Here by the Beat Hotel near
the St Michel in a cafe with wine
I feel the hum turn to sizzle and
sparkle and overfill into my eyes
too much till they are brimming with
hope that could spill onto the table
and my heart is swelling with a
optimism and I feel it spilling
over I worry I will laugh crazy
for no reason but to release
all the glowing light inside which
is feeling far too obvious for everyone
they will think I am drunk but I have only had a sip but this
conversation is several glasses of something of energy of
fermented anger and worries
and anxieties about the world

turned into wine and we
sip the sentences we sip the
sentences and eyes clink glances
in holistic belief and hope it
is so much but you
say we are free we
are freer than this ramekin
which once held peanuts which
we nibbled between drink
and thought and you say you
can’t believe you are talking of
Sartre here and it is cliché
but the words
ripple like a song we know we
forget but when it plays
we forget we forgot and always
know we need to hear it again
we wish we could record the
feeling the sights the words the
way you say the words so
that we are filled with childlike
possibility when life weighs us
to stare at our feet.

the eyes' being see-ers of an image,
made up from two.
it's clarity appearing,
from what
is known
made.

Words drip from your mind
water the consciousness  
grows the sentence
that formes in you mouth  

- "Be my bee to my bird"

Power is where allowing myself to realize
that I am now and can only ever be now -

and everything else is work
and everything else is,

In between that power and me now.

The smoke fills the air, poisonously stifling.
The destruction of my lungs, i'm forever denying.
Others see the destruction, reflecting it to me.
And when I look into the mirror, death is what i see.
Does this art of decay express my true being?
Nay, the only purpose it serves is the creation of a deadly scene.
Life without death, I strive for a balance
And I manifest such through the expression of my talents.

Fermenting
About to turn twenty two
how long has it been since I learned to tie lace of a shoe?
how long since I learned the best way to live is without a clue

I feel just like ten
why does school seem to be so distant and fragmented then?
Like a memory long unpolished yet bright. I'm older all right.

Nah, I feel like fifteen
why, then, for happiness do I turn to a five-inch screen?
should be out in the field if I am a teen
why doesn't the city, colors and friendship seem evergreen?

Eighteen?
nope. too dry to cry
a river thinking the world is mean.
Now I cheer for both the men fightin'.
With inner peace comes bloodlust ridin'

So this is what it feels like to be twenty-two!
Not bad. one-third gone and now left is another two 'twenty-two'
till I bid this consciousness adieu.