be gentle with us
or don’t.
the stars still fall without permission.

but if you must touch us
touch slow.
for we are poets,
woven from breathless skies
and midnight trembles.

we feel too deeply,
like a violin played in a burning cathedral.
it is not a fault
only a fire
that never learned silence.

we do not fall in love,
we crash.
like galaxies meeting at full speed.
we love like we are dying,
we live like we are fading,
but in our minds
we fly barefoot across constellations.

our hearts
are black roses
growing among the red
soft to the gaze,
sharp to the soul.

you will not see it in our steps
or in the way we drink our tea.
but we are stained glass
already cracked
still catching the light.
and if you press too hard,
we will bleed beauty.

a poet is not always seen
sometimes just a smile in the corner
a sigh in the crowd.
we are everywhere,
soft and wild.

we tell stories
so the silence doesn’t win.
we wear masks
not to hide
but to protect the soft
from the cruel.

we notice the things you forget.
the chipped cup.
the tremble in your laugh.
the way sorrow dresses like strength.

and when we love
we love your entire world.
not just your name
but the way it sits in our lungs.
not just your eyes
but the way they flinch when the past whispers.

we adore the broken
shards glinting red
like stained mirrors
still daring to reflect stars.

we have kissed the devil
with trembling mouths,
left pieces of our soul
in places no light touched
and still returned.

we are fragile
yes
but not weak.
our hearts are ruins and gardens
at once.

so if you come close
come gently.

because when we hurt
we hurt in verses.
and when we fall
we don’t land.
we become.

so this is your only warning,
written in blood and ink:

be gentle with us.
or
watch the beauty bleed.

be gentle with us
please.
or don’t.
it is, after all,
your choice.

but know this

we, the poets,
are not built like the rest.
we are the black rose
among gardens of red
too rare,
too delicate,
too dangerous.

we feel with the whole sky.
we love like the sun
is seconds from setting.
we fall,
not softly
but all at once,
like shattered stars
scattering over wounds.

we live small
but think wide.
in our minds,
we are always flying
between memories
and make-believe,
between hurt
and hope.

don’t be deceived
by calm faces.
we wear masks
stitched from poems
and laughter
but behind them
we are velvet chaos,
quiet storms
with bleeding edges.

we, too,
have danced with devils
and kissed pain
like it was wine.
we return
from places
we cannot name
but we carry the fire
in our chests.

a poet could be anyone
walking beside you
a poet could be everyone
breaking silently

we collect fragments
glances,
murmurs,
empty chairs.
we see beauty
in undone hair,
in chipped teacups,
in rain that ruins plans.

and love
when we love,
we don’t stop at skin.
we fall into souls.
into scars.
into shadows.

and when we’re hurt,
we trust slower.
touch softer.
speak less.

so now you know
this heart,
it does not bruise
it blooms in pain.
this soul,
it does not break
it spills light
through its cracks.

so if you come near
and if you care
then please
be gentle with us.

Ich weiß, du kennst...
we are more subtle than any creatures.

Attraction toward helpful creative license,
first liberty truth makes when taken
at face value

Christmas story lays it out
but then the sellers of holiday cheer,
those folks, they propagate a believed

story with Eloheem, a weform of Gods,
a veritable pantheon, all the spirits,
all the gifts, wordlessly imaginable,

one big ol' amphora jug portion
potion of all gifts of all the spirits,
pushers and pullers mostly, electric
positive and negative loops magnetic

silk and amber static charged touch
to the nose, voila, belief, it's true,
the pitch presented prior, to prove,

indeed elemental particles hold energy,
the E in Einstein's theory of everything
that depends on a constant… that isn't,

but that's just a detail, demonstrable,
but insignificant on the scale of this
by way of most modern-est magic,
means by which electricity charges,
or loads a battery in an auto
telic mobile device
lithium ionic
touch
spark of cognition….

------------------
{as the watchass detects angery angels,
  so these curly braces detect doubts,
    such two mind yens to yank it out,
     the esoterica of old press rules
      to conserve papyrus, use marginal
       tests of patience Job uses still  vw
        grok kens warten ist gut genug
         Ich weiß in stasis verstehen}

Truth is free
for the finder, one claimant
to being the finder, claims the truth
makes its finder free, as if by
the Jinn in the jug.

Regular events
in the existing sphere,

this bubble bound
to the sun,

as a real word bound weform
in agreement touching everything
as wares, perfecting patience patina

sheen seen sparkle in reflection
on golden ponds seen once
in this way

of all breathing entities breathe-ing
in confirmed pure information, ah,
quantifiable, hold one, ah,
one breath, hold it,
wait, wait, no
hope
without breath,
no breath without form…
information
to be, or not, once, one state,
at this point,
passed by daily, gladly, I am so

"bright, shining, gleaming;
                joyous;
       pleasant, gracious"

Perfect for show and tell, perform
the Ginger Baker part of I'm so

glad… pleased and satisfied…
with the equivalent
of three
Tostitos and two spoons
of sugar,
and a cup or two
of Kueriged coffee,
just as qwerty guy arrives…

the fifth hour, now the ninth
of the day, and prior
to this instant, I began
to think today, we, me and any init
oughta run

