

Aware in this very moment,
i could, at last,
meet my maker.

How does the panda become so blue?
Electric like the wiry hairs at the base of my spine,
you know, my tail.

And that man, her father, just wouldn’t leave her alone.
What a great job he had done,
to usher such a wonderful child into the age of darkness.

The red-eye rush fully in effect,
buns in the oven,
hearts open, and dreams wide awake.

Your tail was moving with focus,
as your delicate hands shaped a pie,
of lovely proportions, which hit all the right spots.

When will you be off?
Just in time to miss mourning traffic,
on your way home (to my mind).

Those rings under your eyes are beautiful under these fluorescent lights,
and i can’t keep my eyes off your slender panda-tude,
wishing i would awake underneath your electric covers.

You and i aren’t so different,
but tonight, and the next
we won’t ever know that.

“Take me away.”
she begs of you,
and oh how you would,
if not for..
what? for me?
for you?
for everything.

funny thing,
about being in love,
with yourself:
there’s no room,
for anything else;
for everything else.

“Where?” does not matter,
for wherever she will find:
You are outside expectation,
and she outside comfort; control,

and y’all may not realize it, but
you won’t ever find yourselves there;
only what’s left of that being,
when it differs not from everything,

no need to discuss “when?”
the time is only now,
and now is your chance;
to exit the womb,
join the fireflies,
up, up, and..

always ahead,
a quiet mind,
and freedom to move,
flourish, to be;
not only what you are,
but not as well;
everything.

To consist of feather and bone,
is but a great honor.

That which gives weight to existence,
and bares all its strength and weakness,
ever changing, and yet ever present,

And that which gives life
the opportunity of flight;
to take its structure,
and let it soar.
Gaining new perspective;
giving it as well.

These bones they will break,
and feathers will fall,
But fear not the death,
for it would not exist,
without the life preceding.

Give thought to that which you are made;
Be conscious of the fleeting thoughts and emotions
to which you give flight,
for there is no greater gift,
than the solidity of our matter,
and the flight of our being.

And just like that humans’ grandchildren had no longer any nature to fear. The realization caught like wildfire, “If I own a piece I can preserve it forever…” and so the skins, tusks, and ***** content of Terre’s wildlife were mined, processed, and stored away on the dusty shelves of a million or so peoples’ soon to be rotten bookshelves. Systematically, part and parcel of the threads of the wild world were sectioned, cut, and numbered so that the remaining lives, if you could call them that, would all have a souvenir of a living planet.

     The hunt began a feeding frenzy; taking more human lives than what was even left of any African bush elephant, or Indus river dolphin. The hunger that consumed humanity was not for lives, no, but for the shreds of physical evidence that something once had lived, and it was at no expended cost that every last giraffe, tree frog, and jack-rabbit was displayed on artificial walls under fluorescent lights.

     “The man who sold me this piece said a whole village worth of people fought over the carcass.” When questioned,
     “which village?” he replied,
    “I didn’t get to ask. He was called over to aisle 9.”

     Those who could afford it were buried with their different duckbills, and lizard toes, snakeskins, and fish fins. Covered like a mummified Frankenstein in the garb of a living world. Stored in a plastic container and neatly tucked into a concrete wall surrounded by weathered stones and a manicured lawn. Their family would tell stories about how greatly they loved life in all forms, how hard they worked, how many they killed in order to procure such wonderful treasures. Their story was forgotten; like a thirsty root in the desert.

You’re a fool,
but aren’t we all.
At least you do,
what you think is right.

What is right?
I don’t think;
I don’t right,
and I don’t wrong.

Those stars in your eyes,
the ones you follow;
You put those there,
but at least you follow.

When the fog clears;
the ethereal thought,
thick and encompassing,
You might catch a glimpse.

On our level,
truly it isn’t clear,
nor should it be
on this level.

Clear is clear,
regardless, or not
if that’s happening;
here.

You’re a fool,
and so am I.
At least you think,
what you do is right.

I haven’t touched this thing in days,
why must i still hold on to it?
are these all just figures?
figuratively portraits take on,
a shape of their own.

An ebb and a flow exists,
only if you believe it to.
pushing forward, thruward, onward,
or taking,
one word,
at a time;
in time,
on time,
over time,
through time,
on an infinite scale,
over ever increasing proportions.

it all relaxes,
and that which we tried;
tried so hard to understand,
takes shape just in front of us,
as if if we hadn’t tried at all,
in the first place been conscious ,
that it all would’ve fallen into place,
and effortlessly, inclusively,
that which was once indescribable,
takes shape just in front of us,
in the form of what we said,
and how it looks.

