They tell me to lay down
and to please look at the fish.
Notice how they glide
in-and-out of the cool-blue
water; how they don't have
a care in the world -- they're
fish: one out of millions;
mindless; alone in packed
tanks; alone, jammed in
metal cans full of corpses
and low-quality mustard.

Putting the mask over my
perfect nostrils, my straight
teeth, they say Don't be afraid;
listen to my humming; how it
will blend with the high-pitch
screech you hear, now; becoming
an equilibrium of torture and
fantastical strangeness, unbound
by Gods, by Persons, by Loves.

Inside this perfect dark,
you cannot think beyond
the giant broad strokes that
is the world sweeping by --
and it is marvelous, the
buoyant miseries floating
above your head; my head
of ambivalent visions;
the Earth's core, a furiously
violent brilliance, ablaze
beneath my feet, under
layers of confounded
deathly masquerade; a
mask much like mine:
an egotistical reflection
brought out by one's
feeling of gigantic import-
-ance, despite hanging
from the vastest of ceilings;
a wannabe church in the sway
of jungle mind; primitive instinct.


***

You know you can wake up
  at this point, or so they say.
What does it all mean, to which
I murmur, I don't know. It's
hard to say what I know; if
anything, all I have is doubts.
All I can muster are regrets;
I wish I could return to that
perfect dark, confused and
semi-philosophical; all-
pretentious: a feeling of
being bound by brokenness.

They tell me to chill out;
you use semi-colons like
they're heartbeats. Focus
on whether your chest
holds validity.

Human, being said to be conscious
living is defined by what he does
lifes are chenged by his choices
But how could I be called human
when all I choose seems predefined
when to me, the meaning of life is unknown
Conscious I am said to be,
but how could I be more unconscious
When the world's sadness fall upon me when a loved one dies
and unaffected I am when when million other's die each day
When, at eas I sit before my TV
as one's life, in an alley is taken away
I am human, I am called conscious, living and intelligent
But not more than a sleeping lion am I aware of the child who died at birth
Not more than a walking ant am I aware of a family's hope,
whose dreams are taken away before him powerless
I sure am conscious, of how little I know
that I live, only until I die
that I choose, until I have no choices left
That being human, is knowing
that my life is but existence
and my consciousness mere awareness
before what lies beyond the midst of life

listen to the sound of silence
as you go beyond
feel the soft touch of water
as it runs through your vines
capture the vastness of the sky
with your eyes closed
melt with the stillness within!

I think, the world is a stage with little word people dancing about waiting to be picked up and nurtured.To be danced with, as one listens to their heart. And to be cuddled and given a home on a precious vellum page.

I think, I shall dance all day under sunlight and rain. Expanding my consciousness to ride the wave of life. Come join me won’t you? You like me are the master directors of our own stage.

StarBG © 2017

double long, triple-strong caffeine pinch
hopping round
cardiovascular road strips;
its hues are bloodshot contrasts
blending well in peripheries
alienating sources
of scarlet origin;
eyelips swallow eyeballs;
impossible to bite on,
for their teeth are on the outside
pulling punches,
stopping short of eye-lashing out

*

the ellipse of Your eyelips
swallows my irises
siamese twin suns
sky-connected
at the luminous breeze
falling asleep on my chest
vivid abreast
the pyre of lungs

I have seen beyond
the walls of death,
beyond time
there is a place
of immortal bliss.
I have seen a world
lingering next to our own,
hiding just beneath
our preoccupied senses.
If you lift the veil,
and dive into
your own consciousness,
without fear
of losing yourself,
then you too
will see your own mortality
is a mere illusion
of the vessel
you are caged within.

Divine timing
Unraveling self-fulfilling prophecies of satisfaction
Indecision, action-packed
Clarity, spinning out and hiding in eternity
Destroying me, creating my stability
I am not and will never again or anymore be sorry that I’m free
Running directly into me
I exist in and of all time-spaces simultaneously

when I am barely there,
awake nearly and turn
back in toward sleep
all yellow-black,
and

and when my brain twitches
dogwise
in the yellow-black motes and
it’s Sunday morning
in the place
where my brain is choosing
                                                       sleep

in that place my brain it will
pivot
through the globe and scheme of all things;

wheel and vector the whereabouts
of where about you might be
in its

(little globe
                        and
     little scheme)

and just there below sleep it will

pivot


about your smell,
there where it seeps up--

it will pivot
                  about you,          still
for you are--                  still
the music

and the fulcrum. still

                                  of my sleep

-dc