The border between chaos and order,
Whats your secret, how you don´t freak it?
just how did care - so free - hover mid-air?

Go stay aware of yourself,
Blow it on the higher shelf!

Flying so high above can´t even see,
What used to be my sky mind
Paved away - turned eye blind.
Broken back plus dirt - I find
Grow into this bye-bye kind

even cruel ghosts, playful companions,
Mistook death for happiness.
Paved away - turned eye blind.

So full, yet empty, king of a wasteland,
Listen, you hear a song - just taste bland,
"Zero Zero" by The Big Brass Haste Band

Why you smiling?
Something you did?
starts to sting, kid?
try - dont fling it

Don't look at yourself, now
Don't test your strength, now

Want to grow faster than time makes me,
Want to run faster than my body takes me.

Secrets, knowledge accumulated,
disconnecting the great connected,
Between you and you,
In better times long ago, hidden - found,
On what has become forbidden ground.

it's weird that sometimes
when you study books
so hard
and so long
you discover
how every little thing
everyday
has a meaning too

some historical allusion
or literary illusion
that tells you exactly how someone feels about you
or how you feel about them too.

so maybe all those studies
weren't always a waste
maybe the real meaning behind all of it is that
they want you to give you a taste
of all the symbolism of things
before you're too late

A single blackened snowflake hanging in the air,
a choice to stand out so vividly
from the others so pale.
A choice that is not it's own,
nor could be fear of difference.

Slowly descending to rest upon my palm,
It cannot wait as it melts away into nothingness,
Gone as though it never was.

A miracle in nature,
A phenomenon unheard of.
But who will ever know; who will believe?
In difference the flake is soon forgotten.

This flake chose to alight upon myself,
perhaps seeking to find another like itself.
Yet it is just a meminder, a mockery,
knowing that these shadows will ultimately
take away, with myself,
The memories of whoever I was supposed to be

letting it go too far over
whispering lines none too sober
deep into superficial radical concerns
but the comfort theme overall well stirred
fulfilling holes by plain symbolic gestures
miming intentions in meaningless false truths–

eyes on the pistol, the cure as a symbol.

Umpteen years of gentle love,  
touching of souls,  melting hearts.  
Burnt lava nd acid too.

Two of us as one,  in a random epoch of time.
Is God ordained or  a throw of dice?  
A matter of deep speculation is.

Look at this humble Plumeria, Sweet Love,  
a hardy plant it is,  
It's lived through a couple of droughts,
two leaves still shiny,
look forlorn on its gnarled trunk,  
for It's tiny buds long burned by heat,
refuse to sprout any further greens.

A hope in its will to live,
and flower once every year.
What better a symbol of our  connect than
this mute brute of a shrub.

I give this plant to thee my dear,
take good care of it,
water it and watch it live,  
for its life is a symbol of our love..

Do not worry too,  if it dies,  for its only a glyph..

I'll plant another tree for you,
This time a mango,
which will grow big and olive under your tender hands..
to again ikonize a new phase..
One that gives fruit and shade,
to generations of birds and bees,
us in our old age,

and an abode to our Haunted Undead Souls!