sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;

we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.

Dressed in the tatters of her latest mistake
she will tiptoe into your life like a passing thought.
She will offer some token of herself
while collecting the emotions which tumble careless from your lips
to nourish the leanness of her soul.

She will pour herself into you
and like gasoline ignite your smoldering loneliness,
and warmed by that heady inferno
she explains that she long ago traded everything constant
for a frantic ceaselessness
and a freedom borne of detachment.
Now her flesh is made of smoke and shadows
that pass over your senses but cannot be held.
For weightless as she is,
a passing breeze might carry her away.

So though you stand before her naked as a smile,
anchored to the very earth with promises,
you are not surprised to find she has shrugged off the hopes
that you draped so carefully across her shoulders
and tiptoed out of your life,
for she was never yours, but only her own.

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
your sun dances over head and
aching skeletons rattle their bones,
drinking bottomless cups of sand
swept up with the dry wind into their eyes
and garments that rot and rag about their femurs
as they smile dangerously and wink

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
a small brook turns into a fierce demon
sweeping eddies full of names into its depths
and the meek grizzlies paw at
the rotting bits of fish left on the shore
who gulp in deadly heaps of air
for their water-ridden lungs
chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
leaving an abandoned shock of metal
as a refuge for the lonely
and frostbitten potatoes are the only accompaniment
to twenty five pounds of rice and a lean frame
hiding huddled in a mass of snow
lay all of the accused

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
as thick steel drives through flesh and boe
grinding rubber against gravel; metal against metal
and screeching high-siren pitches nonstop day and night
boring into your skull with the urgency and ceaselessness of a hungry wolf
who scares off the weak and the poor, the hungry and the searching;
who became
one

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
and those strange and lonely souls scared off by
the fierceness and emptiness of corporations and concrete artists
flee into the fierce emptiness of the wilds instead
sparing one hardship for the other
searching for a fullfilment not found in a box
and an empty space that can only be filled by invisible wings

chaotic impulses lead to irregular rhythm
a frantic dance in a great big monastery
the lunatic portrays a Zen within his twitch
to layer understanding beneath Zen beneath lunacy
with his mad fervor he becomes great
and understands real truth - in his own way -
and then dies

torn through spectral dances
like light from a prism

situated in darkness
like a burning star

defined in polar cradles
fused light-borne blackness

receptively penetrating
entering the ******

burning with a friction
seeing out beyond

alpha, dash, omega
dashing, dashing, gone

the eternal ceaselessness
holding like the past

pulling like the future
exploding into now

never ending fluctuants
of holy passions infinite

space is a vacuum
space is a furnace

the sky is a warm blanket, yet we
are inconsolable. wrapped and untouchable,
cloaked in isolation
desolation; this is not about crying anymore.
this is not about blood.
this is about ragged breaths, open pores,
mudstains. muddied legs wrapped up in pink
and white and flowered sheets. this is
about needing more. this is about
the hopelessness of the
search, despite and because of
the ceaselessness of the fight.

We will not be falling down anymore,
though our limbs turn jelly: this is about iron
spines. This isn't about eyes. This isn't about
weakness. This is about outshining the sun,
about the unflinching--
not wincing in the face of the truth.
This is not about invincibility:
this is
about

invulnerability.

I get lost in you
Its true
Drifting through your multitudes
Trailing fingers lightly, tenderly
along walls in the shadowy labrythinth
Of your mind
memorizing the textures
Nearer your heart ;
Dancing in your darkness to
The heat and thrum of your passions.
Drifting along within you, like your own blood
You are endless, infinite.
This ceaselessness intrigues me
And I am compelled by each new turn
to stay a bit longer, wander a bit farther
unfolding myself in the discovery of you.
But I am weary
And I long for a place to rest.

We danced t o g e t h e r but alone
Hollow, dried up love
Without heartbeat keeping rhythm
Instruments left unplugged.

The crowd buzzed around us
Through us
A twirling blur you’d miss if you blinked
Faint echoes of substance.

We danced with fear of culmination
Eternally shuffling feet
Preferring exhaustion over truth
As our minds floated far away.

The world spun around us
Oblivious to us
Stubborn ceaselessness
A corpse love refusing to rest.

We danced t o g e t h e r but alone
Slowly
Drift
ing
aw
a
y









When I accepted that
Together is lonely,
I released his hand.

The crowd buzzed around us
And he dissolved into it

Broken from this silent reverie
I heard the strumming of a guitar.
And danced alone, but together.

Ever law of nature, every force of action
All for your pleasure, at least in some sort of fashion
Your ceaselessness entertains me, the thought of you not knowing.
Although the reality pains me, your lost in all this throwing.
I wish i could help you  breathe, pull the air into your lungs
Feel your anger seeth,  or your heart beat flung.