remember remember
old widowed December
and Pluto
the moon with a moon

the sun drips an artist
a walk flies the farthest
O farther than birds in a room.

remember remember
the priests peace and temper
and wet fingernails
Tinted teeth smiling tunes

the moons seen me naked
my virginity taken
I roar from the ***** of what Godkind consumes.

Don't you listen?

the world can seem
from the glassy eye of a computer screen.

addicted to the ego trip of the
face
book

and

all of a sudden
the trip is no longer enough

ignored; neglected
the only response is a snippy
bit
of
sarcasm

a negative
disguised
as
a
neutral

your head
screams
'*******, *******'
but if you stood up
for
yourself

they'd say
'calm down,
it's just
a
*******

joke.'

did the wind ever catch you sleeping?
alone like a cordless phone off the hook, where's the charge
beyond the imaginings of the long-haired girl standing in the open rain wondering, wondering, wondering
what?

wondering if it was true
if it was true that the cold of a cozy bed in the middle of a warm December night was anymore than a dream
or if the person she spoke to was a figment of her imagination
because human is a hoax, each from the same source like every fallen leaf floats from the same tree
so would that not mean that the entire universe is just
one
great
big
schizophrenia?

or, is it the happy clutches of a child in want of your embrace that reminds you of the sad clutches of a child in want of your embrace?

because the sun doesn't go down, it goes around
and the moon isn't half, nor the stars just a spec
nor a grain of sand just a grain of sand because a cosmos is a cosmos no matter how large
small
or mildly tasted like a long-shot espresso will never taste a tongue

can the words ever really tell you much more than the words?

if a cosmos is a cosmos, the words will tell you the cosmos
the cosmos, the very essence of the sweet silk and the clammy touch of a lover after a rainy winter walk
the warming of the lips upon lips
or the clamp of the seven AM alarm
a great big '*******' to many, a reminder to 'wake up and love' for the lucky

and the wind; the dastardly, beautiful, realist wind!
where was I when you always arrive?

so I'm asking you
look inside of yourself and think:
did the wind ever catch you sleeping?

the music climbs like a mystic rummaging layer by layer upon steps of wood leading to the mundane middle of a bedroom
'meditation leads to sleep, we are in the perfect place!' he smiles
Christ, you're like Christ
I think.

all of a sudden he is lying on my bed, sleeping, arms outstretched,
and I climb into my side of the bed, he pulls closer
wraps his arms around me and says
"Christ, you're like Christ,"

I turn to him slowly and smile
all of the sudden God falls asleep.

Are an interesting thing.

Because they appear in all headspace
And stratum of conscious
Orchestra slow walk of life-

In the hazy Druid gaze of early morning waking days
To the moment of the crystal revelation;
The hardwood can look dreamlike, soft
But just as easily manifest creation.

Sinewy contortions of the multicoloured drapes
To the kind and gentle ghosty in the sun;
A derealized 'umm, wait a sec' march backwards in the mind
Or the truth that I and this wood frame are one.