forgotten trifles
dust and pollen

tie the land and sea together
with a thicket of pine

white light shining through its crown

a bough once firmly rooted in heavy layers of strata

now aboveground it exceeds its breach

like a loaf of darkened bread
it lies (resting in the sand) stacked in rows
the sun and moon having melded its form

--- --- ---

the sky is a coronae of thorns coming down to greet me

running on the beach we see what looks like the torso of an elephant, I say its a wrecked ship, a storm has washed it ashore, you say it came from the Big Bang, we laugh and sit together on the end of an exposed epoch

it is dead
we are alive
thick with moments of compassion

fused with ignorance and neglect

how now are we communicating -- do you remember when you looked into my eyes and raised your arms triumphantly and proclaimed “ologemeide ... I tamed you!”?

All I Am

I keep it sublimely real not  living in a rush. Cos future belongs to me. I live to make better thangs & make thangs better. Reality the only place I go. Nothang had my prudent pen, but to  poured out some naked truth. I live 4 all I am. All I am my personality. you see even my name chants my identity shine in limelight. I'm a star, I live aboveground I shine in the moonlight. Remember me  eternal realist poet. When _you_ walk in the light!

--- *Cloudnine Fairmane

I know you cannot have it all in life
I know there will always be a void unfulfilled
But I want to follow the voice inside

I am constantly feeling this way
Constantly feeling the void
I have an insatiable desire to reach perfection
Perfection in my reflection
Has it make my flaws magnified?
Forcing me only to focus on my distortions
And not seeing my abilities

I want to listen to my heart
For it is my truest self
It is telling me something my mind cannot hear
I want to see my name on the bookshelf
Engraved with ice and fire  for it will never disappear

I want to write, draw, color
Use my hand as my tool
Speak the words of my mind and my soul
Touch and bring the spirits to my whirlpool

I want something bigger than me
Although I am not small
My mind is wider than me
It is full with words and ideas coming and going at a rapid pace
Craving more and more of wisdom knowledge and inspiration

You know what my mind is telling me right now
Peace
From within and around
Lift
My spirit from aboveground
Rest
My body through meditation and prayers

These days I feel like I am living outside my body
Spying myself from afar fearing to be seen
Hiding behind the trees into the wildest parody
Watching myself while feeling a little spleen

I want everything to stop just so I can process
The world is running at a rhythm i cannot follow
I want to create a big-bang easy to digest
I want my work to resonate in the darkest shadow
And then the earth can spin again at her own pace

I'm allowing myself to enter into this new discovery
Bringing my heart and mind to recovery
Let them go to the places I dared not stay
Speak the words I ignored to say
Tell the truth of my quest
Give it to the world as my bequest
And then put myself at rest

"And when I'm done no matter where I've been
I'll yearn to do it all again" - from The Eternal Lament by 2Pac

In the cavernous expanse gilded out of silicon robes of Greece flattened into the diminutive spaces between crags and rock, the swimmers of the natatorium embrace to plunge in transparency where they erred in covert chivalry
Knighted partially by association but yet unofficially born of sentiments rebarbative to the well-heeled, I linger like tar heels lamenting that the supernova eventually bequeaths the death of the ultimate chapel hill a shining city on a valley masquerading as a hill
From past and repast, the nurture of former presidents calumniates if also embraces the possibility of unfettered liberty and prosperous futurity, they simper in silent lugubrious reflection at lives shortened by liberty prolonged, of hearts opened but death devolved
Latitude and the caress of brazen attitudes corners the ***** in a tightened alcove of a restrictive forest of livid and limpid dastardly deeds, the arm of hunched idiots grazing with dumbfound idiocy at their own protective duty to shepherd the forest only for the singular trees as though disease itself is only a tease in a flirtation too exposed to believe
I joust with giants in a town that brooks lions and lyon estates with too many GrayZe superintending too many fain and valiant graves littering the stream besides the Pennsylvania forest in a past sunken in intrigue slipping in and out of an ethereal time invented by a harvest moon too attuned to be a lunatic any time soon
Whither is the outcome of a Shakespearean demise of prattle becoming the pasture of specious but solid skies, gleaming that a science fiction theater isn’t hailing a fuhrer or jingoistic furor any time soon hopefully I do too croon.
Militant tapestries of unhinged madmen craven in their disregard for every bent temptation, we witness the downfall of scrounged indecency and lonely hearted thieves contemned as they condemn perdition upon an unsuspecting victim
The victim is the hope of galvanized promise, a regal flutter of liberty tracing the skies elaborately for the flight plan most likely volitant and most destined to succeed
Corporate heads shake hands with desperate beds that Damocles himself wishes blood himself was yet shed or never shed but cutthroat collapse is avoidable with the recrudescence of provident relapse and rejoinder, asunder the ships may seem but now aimed so directly like a laser pointer
Titanic is a father to founding fathers only in the regress of avoidant times, sheepish of the whispered grime of inutterable blithe sublime time, limpid in partial acknowledgment of a wretched fate as avoidable as possible with the proper introduction and the right heeded date of a love better than choice wine and the wineskins of an indian province live as well just as much in a Skinnerian time.
Read the palimpsest, pittance proferred for every skeptical and undeclared bet that skewers the coffers of a criminal ring of Barnum Brothers in bed with burned asylum, a sanitarium wider and menacing like the most minatory lion
But the jaws of these aliens in time, whether specious or not thrill only those susceptible to the flattery of swank and the travesty to which we thank our deliverance and suspected exoneration
Flanking the outstripped malls that sprawl in the orbit of cities engorged like a skyscraping promise littered by Walled Ease and regaled bleats that belay down the cliffs of rigid insurrection only partially courageous to noble and partial inflections.

