Wrapped up in blessings of a crap trap, Eastern mindsets of true point basics.

Another Monday, and so forth, to stretch, casually aspire, and fetishise delay.

Acceptance of a feral upkeep secreted for sake of nature, duality.

Speak now easily colouring Masonry black.

It all falls out of the mind, one observation Vertical equations, quotations.

Talking a nations head off.

If her ghost could read between mine then lines would pull apart.
But who is she... who am I?

Under the high flag of modesty I sing this song, as the ghost she left me, and the feat of its balance hang half mast.

Remind me, and again, and again, and again, and keep going...

What character must arrive kissing own
**** to obtain certainty recurring?

Pour soil on it, moisten with humidity. Who are we?
And again, and again, and again, but not now.

Into bones of midnight come systems uncalculated.

My somethings piling up, filling my cup, abruptly,

overflowing over and over again.
—
Tearing heart out, and leaving it there,
dreaming with doors wide open.

Hands pleading but do they provide, are there prices to pay for ultimate sacrifices,

another day transpired, or week old violence?
—
Quiet my safety, my witness. One foot in taking a further step, eyes on the edge.

I melt as I glow and I'm willing to pledge
for that.

Treading face of the sun,
the brightest gold there is,

rebuilding my demands—
destruction that little helper.

Shrapnel of day's dwindling,
crumbling of the moon

to be served, monthly, in art
shows, all around the globe.

My revival from Heartbreak city lead me back to you.

Honesty borrowed, hatred toughened up;

a life of pointing confidently at abused figures set loose upon me.

A recruitment of dismissal, (having lost)

drifting in some cold, forsaken time, beneath prickly rain.

Heavy bones, and wrinkles like scars, taking for granted another favoured memory.

I require sleep as to contend with a beauty  so faithfully crass.

Pelican clouds—
clustered, evaporating.

Money spent elsewhere;
Progressive belongings.

Ocd pin drops
in the earthy silence.

Overt—
shockingly poised.

Attachments uncertain,
hackers hacking at roots.

Deeper the hole the less
I care to share it's charm,

crumbs of its burried face.
A sure nod to the mind's ear.

Mercy, mercy!
Together, but not as one.

Belittled by peace, comfort in
torture.

Shooting stars falling in laps.

Fierce, tranquil. Expelled
by equity.

Propped up from earth below,
I level with myself,

among abundance of green;
all that is lively.

Awareness of who came before
is clear.

They know well of who I am, and
I too, them.

These rocks say it all echoing
images of primordial gatherings.

Connected again with whom
I do not see.

—

Wholeness equalised as it gets,
I vanish from these quiet heights,

back home, to where my heart,
which lead me here, will follow.

Counting sheep around the clock, tolerating the devil.

I'm on your time and your on mine, we are both oxymorons, but we are less than that.

Our land lord won't fix anything, all they want is to party. All I dream of is partying, but I've chosen destiny.

I am no enemy to the state, but it makes me sad that I have to be.

Consider me a rapidly progressing rhapsody. Say it again, simply for kicks. A modern day black comedy;

quirky, yet outrageously unfunny.  
Half cocked imagination, yet it flows as if—

and then a brick wall purified by sombre light, dry heat, flexible scampering.

There is a sheet, but projections derail.
The cloth is frail, and the machine

needs some other words. Tell your GP you are fine.
—
Inconsiderably jerky, or a cool man in a messed up headspace.

Pack a suitcase, he packed nuts, disregarding counting stock when grocery shopping.

Freedom of love and hatred, kiss and tell.
The hell with all this cat ****, not ******,
but getting close.

The rest is up for the taking.

Perception a set of keys, and keys are like fingerprints, or snowflakes, or better yet opinions.

All my onlookers perceiving blurs. (Probably false.)

Eyes like lions teeth, crying in a storm. Diminishment, like visions, blown away just the same.

Everything on red; urgency, stop! Peel back, it's all black anyway.

Hooray for what is next, one day, and
whoever follows

My journey round Herdsman
began by changing direction.

A statuesque black swan
displayed in its muddy riverbed.

Business types operating drones,
the freeway which I was introduced to.