Powered On, Self Testing…
as if all were ever yet yonder yeses

I make palpable peace, where none is,
until we form, and agree this is
information free for use, as us,
we may think it for free, no charge,
the living words all accounted for, inherent
knowledge cognates instant same meaning
in our actual time, translation on the fly,
post all we knew before now had
to be,
some ambiguity,
as the fly by and by went
we believe we all may have read,
and have childlike innocense set aside,
left behind, in the process, metamorphic

resonant thinking thunk, can who
hear whom now? Who benefits,
cui bono, eh,
fixing re prefixes on admonition, listen,
the point
of touched surface electrons,

literally, active verb function, does feel

felt

from and through this magic
window, which was imagined, magic,
when scryers told fortunes
as seen
in smooth black bowls of tar,

black mirror dendritic ligament ties,
too many mysteries to sort any out.

the thousand thousand Arabian nights,
under the stars along the silk road, ah
traditions, every year, we offer
to these who claim knowledge
of Plieades sweet persuasions,

we make ag and re word forms
res publica, all present speak and part

take, be, ready writer
with the tongue,
from ******'s last hunt, mastered as
mysterious curious need
to know, so bad,
need to know the climactic, woe, oh,

no, meandering time maker taking mine,
to make it pay, stick and stay
think this with me:
"
The principal sources
of terrestrial noble gases are primordial gases, inherited from the solar nebula at the time of planetary accretion
"
assisting informers,
confidential, sacred trust
learn traditions as old as trade
in finished silken threads died in the egg.

------------------



Rooting the fruiting branch brings forth
from the worm, the silken strand,
to follow, thinking
this it that
true wu wei rivermind
of wondering ifery was

through the wetlands
to the sea,
riverwise, old ways, taking it easy,
leaving haps as may just be, this easy


for all its worth
made in the mind,
before becoming real,
in your own breath, the letting out
of a dammed stream,
is the loosing
of prideful indignation
contending
for whatever pride pays.

We be still, as a pool
in La Brea,
gurgles and we laugh as the world
passes gas.

---------------------------


Re,
the inseperable pre-
fixations, certainty, simplified,

easy as pi
to the wheelwright.
Regarding
roundness, something
reminds me, emotions roll, and ocean
and light waves roll, but
not as wheels, as twisters,

gut wrenching, thrill riding

coils, as "this mortal coil",
it may be,
we can see more
than we can
think or ask
to know, and maybe
we may
accept perception sent
to fix our inattention…
re on prefixations ja
Yes, seeing who ya
may think you are
being first task,

being as we are
becoming old
with no effort,
being all we are eventually
after our experience,
as a whole, collective mind
cohort sharing history
having being,

as seen on T.V.

a behaving rootless living thing,
granted reason, ah, and none, no

why factor, why me, your rational, why
think, why am I at a loss for indefinite reason

for daily doing this… thinking redefined prayer,
asking the air I breathe to give me goodness sakes
alive joy, of, mastery, free in truth to think I know,

why I am is not, by any stretch, the essence
of the common imaginable aggravating recognition,
of this looking like that, and that coiling like this, as if

today were mine, becaused,
not by my own measure
of reasonableness accumulated,
acquired experience, years of such mornings,
evident to me, having been there, at the beginning of

today, whole and certain, as this world turns, grave
truth, holding my body down, lets my mind take form,

as a spirit me, shapeless,
cloud like, we may imagine,
but the truth is we are more word like,
or song like, as soft… faint as sfumata wind edged
high cirrus crystaline ice particles
breaking above this green valley granite waves
between which,
with the magic prefixed
to my fingers,
performing first rites, fix my mind
on letting this mind form, as a
we, who do form agreement, awe, as
we live and breathe, as parts, Jah, ah, yes,
of all the world's workings, all ye outs in free

each me involved object, each I
in mere mindform thinking

rational, reasonable spinning consciousnesses,
hearing yeses,
listen, outside now,

children laughing

oh, no, not children laughing,
mothers, weeping,
where no peace is, ah,
regarding the challenge,
calling
for peace, where no peace is, nor has been,
since this cohort
of old soldiers were born, you see…

we became the peacemakers,
when we agreed,
me
to write,
you
to read, yes, when we aggregate
opposing confusion troubling our own safe zone, home,

as promised, we inherit the wind.
And live in it for ever sakes

where the heart
of our earthian mind core, smiles
to signal certainty, our time is worth spending
to aim
at an actual practical answer
to war,

taste the truth, use your full potency, all curiosity,
all the gifts, aged, mellow,
as spirits alluded to
on T.V.

the mobmind reined in and beguiled by force,
made to believe the same lies used in all the wars
we studied
to improve the odds
of winner takes all come Judgement…

begun in the house of all such holy messaging

beings, unbound
by these bodies, living
in mere words, such as we
who find some true reason

in smiles expressed, such as we often think

signals peace and safety, if, there
be any virtue, if there be any praise
that if persists in present perception, as if

the conditional
for today, if… what?

