Words wander diwn linely paths
through my unexplainable mind
And along barren veins hiding
In the shadows that were once
My heart.

Simple, tired rhymes linger
at a party long over and dead
As cliche lines dance night
After night in the abandoned
Clubfor grumpy eyes and
Inebriated crowds outside
Outaide what was once
My soul.

I am dyimg to write, to
Get it out of my system
So I no longer have to
think if you, thats all
The voices remind me of now.

You should be here agaim,
I think you should write more
but Caligraphy's calling me
Over and over again to
come home and write.

But its not home
without you.

Caligraphy's calling ...
Caligraphy's calling...
Caligraphy's calling us home.

The audacity
that you would write a ***** a love letter
That you would in so many words announce your affections for a *******
Thay you would pour out your heart
to a harlot

But here in hand i have it
written in blood turned tan from time travel
caligraphy cornerstones that mark the foundation for forgiveness
lithography laden with agony for the cause of love

It's as if even now, i can watch your quill
as it traipses across parchment
fabricated from your very own lamb's skin
still marred with scars
rough and red
tears at it's edges
and holes torn by gashes

the audacity of that "I love you"
scrawled in the crucifix cursive of the creator of the earth and its
universe
unfurled to cut the mundanity with meaning


The audacity...


I am wordless.


My soul is far from speechless.

a soul history is like the caligraphy of dunes
the psyche toiling its dark materials
sketching shadows from imagination
the cabaret of desire contemplating all the wonderful trivial terrible beings you can be. a wave in my mind you are
between the visible and invisible man the wisdom of the shamans

I walk on streets, I see things, I touch hands suffering from imagination deficit disorder. sometimes I have thoughts in reverse
but I cage my heart in this shrine of memory while
I am looking for you dawn by dawn, bird by bird

One check of my accomplishments,
But furthermore a verification for skills,
The art of conversation shall be my judge,
And my experience so far my partner in crime,
As the master of this angelic pen I'll suffice,
Even if they find me underwhelmed,
Or leave with disappointment without another word,
It is only proof, I have too much to improve to give up!
One way or the other, I find my hand guide the way,
With gentle movements, a delicate caligraphy has been created,
Thus, a deep breath, calming my tired nerves, helps me relax,
A clear mind is required for a difficult task after all,
And so, my hand gently, softly calls for the cover of this pen,
Time flew past without distraction, confidently,
Handing away this work I wait for the results,
Starting to become nervous down to my very core,
What if it wasn't good enough?

~ Umi

What are you getting at?
Poetically dispassionate ink
pouring out of your mouths.
Standing half-naked here
with your nasty bits hanging out and dangling.

Fifth grade ******* contest,
tape measure microphone.

'His darkness is bigger than his!'
'Well yeah but his is darker.'
It's okay
maybe you're a grow-er and not a show-er.

Half-poised, microphone voice-box
tell me now, what parchment does
your pen ***** onto?

Caligraphy college degrees.
Upper-middle class tragicomedy.
Skin unscarred,
pretending to know
just how deep a razor blade can go.
Red ink looks close enough to blood I guess.

This vast sea of poetic words,
snotgreen and scrotumtightening.
With your absolute knowledge
of what Joyce was getting at
as he layed there dying and blind
imploring to the world:
"Does nobody understand?"

What awful things has the world done to you
to beget these howls of pain?
What about you
does this dimlylit place,
with it's black coffee and chicken sandwiches,
epitomize?
When was the last time your world was worth destroying?
How did you sleep last night?
Have you ever heard a bone snap in half?
What is your first thought when holding a sharp object?

What will these words prove
when you find that no one's listening?

My tired eyes meet yours
Straining in the dim lighting
Sipping the drink you bought me
Through the thin straw
Sweetness tatooed on my lips
I gently lick it away

Your voice is brash
But mine is almost somber
I play the part well
Of the innocent rabbit
And you're the sly fox
Looking to devour me

Suddenly I'm in your den
Sitting on your mattress
Watching reruns we've both seen
You say loosen up
And touch my thigh
Sending pulses between my legs

Your tongue dives in my mouth
Exploring every crevice
Like a cartographer
You reach up my dress
Looking for the ocean
Your tongue tastes of sea salt

Your face between my thighs
Telling a story I've never heard
Your tongue is a paint brush
Skillfully scribbling caligraphy
I cry out in a foreign language
That feels so familiar

Every inch of my body
Quivers with joy
But there is no love here
And I wonder
If I'm really the innocent one
Or if I devour hearts as well

It could possibly be magnetic
Something in the caligraphy of my actions
I cannot control
When the wind blows
I follow

If the word had not been abandoned
I would swear this was perfection
My marauder
My undoing

Speckles of tranquility settle
At the bottom of my subconscious
Like sediments in a lake
Slowly it thickens
Slowly I am no longer the fraud

Now I open my eyes into miles of sand
Looking to the sun with eyes closed
An insect sheds its skin so delicately
That he appears a ghost

And if blue were blue
I would already be gone
The twisting kaleidoscope of colour
Confused for one shade
Again the corners turn in
Becoming a cocoon

Like a ribbon of sunlit emeralde caligraphy
In arabic I held it close to my eyes.  Only a few
lines in black ink but all I could see was how
Green the grass is.  I cannot remember the

Words only that they were true not why.