Entry points welcoming me back with
tunnels of shade, coaxed into open fields.

Buildings surfacing atop distant trees— industrial nests.

I saw what brightness the sky
had to offer.

Scrolling shoulders
on an android before sleep,
wasting lucky days off,
writing sloppy poetry.

Elbows folding in on selves,
neck retreating into chest.

Anticipation of excitement.
Something new from suddenly
worn out provocations,

muscle all their own.

Perhaps I'm simply concealing
unfinished products?

All I know is haste will leave my brain.
All I know is I'm likely to forget, or search wrongly for

ungodly, rudimental possessions.

I won’t forget, apart from everything I
must remember not to.

Glimpsing into every now, claws tapping at my anteni.

Floor wet, sun drying it's ever most stubborn spots— a cautious sort of clay.

Remorse is where the heart is, and home is a balloon in the sky.

Roaming onward into darkness of forever,
courage a waterfall
                       shining gods light.

I forget how to be stern. Shaking like a windy morning. Never say a lot.

If it ain't enough cause a scene.

I mean, that's ridiculous.

Chill out.

There’s a lake, not far, that
reminds me of you.

Keeps me letting your memory
get carried away.

Liquid to be remembered by,
where I imagine walking with you,
sat beneath a tree, eating biscuits.

A single body of water linking me to
you.

Openness depicting our freedom,
once carelessly shared, its width,
and depth showing we'll never be.
      
My longing measured by how
itchy the grass is.

The breeze poking fun at your
thin hair.

Vice Versa, or whatever,
either way we both land on our feet.

The music never dies, but while you do
I live for all I know.

Worlds apart, yet darkness sleeps in everything, and you are my favourite kind.

Deep down, the ocean but a cloud, its thickness intensifying your stare, and, finally, you see clearer.

Creatures at the bottom doing more good than harm.

Specks of light, sun and moon, dashing about, as only tiny commits can around one's head.

A love found in death, as well as diffusion.

Impulse collapses— adapting inspiration scales a wide set of stairs, growing thinner in some places.

The same, yet everything changes. Poetry gone fishing first drop of bait,

calling on concepts other attempts at speech
have already made.

Pink and greys collectively
retrieving evening sustenance.

Rolling over; up and down
they jump. Sunscape behind

four thin palms. I anticipate it's
colour, an easy kind of sadness.

Shades of red present
themselves upon shadowy clouds.

I relocate, half way round the lake,
where it's less obstructed.

Above a dozen pines.
Courage dies, and I don't know why.

Tales shared of the depraved,
I keep true,

dismaying my
own sore, lossless cries.

1.
Cold weather forcing
sweat.

Physically uncomfortable,
inspecting brand new streets,
forging my path.


                        2.
                        Draine­d beyond reason, of
                        all that is tender,

                        as I drink, and drink, while
                        her call remains on hold.

Have you ever
sensed the motion

of moving elsewhere,
to return home feeling
foreign;

was it humbling
to know you've found
a better place to rest,

or did it dawn on you
that you may have

forgotten where it was
you came from?

Let us be the sunrise,

tall buildings, street lights
that shine bright at night.

Let us not hide in the
public restrooms of our lives,

damaged mirrors will always
give off broken reflections.

Let us be the libraries and the
stories their books tell.

Let them be read and
published within ourselves.

Dress me up,
tuck me
somewhere tight.

Reveal me
only to your friends
as they admire
their self portraits;

as I paint mine,
in a corner,
near the door.

Pleasure witnessed
Via ***** desire
My independence
A mirror to admire

Debris dismissed
By grimacing sires
The ups and downs
Of being on fire

Southern ridges
Structures perspire
Majesty obstructed
One can only inquire

Opportunity reigns
Following yet prior
The here and now
To which we aspire

Crucial steps
Thrusting us higher
Reaching the top
A shared empire

Common privilege
A costumed attire
The ins and outs of
What we acquire

Traveling here I did arrive into
crimson night by holy light,

bells tolling over seas and shores,
old bodies with fresh bits releasing;

coming and going, to see what
hadn't been.

