Seed my mantra with your stare
Im stuck on the roof
No God in sight
and my neck hurts from staring at stars
Awaiting a cool breeze to guide me home
Still I keep that *** of gold in my mind’s eye
The return to a long forgotten homeland
Something to strike me like deja vu
Awakening my eternal slumber
A thousand whistling kettles
So seed my laugh with your stare
Im stuck on the roof
No God in sight
and my neck hurts from staring at you
Awaiting a cool breeze to guide me home

Psychic fixes lay dormant on a floor mat
huddle the young
warm feelings under red scarves
away from vapid decay
turn feral, child
in this warm space
we’ve carved
just
for
you

Soft cathedral daggers over a whisper of hot flesh
you unfolded a chariot
blossoming into moonshine
echoing in eternity
there is only
this
what more need we ask for
but
this

So the drunken fool stumbles about his responsibilities,
sunbeams glowing from his eyes…
no perfume strong enough to hide this stench of love.  
I give up.
God,
that rascal
always has other plans
for me

Some smokey memory
hidden in a deep recess
reminds me death is a friend
I so crave that light I’ve known
That night I pounded the floorboards
curled my body around leg chairs
clung to my mothers old womb
crying to the moon
shouting questions silently
why… Why… WHY?!
Sprouted from your womb, I wish to return
growing from your consciousness
I wish to dissolve
I was a fire in the eye
eyeless in its completeness
vision in its blankess
burn through me
burn me whole

We speak a broken language

we mirror

we fall and forget

and stumble into broken shards

of the mirror

that cut us and make us bleed

the only way we can think to remember

our nature…..

were all masochists

because were stumbling on purpose

blood spilt on the other side of the world

makes us all anemic

I've struck a bargain
with existence, I bring
it flowers every
morning

Champagne furnaces burn red, orange, then blue
Like the way i wish to uncolor my perceptions for you

People see the world they want to see
and nothing more
their individual perceptions color endlessly
But they never take the time to find out who is coloring
they color unconsciously
becoming a prisoner of their hallucinations

When i started listening
a sound i’d never heard
drunken poets
suddenly
make
sense