standing before the beat wooden table, artificial, I'm staring at a painting of white water, cool trees in late autumn, and a wide dim blue sky, clouds manifested as broad dashes of faded white blending somewhat with the blue behind it, so that the detail of the trees and the long staring streaks of cloud seem to express the fundamental oneness of opposites, the dim light seems to portend a storm hovering on the east winds...a waiting portrait blurred in a long time gale soaked with rain from the rolling Atlantic, all without the streaked panes of glass barring my eyes from the frantic surging.
somewhere sometime a lost sparrow's beating in the spray before sight of land..

tassels like little golden angels dancing in pattern without discernible sustainability some it seems fallen skirts blown back, or else kicking high in un-understandable ecstasy, beyond the grasp of my limited recognition of cognition, of understanding fullest being, expressive nonsense..Acceptance that this is not so, or at least only partially so, one being one mind one heart soul eternal there is only peace. Joy. Love. the depths of despair are only a manifestation of too deep a rut, too deep a meshing in the superficial nature of things, reality. Simple truths seen as incomprehensible because they are seen from eyes flipped upside down, backward set them right with the primal pattern which always is and always will be. See from the heart and the mind will settle in peaceful abandon...
Write to recognize the depths of confusion throw it away when one wishes to see the truth beyond limitation...mind not good not bad one with all a recognition of the truth is by no means necessary, only be, the fullest extent of yourself nothing means anything beyond there is nothing beyond self, which is all things...there is only being. Ever-present within without the dynamic expression change is an illusion fostered in the depths of blind submergence...

I am the dog, collared and chained,
deemed useless and left alone.
I am the nail in the wall left unhammered, jutting to snag at your sleeve.
I am the hole in your line through which all of your energy will be filtered or lost.
I am heavy with meaning and weightless with meaning and grounded in someone else's reality.
I am that reality, while my own remains silent and hidden and threatening.
I am a threat to some, no one to someone, and everything to one.
I am the card in play, always, even
when you leave the table and
I will be there when you get back.
Also, I am the deck and few cards are missing.
I am the mirror in which you might one day see yourself and startle your eyes into misrecognition.
I am the cup that overfloweth,
and the child guilty for wanting.
I am the season which seems like it will never let up.
I am the sun casting rays of golden relief on the faces of many lonely strangers.
I am the forgotten sun, just as well.
I am the ruin of those who came here before me and the stain they left on the white fabric of time.
I am the fabric, loose and changing
in the winds of perpetuity.
I am a glass sphere in the midst of a landscape, puzzling and divine and uncanny alike.
I am a door left unopened.
I am a line with no end and a point with no beginning and I will let it be known that I am here seeking all.

All your false securities
will not protect you in any degree
when the Man descends from the sky to see
if he or she or them or we
will surrender to him finally
and gather all most nobly
beneath the sun, the Eden tree
and bid that man must bend the knee.
Will we cast aside our crowns, our pride
and recognize that what we idolize -
the dollar bill, the satyrized
faked-out phoney false franchise
that man has made as a disguise
to keep distracted the hungry eyes -
will not serve to get us by
but to keep us down and cold and empty?

Every day
Waking up in the same place
Same path
Same endless repetitions
A life I never wanted
Or dreamed of

But if I can hold on
Scrounge for meaning
Give myself a reason to drag my body to the end

I'll wake in the winter
Find the world's hard edges
Softened by a fresh blanket of snow

And live again

large panel windows with a view of brick beyond
white (pristine, pure)
untouched fantasies
and
compromised realities


draped in sunlight it tastes bitter like
unaged marble, freshly cut and hung
(on a languid pointe you advance
    — a graceless ballonné)


there’s a peace to be found
in quiescent words dripping in honey   sounding across an empty room
sinking to the soles of your feet
as you dip your toes into discarded symphonies
painting them across my heart.

