Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,

before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,

and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,

and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),

and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).

And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,

the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."

              EPILOGUE

Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.

But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:

“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?”

and

        ”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”

I'm in a place when I smell the roses
time stopped, as well as the people that made me victim of them appossin.
My smile frozen, edged curved in time, forever to shine like michael jackson in the lime,
light, and MY smile will thrive forever to survive with positive vibes,
seein the horizon, the seas, feeling the breeze. love in the air I breathe.
Im pleased with myself in every way, happy, no one can down me.
The only way is if they ground me.
But even then my existence in a different plain.
Will still be the same, positivity is a drug I cant explain..
Ill chill Buddha,  Smoke hookah with Ganesh, And  kamsutra with different females dieties maybe Aphrodite. who knows?
arm wrestle with aeries , battle hades, Im feeling larger then life, im enlighten to Die twice and it wouldnt matter, cause positive vibe still writes and fights and chills and works for thrills.
To live it up at night, im happy for once and I thank my saints.
Cause without them, my ship wouldve been sanjked.

rising above aeries
thermalizing warm updrafts
arms and fingers outstretched and lifting
holding his head up and following his nose
escaping the earth
basking in sweet respite from routine
a lightness of being
floating towards sky
enjoying the rush of new found freedom
feeling the wind beneath him
hearing no other sounds
as clouds sing cerulean blues
but even liberty has limitations
and nature has her secrets
feathers, string and wax are no match
his youthful exuberance flew too high
climbing too fast
reaching sun before understanding
accomplishment without comprehension
unearned knowledge
feathers fall out in bunches amidst frantic fluttering
dreams crash like Icarus wings
in pieces on the ground

agreed, nietzsche hit the nail into a bullseye, the poles are the germanic equivalent of the french.*

i'm like athos: the best advice is
to never give  advice...
dumas was spot on
on that one,
most people give
advice so other
people can commit
the same mistakes
and seek counselling
to once again read a map
they're supposed to invent,
to stop them following in
someone's footsteps
to an unimaginative east
to only find a setting sun
will always end with a harrowing:
drug addicts do it better,
they don't have a conscience
about it, and the only advice
they give is: more more more!
******* advice is astrology -
wear a zebra or an aeries bow-tie
and you'll be fine... just fine...
picture perfect meringue marionette.

jam broken fingers into unforgiving rock
stab stones beneath fingernails
cut the quick and pack with dirt.
pry and force then heave the body up.

repeat.

thin air cannot fill to capacity
lungs which crave more oxygen
than their shape can stand to keep.
another foot, another five.
repeat.
repeat.
repeat.

The whipping Wind and Its gentle Breezes call
                                 whispering of wings, aeries and westerlies.

scorn the Voice and clamber on, this vertical my only chance
to gain ground, gain purchase, gain peace.
devoted to this ritual of pull and ******, panic and strive
a wreckage of creature-form smeared across the escarpment.
grapple for territory but don't look down--
below is the Dark
i thought i left so far below.
it haunts my shadow, dogs my ragged breaths
it's gaping maw hangs open, ready
to swallow me whole.

The Wind beckons:
                         Let go.
                           The dark follows all who try to scale the face.
                                                           ­                   Let go and I will catch you.

"No.
I've come so far.
I've earned too much."
broken knuckles and gashed shins scream
at the injustice of this siren call
to fail, to quit, to concede my only way to the summit
and now it is nearer than ever---
though to my eyes it remains the nightmare
it has always seemed.

Rest and breathe.
         Feel you form and know yourself.
                        You were not built to climb and crawl;
                        You are no worm nor serpent.
What have you done to your skin that it does not feel?
What have you done to your eyes that they cannot see?

that melodic muttering rustles within
stirring something deep below my wind beaten flesh--
STOP.
Cram shut ears and struggle on, and do not hear Wind's whisper.
Ascend though arms seem insufficient to the task.
raking desperately with bloodied fingers against the wall
a sudden answering rip sears across the back.
white hot pain etches its sign into weathered skin
and is then soothed by a flowing trickle of warmth.
scarlet drips onto my legs, my heels
staining, painting treacherous footholds
as marrow pulls against my spine
in shapes heavy and cramped
in their first taste of life.

swoon, overtaken by the struggle so long nursed against the rock
and the war of transformation waged against shoulder blades--
vision blurs then swirls
hands grip then slip
seek then lose
frantic, thrashing about for a hold:
                                                           ­  no promise given by the stone.
f
a
   l
     l
       i
         n
            g
             plummeting
               unstoppable
                 acceleration


Let go, arms outstretched.
                         This action, flight's only catch.

the Wind's plea scarcely able to be disobeyed
let go or fall, i am lost to the cliff all the same.
soaring downward masses at my back
snap and crunch taking shape
though dripping still from their curious birth
                                                           ­             
                                                                ­            hopeless now but to trust
                                                           ­      to try in ways so unlike striving
                              

*and let the Wind take me.

Come on, yo
light up a candle with a scent of tangerines.
Tangerines are the finery of my beautiful garden,
which have grown from some lemonade tears.

Come on , yo
Light me up with fever of words and these sweet compliments.
Name me Maple, Name me Marmalade
That's from I've been created,
Not from soil nor from aqua like the other human beings.

Come on, yo
Come on, the guardian of the adoration muse
Warm me up with a silky cocoon
engraved with edelweiss —— sewn by butterflies,
That fed on the nutrients of my garden berries.
And by my chants, they dance above the eagles’ aeries

Come on, yo Turn the witch-hazel into a cure
That can heal the scars of my shattered, shredded cœur.
Mix the rosmarinus and the clove too,
If you want a scent that plays on your senses, & to let the home smell like a lawn
And to let these relentless wars sooth
Where they flamed between your heartbeats and your mind oscillations,
And were born from that harsh thoughtfulness of night solitude
That has no limits and no rules.

O my dear, sweet botanist,
You know how to make everything from herbs and fruits.
From love and dreams you reaped the seeds of the revival grove
And finally, Know, that I’ll have my cake, and I’ll eat it too.
I’ll have anything I used to seek and run for.

Come on, yo, light up the hall
With candlestick columns made of amethyst and wax hung on the walls
Let us unleash their purple blaze and to glisten all over the hall.
Forever, till our eyes are purpled with amazement of that artistic view.
Forever, Forever, Forever
The spring angels bless us with the charm of youth.