For when it was (this life) prune-true
it had you come by the affluence of decedance.

putting to bed all that you ever had, congratulating the indoctrinated.

Running on(...) hand width widening—
a tiny universe.

Black tipped feathery wings
spread wide the size of towers,
mimicking investments.

How a birds neck does crane
against flat blue skies.

Resting upon it all, rearing away
from dark alleys.

Man about house; king of composure, cleanliness, charity backfired, or minimal return.

All above or none at all— thoughtful disposer, I keep a clean cage.

Like a sunrise after too much coffee or a hangover being gone, or k.o.

Eyes protected because this poem is about sunrise,
and I am of punctual nature.

I never want to get burnt again. White doves no desire for them if they cost too much or manipulate economy.

Beg my pardon, I am stressed and mean no harm.

Twist my arm I fold when I fold and right now I am holding on.

what cure can be found in a band-aid but to slowly heal,
be it a small enough wound.

A large disaster? Surgical mind, black hat, perhaps?

Hero, villain, that is what I am, a man.
Medication.

"Hey, Google!
Tell me what time it is."

Another frenzy or
take it to go.
—
Go away goosebumps
caressing my sanctum,

allow blessed to restrict
silliness, rapping
monstrously at my door,

disenchantment in all
dire obsessions,

bleak outlets, and
placid outcries.

Give me an inch to
keep going.

Incidentally a climbing world
champion,

despite cramping in bed.
(A dusty one at that.)

Riches to come, decisions to be
overruled—
leave it up to imagination, ay.

Energy rules the curse where I
come from, now, give me yours.

A garden waiting for me,
but whose is most like a desert,

where will they take us?

Out of the fire, into the dawn— passion, and point of faith.

Digging at the heart for moisture in the dirt,
curtains turning gold from yellow sunlight.

If these years were not strategically blessed,
were a larger paradigm deposited, I'd be dead, swallowed up.

Lightning could strike, or a puddle may blush, a hole in the path could take away our chances,

but magic is magic.
—
Will you marry me, karma?

Our lives are like cardboard
boxes,

there's only so much they can retain.

If the pressure's too great
it will break, shattering what's inside.

I loved you like childhood,

but I guess we all have to grow up
sometimes.

Wanting to go back to sleep
I argue with the sun, bed sheets
mimicking rude hand gestures—

and, already, these coiled memories are
unraveling themselves like
intestines from a soldier's stomach.

I'd like for us to have the chance to find that place we call our own.

The kind you'd visit as a child, making beds in the grass, drawing stories in the dirt;

climbing fences that prevented cows from getting out.

The kind with a view, a wide-stretched vista; sun, hills and sky;
another world created purely for it's viewer.

—And I remember as a child, I'd resort in covering my face,
when there was nowhere left to hide.

With dirtied hands it's not so easy, my shadows take good care of that,

and I save my light for whoever sees past
them,

before knowing what light was
really there.

I was to lay myself down
upon cool, dry sand,
listen as the waves came

rushing in, as if each carried
its own confession.

Instead I found myself
nestled in roots of twisted tree,
building tiny villages, from

leaf and twig- parted from
the ocean.

Unestablished and without
identity.

This poem mimics
boredom.

These words have waited
patiently

for their chorus.

This is a story
of a man sat quietly
at his desk,

searching for
substance to chew on
spit out, and

still resume its
flavour.

As regrets transition
from doings into single
feelings,  it becomes
difficult to pin-point
what it was that made you
act in such ways.

Time has passed, and you
can't help blame the little
you have inside on what
little is received, or what little
effort was made to capture
anything to fill the space.
—
So, when those you meet have stories, stories to traumatize souls, you gather your absurdities, realise there's no use comparing.

withdrawing
from
one another,
   (when our
day is through)
   parts of you
stick like salt from
  the sea,
which in turn,
   I cling to,
instead.

Picture each day
not as a day, but an idea

printed on
a piece of paper,

put into a hat,
drawn from at random.

That you were to live
your life

scheduled to these ideas;
ideas unheard of by you.

Ideas so unlike you
they became

nothing but gestural,

no option but
to improvise your life...

what would
you do?

