under the lost perch dreams are dying  
birds crashing without batting a wing
fungus growing in circular rings
the thud of tiny footsteps hoping for a better day
innocence just wanting to play
sun tired ending its shift early moon oversleeping day and night cry
oreo black across the sky
nightfall crashing left and right
neighborhoods acres of no light
courts closed due to the dark
***** stop bouncing lost in the park
darkness now spread from zero to one the end of light has just begun

We are all like wildflowers. We fall to the ground as seeds, some are swept away without a chance, while others begin to germinate and sprout after some time in utter darkness, enveloped with earth for what must feel like an eternity.

We begin to form ourselves into the ideal shape under ideal conditions, and even under conditions which would more than likely do us in, by the grace of the universe and process itself.

We gather up sunlight as the manifestation of motivation and courage, and we begin to satiate our spirits with unspoken gratitude, which spills over into joy and laughter, which we commit to our subconscious memory, and we let it build us up into stronger, more beautiful versions of our truest selves.

But this inertia and energy only lasts so long, until we are buffeted by the harsh winds of unfortunate events and circumstances, until we require rejuvenation from the universe and from the very depths of our subconscious once again. There is a waiting period for this to occur, which I would call depression. When we feel like it’s not worth the effort, when we feel like giving up or not pushing ourselves to our limits, or even when we feel like just not so much as enjoying the passing moment, we must gain strength from outside of ourselves at times when we feel we do not have what it takes to keep pushing.

The beauty and magnificence of life is ultimately contagious, and when we realize that bad times breed good times, we realize that good times ultimately spill over into inevitable bad times. The Yin and Yang is a good example of this. “As above, so below, as within, so without.”-The Emerald Tablets.

When we reach our peak, our flowering stage in life, we are so beautiful and full of radiance, and everyone around us thinks so too. That’s what I mean when I say the beauty and magnificence of life are ultimately contagious, but the same can be said for negativity, doubt, hatred, self loathing, fear, pessimism, and the false idea that life is only to be enjoyed by the rich, and that there’s no hope for the average individual. These thought patterns will hold you hostage, they will break you down, and they will make you virtually unable to process any sort of joy regarding this incredible experience we call life.

The only way to break the cycle of negative thoughts, is to take a step back and practice gratitude and awe for the absolutely insane process of our evolution, and our growth as a species, our growth as wildflowers, who are strewn about the countryside basking in the sunlight, swaying in the breeze like our very emotional states often do. We are a thing of untold majesty, the true personification of all that is, and when we finally say goodbye to our oldest and closest friend, Gaia herself, the planet, the life cycle, our temporary blip in the history of mankind, we can we can hear her laughing, giggling like a young girl at the antics of a playful kitten, telling us that this life had not gone to waste, and that our memories and energy will live on, and that all of us, no matter how seemingly insignificant, have made an indescribably positive impact on the world around us, and that the world was made infinitely better because we were here. We, the wildflowers, are here to give people joy, and to see the beauty in us, and ultimately all around us.

across the grass, the highrise
becomes the horizon,
as i lie on my back in the park,
and the line that separated land from sky
runs now vertically on
through evening into the dark.

of what's a house built,
tatami mats without
figures, ghosts within walls,
haunted by the absence
of anyone of substance who calls,
ozu, can you hear me? in
these rooms of noh occupants,
transients staying only a night,
staging a performance for no audience,
except me, turning slowly to dust,
late spring in tokyo twilight,
floating weeds in an empty house,
by a projector's light.

Spaghetti condors and
Mango vultures,
Gobstop gumbo;
Velociraptors in the Bayou, and
Doves made of mildew.
Tell me, is it all
Getting old?

I'm sure the phenomenon is
Far wider-spread than
At any other time throughout history.
The want to have been born,
Decades or years before,
And I think it's easily attributable.
Inundated with knowledge
It is hard to come to some consensus
Among peers,
Likewise it is difficult
To be in a situation you'd rather not
Able not only to conceive
But receive, every scenario you could think of.
Many of which would be the least bit better than the reality currently ascribed

Birds of a feather,
On an isle of ladders;
Here now, together.
Climb to nowhere,
That just gets ever higher;
One way up, straight and narrow.
Rain pours in,
Maelstrom showers;
Prometheus cowers.
Overhead, stars twinkle;
And at least the view is beautiful