Yes, if only today, were ours
to use,
to pause, per use
at each letter, long enough
to relate the use per chance
to this once
in the ever
in front
of us both as I proceed perhaps,

by a virtue, a mankind privilege,
the knack we have used

as we use time
for doing nothing
  to disrupt the peace,
    if, such as me, are liars, too.

old pensioners believing
as if evidently
set aside
to reason
with that which lets, as a catch-
ment, a click, tick,
expectant tock talk listen hold,

birds, little fretless birds
making noise, we think
singing, signifying less
than the tempest
in the boiling pre-tea water
on my fire.


---------------------
I plan to die alone. And laugh,
knowing there's no chance,
and I keep laughing no

Pain
control, avoidance,
empty vessle swelling
pride, stretching alarm,

swelling autotelic cooling,
soothing settling breaths,

shush, little baby,

crashing howling pain, oh,
from some child far from me,

from some starving node of us,
this we in this agreemental form,

we who are dangerous to tyranny,
by virtue of development, intentional,

we who mastered our own fate, by faith,
with good reason, our own experience,
working out our own salvation, with fear
and trembling and sneaking suspicions that

it never was good for mankind, wombed or un,
to lack the good sense God gives a green apple,
to ripen and tempt with poisonous red -- ah,

parable of the curve, parabolic arc ripen to death.

Bite me.
Peace defense desert plants use, we use too,
to defend our own peace of mind, alone, away,

privately holding my own ground in the temptation,
into which we lead our muses,
to try as spirits,
to taste, persuade or convince, make beliefs,
made for us, as children,
ever ago, long gone
the way
of all simple things,


enough, morbid ghosts ignorablus,…

let's get physical.
Nobel gaseous,
last thing we be,
as a thought mirrored
in neurons popping in

to exist, out be, in reality,
as ifs we lept, and kept as owned in
our momentum until now, se', as if we lost all will
to continue in total darkness, we catch fire.

Assist Insist aiaiai actually did know
for the test,

The formation
of noble gases can
involve nuclear reactions,
such as the production
of 3He
from the reaction 6Li(n,α)3H(β−)3He

Lithium ash, after all, we all share the air,
but we also make parts of it, we process
the air we breathe, we live and have our being,
inside, this one great big bubble in the emptiness

as caretakers, loaded literally with words for
anything, answers some experiments confirm,
true as true can ever be, as it ever is

all there ever is,
as if ever was, and we carry it as clouds carry
rain if conditions are right, none, if not.

In the most base mind
of mankind, our recognition,
I am like that, those hands are like my hands,
and so on,
first impressions, gosling like,
I am one of those, these, I mean, I know
I think, Blaise,
bet me, knew I won,
how now,
we may only guess,
but guess we may, as free

mental creatures,
wingless swimmers since first
reaction caused the me thing in each
to just occur,

what are the odds
of you? One in ever.
Honest, no contest, if there were only nine points
of distinction, any reasonably programmed boy
of ten, knows fingerprints
defy duplication, its just, as justice is,
in truth it
never happens that you are not unique.

Writers die young,
but those loved
by a writer
live forever —
through scrappy handwriting
on yellowing pages
of verse and prose
full of adoration,
unconditional love
from an old soul
with a heart too big
for their own good.

To play the heartstrings plays a song that only we can hear,
To love the artist in words,

Every string that sings the easing pluck of fingers on the page,

To love a poet,
To sing and grow my wings unfold and brings the snow it,
Lingers...

Under my fingers.

The tremble of little, unspeakable things.

Speak to me your fears.
The Pen and paper rend and savor the bend and sway of a heart that dares to hear,

The black pours from the poet sword.

Fingered on the page I bend and wage my war,
Inked and torn the paper bore the tears.

To love the art,
The burns too sore to heal,

To love,
The start,
The pen and art that bleed apart the papers,
Your eyes reveal the arcs I forgot to read,
The swings of ease,
My mind rings a wicked song,

I squeeze the pages between my aching, bleeding fingers,
The ink stains my blood,
Black,
The sting,
The flood of feelings, the shaking dealings of thought.
You caught my sighs , you caught my lies,
Now sing to me a different song.

Red fades to grey,
The lines begin to grace my fingers,

The cuts now painting my pains upon the pages.
My rage subsides,

Under the gates of shining hell,
the wells of golden swell.

My eyes crash again.

And there you are.

Some songs have a girl's name.

And I wonder
what came first?
The song or the title?
The passion or the girl?

I expect it was the latter,
followed by the sorrow.

And I expect the words
were found much later.

Ink flows on the page
Whispers of stories so bold
Time held in each line
Revealing past deeds untold
Words act as a guage
Of our thoughts, from young to old
Baring through the age
When gazing on words untold
By turning each page
Growth of ideas unfold

writing and scribbling and scrawling down my all thoughts,
each and every
dark and sinister alley twisting in the curves and
    crevices
of my mind.
dusty, hidden corners filled with filth -
hidden by the shadows of my
    weighted self.