A spot by the rocks for
old time's sake, a
river wide dividing city

from richer suburbs,
reach across the other side.

Buildings are non-existent
from this point, primary
colours: distant windows,

port, and
starboard marks remain,
pixelated, and dispersed

upon the surface of
the river's shimmering body.

The river is a road
without traffic, I give way
to nuances of its

natural behavior.

i
As I look again to the sky
I see a trail of birds cross a
path within,

split, and marry upon the
other side of a hill.

Time now to find my own
path.

Within the next few days
witness a sky as bright as this,

unite and conform with
obligation,
just as each morning is lit.

However,
This very moment I can relax,

observing the refurbishment
of an isolated city—

taking note of it's destruction,
and how it's managed,

as I do my best to breath
in its success.


ii
I see a man eating
quietly alone,

the river seems to
treat him well, more so
then the food.

No food for me today;
coffee, and the hunt for
a cigarette.

The man is gone.
An unfinished structure,
it's rigidness planned,

missing bits plea for
imagination.
—
Everything seems to
move much slower than
yesterday.

The river
remains the same,

minus the wake of
a few small boats.

Today is stiff, but
I don't care,

I'll save my worry
for tomorrow.

iii
Today
the river fails

to reflect
the charisma
I need

to keep me
from

this
city's isolated
silence.

The nooks
and crannies
only those

with a
whole lot of nothing
and a lot to show for it
could ever care
to visit.
—
Today
I become one

with all those
who are

homeless,

whose voices go
unnoticed,

hearts as
worn as their
attire.
—
Today
the system
fails me,

as I do
myself—

and as the
day gathers its
momentum,

as
laborers
force dust
into

the sky,

as first birds
seize flight
in search for food

I search to find my
place of rest.

iv
Seeing what is now forgotten,
and all brand new,

instead of dirt I see children
secured by wooden architecture,

insecure if nothing,
elevated above an array of

freshly planted trees,
allocated seats for the parents.

I count my blessings, and think no
real thought at all.
—
The universe will thank me soon,
yet not until this city has completely
transformed,

all these children, climbing high,
have long forgotten this day.

Introspective
  trier.
A record of unfinished
panic attacks.
      The complete
difference
between feeling and
thought -
  to respect and
  ignore...
and

However many people, whatever the disparity, if drawn, always there will be one agreement.

It's a given.

So with that in mind, knowing only one similarity can help combine a satisfying hunger for more than distraction,

easy it does become to consider, while    

realising,
there is no harm in contrast.

What can one do when forced to stay
inside, but cry?

We are not products on a shelf, nor should
we bid our lives.
—
What was fades away. Unfortunate
designs taking over,

demeaning rights of simple thought,
ancient way.
—
Positively empty, first to congratulate,
king of my highest mountain, more than lucky stars will have been thanked.
—
Hello being amused, not bemused,
by mistakes.

So long departures.

the outer world travels at such a speed
(from within this carriage)

it causes dizziness or is that the other passengers?

To be involved in what's out there, would be to stand still,

away from this train, and ticket checkers checked on by camera gods.

Oh that's another dizziness.

Can you determine the inevitable, stop
and turn the other cheek, standing in your place?

Do you know your way now, which way
it is you point?

"look toward the light shying inward
from the strife."

Mind the gap.

Have a nice day.

In moments of growth
you are with me.

In places special to me,
and those that are not.

Your name seeking to
reveal itself—

guessing the image of you.

If it's all meant to be,
then I believe, you are here.

Nothing left to fear, it is
clear you are with me.

I have witnessed the point where it all loses meaning.
Nothing climbing, nothing falling.

When everything rides on that next line, but it is

missed, for you were not yet satisfied, though it had its place.

Blindness unseen for it is not there. Scratching our heads at direct profanity,

when it is someone else's back we should be scratching,
or our own to be heralding.

We take our chances where we find them—

An abandoned ticket, or an unattended beverage; accepting our losses as they come.

Reconstructing the issue, recycling old
towns.

Comfort by transit;
Completion of an action state.
Energies functioning,
humbling the calling days.
—
Disciplined and playful,
brightest jewel in the universe.
Proud and strangely valid.