Madness moves me
That curtain is
  T  O  R  N
I scattered it
in purple shatters
on the shadow
across the sidewalk.
  from the  moon.
The whippoorwill
   S I N G S
out of tune
to match
a bad
    harmonica and
a rusty piccolo.
The box
that held it all
was auctioned off
    There was no
highest bidder.
The city
        trembles
from the
urgency of need
And none will make
    an offer.
Madness falls in
   L O V E
with unrequited horror
and gives birth
to pandemonium
  which is
marked down eighty-five
    percent
But only if
the flags are      flying.
Outside
comes in from
the cold
through windows
   with no     curtains
stepping over
purple stains
on badly
threadbare carpets
while
    the loom
goes right on
weaving
               *ljm

Make me *** and I'll come for you, until they pull me down and make me cough out loud. I'm a street named Chance and I'm awful loud, I read right to left. I hear colors not sounds. I'm a maniac, maniac, for Empire Carpet. I've been hospitalized for being honest, and condescended to for living life on the edge, with a knife in my bed, a pillow under my head. Where I've pollinated my sheets with the easements of sleep, and circumvented my best friends just to shake up the news. I've been used, I've been lied to, I've been amused, I've survived abuse, I've been bruised, I've leaned toward the obtuse, I've leant forward for truth, and I've written down my upsides and foretold my mishaps, I'm a backwards commando for import and export of hazmat, and especially bath mats, CB2 or IKEA, Bed, Bath, and Beyond, or just farther beyond. I remain calm, while the adverbs stack in my palms, it's the trick of word pimping to work verbs into adjectives, articles attached to their nouns, an ellipsis or eroteme, a period or comma. I said I am *******, so now won't you come. I've evolved what I've said into parts of a song. So push back on me and I'll push back in you, I'll take your words and re-dedicate them into consonants and vowels. Hang up your heraldry, and never put down your ***. Keep your habits to bedrooms, and your words to never forget.

hey, ma. it's been a while.
i don't know if you remember
the sound of my chirpy voice
anymore.
it still comes up, every now and again;
when i'm baked beyond my brains
when i had just cracked the rankest pun
when i'm tangled in a boy's arms, lost -
lost. just like you ma.

i wonder where your mind takes you
when the ringing in your ears doesn't seem to go.
when you dissociate into the otherworld, and
the lashes of your
third eye sweep me away from your vision.

i thought the power of the universe was
supposed to be
abundant.
yet i have lost you to the vortex of your gods -
the same ones that leave
only the wind
to rock me to sleep.

ma,
i am pockmarked with your bad habits.
i lose touch with reality
myself, looking for the warmth of your
recognition.

i guess space is too large
for me to find your meditative corner.
or perhaps
i'm just looking in the wrong spaces.

space is nice because you have
no weight on your shoulders.
i miss the feeling of having
no weight on my shoulders.

when i grow up, ma
i want to be just like you.
lost.

Have I been forgotten more than I’ve been remembered?
I’m afraid to ask but feel the gentle nudge of my overthinking little demon telling me I need to know. I want to preserve. That is my goal ultimately. Preserve my life, preserve my memories. If only I had done it sooner, maybe I could remember my own Mother’s voice. Maybe I could remember who I am. What I want to be. I am built of choices and principles that I am not entirely sure I agree with, but have I ever been entirely sure about anything? Uncertainty is my main anxiety, uncertainty is my most well established feeling, for there is no doubt in my mind that I am uncertain when I’m uncertain. Or maybe there is. I want to see color on my cheeks, happiness on my lips that shows with every word I say, a body I feel blessed to have no matter my weight. I want to taste happy. I want to taste it in all of its mellow waves of sweet fruit and darting sunsets. I want to taste the Caribbean Sea mixed with sweaty hands and palm trees. I want to be happy. That’s who I want to be. I know there’s no ending that ends with “Well kids, she did it! She found happiness and became nothing but an overflowing beam of light flooding those she loved with warmth and growth and the support she always wished she could give. She found happy.” But if I could just get a taste, a whiff of happiness, maybe that would be enough. Maybe then I could move on and pursue my next dream. Maybe if I caught a glance of happy I would gain the strength to fix our economy. I don’t want happy to be my “The End,” I want happy to be my “Sorry for the technical difficulties, now ladies and gentlemen, on with the show.” I want it to be what gives me the strength to do everything else. Maybe it’s nonsense, only a dream with no bearing to reality. Or maybe I am simply overlooking, overthinking, everything over, look down, look down! Stop being “Over,” things, you are over nothing, you are not the sky nor the clouds in it, you are not the highest branches nor the leaves that remain on it. You are the ground. The very definition of grounded. People walk on you because you let them, it makes you happy. People often see you as *****. You are the ground, which means you are necessary, you are what holds us together, quite literally. You are the ground, and that's makes you beautiful. You’re not intimidated by the footsteps of a thousand warriors for you are under them. And for once, that means you have the advantage. You are the ground. It is short and sweet, so why do you still manage to find misery? You are the ground from which happiness grows. I am happiness. You found me.