Smell the lotus,
she is here.
Breathe her in:
slowly, fully.

Her light, traces, you will see,
You remember her smile,
and ahh.. those dimples;
she does not mind,
to keep you a muse.

Next time just let her know:
the lights dancing around her,
are for you to perceive.

She is here as always,
that tickling presence,
right at the tip of your nose.

Petals float gently to the ground;
all around,
and all is revealed,
bathed in morning light,
and just as easily
the retreat into tonight.

We could not accurately identify
The two children in the photograph,
So we did the space-time hop,
and found ourselves to be;
Underneath that large, gnarled tree.

The picture had inaccurately described
The details we now found this place to embody:
Once a marsh,
Now entirely wetlands,

and Tree...
Was an island,
of its own.

Strewn of bark, reeds, and root from below,
was Woman nestled up to Tree.

She was not separate, but consisting entirely of,
&& bound,
To Tree.

And as we gazed, you and i.

Her weathered face, && sunken eyes,
did my spine begin to tingle,
and her eyes; a twinkle.
As she twisted her head,
fixed her gaze upon my own,

And we stared...
Deeply into each other’s wonder.
That was only moments ago.

Discovered in my valley
Deep in the sauna heat

"Where to?"
The North, of course

Ta-Kwa-Men-om

Those eyes though,
They can be many things,
Flashing passion,
from one to the next

The pleasure,
Love,
all mine.

Some Times,i

Re - ceive signs,
Telling me to:
STOP

&

L I S T E N.

(coyotes crying in the distance)

A Shaman with only one foot,
Still takes,
every step at a time.

i may have some nasty habits
hell: i know it’s in me,
but there’s a moment in there,
maybe just one,
between the crumbling oats in my mouth,
and the silence that exists.

Despite the music playing from my computer,
remembering becomes easy,
and that tiny piece of easy,
despite the whole bunch of difficult.

that moment of stillness,
reminding me of the last,
with all the difficult in between,
that tiny space is heaven,
and i may be far from it,
but i’ll be back;
my habits and I.

There is great change in ones' eye,
after a successful ****.
capable of dashing out,
the light within the hopeful,
&& reigniting those who've lost.

A similar look in those eyes,
after meeting death.

I peeled a heart-shaped potato today;
Its skin was red and moist,
after i washed all the dirt,
and removed all the growth.

All of the clean potatoes
did not get chopped up,
for use on this day, but
the heart-shaped potato was shredded,
with a few other spuds,
and turned into something more useful;

Than a pile of shredded potatoes,
or a raw, *****,
chunk of ****** root,
with life extending from its borders.

I passed the American dream.
She wore no shoes as she hobbled along incoherence;
Atop glass and asphalt;
Gripping a flag between the divide and certain death.
We are all headed that way
Some just choose to do so in confidence.

I had a dream about you,
we were doing wonderful things,
full of bliss and eternal ecstasy,
just as i know things would be.

I took the lives of some animals;
****** maybe, but sacred,
and we wore their beautiful skins,
to keep ourselves from the element.

You looked so eloquent in your furs.
The color had not changed a tint,
since I stripped them from that doe,
and mine felt so powerful,
to be wearing its head over my own.

I could have shed tears,
over how beautiful it was,
this vision i was having,
but alas it was just a dream.

As the markings on your arm,
Appear to me as light,
In the darkness of my eyes,
Tracing the path of the caravan.

“What do you fear?”
She asked,
Of me, and now.

To whom am I speaking?
For the rest of the time,
In my head, in my mind,
It is you, who
I am speaking to.

I can feel your lovely heart-strings,
singing, vibrating,
through your throat,
the sound your soul,
makes; it ******* vibrates.

Behind my eyes, I
Can still see your,
wondrous gaze,

A thousand tiny yellow lights

She speak to me.

The light in her eyes,
shake-n-shimmy,
on her thighs.

Delicate dancing flower,
every time i give a listen,
she leaves me surprised.

Inspiration abundantly,
twist && turn,
feel the breeze, swaying trees,
i look && love the light i see.

*Listening

Things seem to be
somewhat real this evening
a chalice moon
far in the west
dare i say, lonely?

and for once this comes to me
without me being asleep
and i find the words to speak
from another kind of dream

things would be so easy
if the same **** appealed to me
at least they would be cheap
because cheap is so easy

if only for a moment
before fake lights upon my eyes
and options in front of me
barraged with packaging

the air it seems to be
enough to sober me
moisture frozen to my face
as i occupy the space

enlivened by the opportunity
of moving place to place
to get that necessity
and return to a place high in the trees