The courage of a wistful day slipping into the fathomless depths of dudgeon and pain the dungeons clamoring of insanity willfully reign, we clip the newspapers to the walls and scrawl our loves into the fallen scrawl.

Crimson red beneath the spangled spars, the author of debauchery immemorial that swills and wassails its own heartrending blues. And this movie squandered in limelight but buttressed by blithe regards for morally debased frights. Sting me the police and see the wasps nest infest your hollow diatribe to the extent you are hobbled in the depths, ennobled aboveground but nevertheless widely pitied.
The mathematics of love and loss, cravings for distrusted sacraments on a blue bus swiveling though the recesses of aleatory or controlled time. But then I lament that fully loved and fully lived is a fluff of sacerdotal emulation rather than the true authorship of heaven blanketing the earth.
Polished polity renegades and the rumpus of crumbled heaped ashes in a cremated time, where sand itself is eternal and sentience is somehow the door to nothing but despair, in their blinkered hubris that scales the lizards back in order to be lifted by olfactory graft.
In that light I see a bright whisked wind carrying the secrecy of portentous spared revelations and the spate of intermittent lightheardedness blows away my skepticism, but sides have been chosen and the bluster of the past emulating the culmination of an amenable future scares the birds from their chavish
Chiliads chill like excellency dissembled as the husk of an eternal monument of punctuated emphatic glory lingering above the ground with intransigent resistance to gravity and an slaver of better sincerity in the attempt to become beyond guileless tourists.
Dressed rankled blue swayed news, always operative in militant conformity to an eradicated sentience but simulatenously a wider sing song enlightenment. I struggle for words in this debased state of pitiable futures plastered all over every billboard that ever matters rather than the closure of closed doors trampled by intermittent dreams and seamless cows becoming the heifers of unified peace.
Smaller that the ants the infest the hills but more glorified than the quiet pristine ponds that outskirt the skirts that need less descent and more ascendancy.

Blitzkreig of cosmic wars swelters the torrid desiccation of a languor existing in human platitude but defiled of human gratitude. We swiftly wait for the erosion of sanity to become the author of a novella of craven deeds and bolted brimstone, serenading a rush towards sensation and an abandonment of rivers libation
Beneath which rivers flow, scrounged glowers endemic to a ruddy blush of sun-stricken grace, I clasp every remedy and every catholicon becomes more ecumenical and more rabid with stricken gaze of disordered streets in festivity but inured of nothing but lazy passions rather than sought rations
Dickens and hard hammers scribble the parched concrete with Chinese depths masqueraded as a suburban muse for canned applause and raucous crews relishing everything crude.
In the refinement the poet slings his garment over his shoulders and buys coffee for his ***** queen, and how to outfox such gallantry and how to temper so much enthusiasm. Only by the skullduggery of dead hands anointed with Greenwich bands.

When the mist rose,
fragrant painting the horizon red,
radiant in the evening sun,
emerged of roses a bed;
And we walk on
        hand in hand
                   by a lotus pond
                           in some sapient
                                 distant land.
The chorus of the stars,
hymn
to a limitless vast,
the vistas
that we held in those palms;
Little taps nimble on the roof tiles
the noon-song of the after-rain
drip-dripping sky.
It   was   I    then, and -
you,        as         you       are        now.
Tither have        you       gone hiding?
Waiting at the edge of the platform,
last siren of the day,
dying into the night
rattling in the rails,
echoing in my soul;
Trudge
            now    long
to the aboveground
late bus, hedgewalking
past the cacti
in the garden next door;
flowered, thorn-bushes then
smirks
now the desert rose
crowned King
dew-frozen    of the hour dim

Thread, hangs a marionette
Dancing in glee, striding
On a lake, youthful cygnet
Above, ripples resonating

Empty, the thoughts hollowed out
Plasters imprinted with faces
All day, all night, an empty throat
A spectacle, clanging dances

A husk, his body aboveground
His body, plastered, his face, red
Supine, his thoughts, praying to God
Hanging above, by flimsy thread

Am I not supposed to see that !
I gaze upward upon your sightlines
Arranged just as God anticipated

An unruly exception to attraction
Bellowing in the halls of this dead letter office~ I arrange a place for my note to sit

Collecting data in the milliseconds of passing. Lying cleverly I sneak unabashed
from your grace. You ***** little *****

I see your eyes aboveground and star lit
I need a drink (gin) above a finger in you
I remind myself we are not alone MUse

A nightingale with a spell checker and Doc Marten 3 holes. Black
I hope its Chanel no 19 when I lay you down
And not another puddle **** with no hometown

Tu as ravagé mon coeur
Et moi j'ai bu ton sang

holes dig an abysm--

an abysm digs a hole.

No!

a hole digs an abysm.

where

mounds of ground, seem

imposing as the abysm.

an aboveground abysm

made of holes.

then there was a glossy

pine box--

whose hidden face brings

down what refills.

a varmint on an iron bed,

sips at intravenous blood.

while coasting the dining

room ceiling of an abandoned

Antebellum mansion.

aboveground tombs loose at the

tooth, blow humidity.

saturated enough-- to disperse

moisture under street lights,

dense as to wetten the face of

the expired varmint.