For Stanley Godluski

Some hear static and no more
Some hear a lion's roar

Some see an oil leak on pavement
Some see swirled caligraphy on parchment

Some see a worthless industrial junkyard
Some see a playground better than their yards

Some see a run down city street
Some see it as a great place for a band to meet

Some see a vacant, remote field
Some see a backwoods campsite to yeild

Some see scrawling on a bathroom wall
Some see the frustrated creativity 'neath it all

because i found a fusion of a people of the Hebrews: and Chinese Zhuangzhi atheism like the anaesthetic of being privy: to the heavenly experience... being a conversational vanguard of: proposing gimmicks... theomatoid arthritis of riciule, sarcasm: the only worhsip of humor and transcendence that can counteract the origins of humor with slapstick and by the aid of silence... i watch movies and i'm dying to see, i'm dying to see Deadpool v Wolverine... so i'm watching other movies... and i'm loving the Ryan Reynold's type of humor and my cat stretches and callibrates gymnastics in his sleep: then sort of wakes and munches on ghosts... why are the archetypes of men in modern movies so airy'ear'dough: weird?! so nice so weak so awkward and almost wheelchair bound hopeless with no Prof Xavier mountain of collapse and telepathy...

so today i watched... hmm...
i was waiting for my mother's medical supplies:
how, the ****,
can i hurt you: being 7000 miles away
and like 11 ******* hours
this strain is completing me...
i watched... Notting Hill...
the Mask...
a Syd Barrett documentary...
and something else...
new concept: an 8 day week...
4 shifts on 4 shifts off
or days
night shifts
and i think:
is work ever a drudgery...
or is perhaps religion?
work you must do
religion you may practice...
53min
Romford to Liverpool St
29min...
or the quickened Anglican train
from Southend Victroria...
then a 7min walk to Moorgate...
Northern line to Elephant and Castle:
sound London:
Millwall territory...

HUEL plant protein ingestion:
there are known to be protein alien
absorbers of motions
i've seen them in houseplants
that i forgot to water
they made me hallucinate with
movement...
HUEL: German based plant based
protein substitute
banana shake:
pees beans and Pythagoras..
i love the idea of petting cats...
but the problem is:
eating them is taboo.. no?!

lit a candle: didn't bother buying flowers:
instead bought milk:
which she persuaded me
to get a night guard clamp
and drink oat milk
and lactose free
oh wow that O and wheel...

summer is over the plants the botanical
revision clepsydra of
epilepsy this elipse
is coming round to the haunt of autumn
that's unlike summer
autumn married summer
and spring parried winter
and all the seasons were lost
to the globalised argument
of hegemony and the globalist affair:
but how the seasons married
and were no longer the four seaons
of God...

the American Jesus is not the European
Jesus is no not in the least:
the Roman Catholic:
if under the platter of a shade of ******
empowerment:
the Roman Catholic Church is the Church
of the Mother and Child:
the passion chimera of the ****** birth:
now...
build me a Church in Honor of Joseph!
show me Joseph teaching
Jesus the skills of carpentry before
he broke down and the spirits
called him and he went out into the world:
this poor dyslexic caligraphy
not quiet Socrates not giving a ****
because of old age:
i was born yesteday: let me inquire
about, Christianity...
god loves me?
so why does he punish me and allows
others to explore their counterfeits
of teasing evil
without actually knowing the true beauty
of the evil beyond the serpents
in tapeworms in parasites:
Satanic Project 2.0
no longer two serpents quarreling:
just a sack of worms!
with the aid of worms:
i will **** out that apple into a ****!
and give you the baron fruit
above good and evil:
i will tell you not of the knowledge:
but the wisdom to tell apart
sadness from happiness...
i will tell you something beyond a mere quench
of intellect when one becomes
high and drunk:
i will tell you of the difference
between sadness and happiness:
i will tell you man as Euphoria
and woman as Carthritis...
i will tell you that there is no good and evil
only the monstrosity of the grey
of day of England's September promise
of an Indian Summer...
that i will tell...

Species... introducing these two blondes
like horses for my carriage awaits...
such cheap special effects
it's lament: oh too late...
thinking about Alien: singular: masculine...
and Species: plural: feminine...
you really want to bother me out of my sleep?
my surf?
4 x 12h night shifts...
my first, earliest memory:
was of my great-grandfather being a steward
of a nursery place:
two pianos: a shadow:
building blocks...
then on my days off i will be engineering
a revision of the Colliseum...
and you are the woman
who made this hermit freed from love
wake up from slumber in his 20s...
i am quiet equipped the Chinese revelation
was simply for me: the "pandemic"...

i will pass my theory driving license
and finish off vol 6 of Kierkegaard's mangum opus
on these shifts:
if i'm not with you by Christmas...
i can only think:
you straightened out my life...
and for that you keep calling me friend...
xombie: 7000 miles and 11h away
if were weren't moving...
but are moving...
because the moon says: TIDE!
and the tides come... and the earth is drowning
in an absence of relatibility...

DAJJEH... dajjal...
i was thinking of the upside down Y and i came
across only the Greek Lambda: the Y inverted:
strange variation of thinking
about the Tetragrammaton:
LYH...
the way of Man's thinking: Yah...
the way of Woman's being: Weh...
i'm sorry: why do we have this prison of
Jesus-Mohammad these oprhans
these religious Orpheuses
these miasmas...
can't see the Jesus-Mohammad collaboration?
i see it: the question of father
like god when it comes to mary injunction madonna
and ******:
i'm asking: what about the ******* church
of the father: if the mother qualified
for governing iron maiden 200- year old grip
of power!
it's as if feminism reached into the deepest
receeding potential for man
and said: in the parody of Greek Sibyls:
we must reach
the man's potential of the work ethos:
we must enter the worldplace
to have a chance to talk to Matthew...
i'll wait... there is not vanity in be subsidising
nouns... for nouns:
say Jesus: then i'll say Matthew:
ten times.