It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place alive with secrets and knowing.

My learned sense of reality catches on the brambles and thorns as I pass,
and the tentative uncertainty of my untrained step
loosens with the soil on my feet
in the puddles on the path.

It’s a place of healing,
the forest floor.
A place intent on living.

Where each movement beneath the
towering company of life informs the next.

A little slower this time.
A little softer.
More quiet.

And with each surrendering breath,
another can be heard.
One more colossal and unified in its polyrhythmic sway.  
The trees and vines and creatures with their watchful eyes,
and the earth underfoot,
swell and recede in a merry yawn.

On my twilight walk to fetch water
the dark patiently dilutes all colour,
but allows detail a stolen moment to define my way.
The texture of bark on the lean oak trees around the spring,
the burbling contortion of their reflection at its yielding mouth,
the lichen-rough rocks,
smoothed at the water's edge,
all persist and scintillate into grey.
The soft pricked dendrites of moss cushion my knee
as I slip and fall,
one foot in the spring!
And my scream and giggle pierce the listening night,
and there is no other human being in sight.
So I sit. Wet and still. In the moss.
For tonight, when the darkness stretches its veil impenetrably-tight
over the forest I shall be inside,
to find my place within it's creeping, writhing breath.

Its a place of healing,
the forest floor.
Where living things may grow.

i am incredibly foolish & repetitive
foolishly repetitive
repetitively foolish;
there is a pebble in my heart,
small but firm,
impenetrably set still,
demanding to be felt
coercing the blood supply to soak it all up
as if blood can seep through
a pebble
it cannot; but it won’t stop
demanding attention
it is smothering
and relentless;
i have shortness of breath
and my heart pounds
like a door slammed shut
and then opened
and then slammed shut
it’s almost as if i can feel the pebble
rattle within the walls
with
each
pound,
welting the vulnerable tissue;
open,
slammed shut,
open,
slammed shut;
we all forget how to cry
when we most need to

Sidereal gaze enriches casual lays beneath the shimmering firmament
Glorified passions is the indignity of benighted scars and brandished armaments
Scour with the owls proctoring over the night for signs that penetrate the tight
That ooze new light and wage an epigamic fight
Temptress like a mainlined ecstasy enlivening a heightened empathy
Our love towers above suburban muses and urban ruses
It showers with meteoric power and consummate flowers that it chooses
The misfortune of star-crossed affections
Is the serendipity of empowering but inclement afflictions
Impenetrably vast like a cavernous space
To make us tremble in insignificance at the petty rats that race
Our lambent passions erupt with paroxysms immune to an unbuttoned snooze
Oneiromancy glistens with prophetic eternities dreamed awake with inordinate *****
Playful jostles and succulent pretended jilts lionize our blessed fates
We reckon with eternity by adducing modernity at its current rate
We disavow transient objections just like gravity impounds its own weight

bind onto stillness -
(impenetrably on stone)
scarab's shrill sounded.

you can file a nail or point it straight
when making your point in a debate
and head to the door when all goes wrong
sit tight, get up stay impenetrably strong

****** and dawdle and stay out of trouble
pass your rival and do it on the double
regress, remain somber and sated
throw your hands high and stay elated

function as a part, a piece or a tool
add to the formula and make a new rule
face the facts with convincing nod
do the best you can even if it is slipshod

feast on memories and plan your path
sit by idly and inherit one's wrath
look sternly as you play your hand pat
spring up instantly when thrown to the mat

call to order for a meeting's start
work firmly together or drift apart
take on your destiny and tough it out
sit idly by growing weary and stout

Dear Bukowski,
I can imagine my embellished rupturing fondest of your works makes you feel sludged with rancor. But I do assure that my adoration only spawns from your purity of disdain and fervor. All things rise together in epic sanctimonious swells. You are not the midwife to poetry nor is poetry the bolstering mother of your life. You are as impenetrably intertwined as the first fickle breath of life writes the verse to our poetic life. While this is true, you acknowledge the infallible doom that consumes our world as people search for definitive answers. As you tackle the affronts of our world you embodied your poetic sinew accepting the fact the world could readily eradicate you with slight cadence alteration of the wind. Bukowski I do not grovel to you, but I will endlessly cherish your paper encased testaments of life. You aren't afraid of painting the inner creasings of your mind you are the midwife and the executioner you are poetry you are life.

Suddenly I do not care.
     Yes, these feelings transcend distance and time
              But your actions prove scathing
                          This wall impenetrably done.
So those moments I'll tuck away
                                     Throw inside
                   Keep way at Bay.
You'll work towards an ultimate
                                                    Happ­iness
      That always clear,
                                     care about what is invested?
To you, just another
                                  Word Smith,
             Evidence rains, fight?
Tossed inside, called upon,
                                            Informed
      ­                      Kept near.
                                      Impossible not too.
Mirror reflects
                         my actions not wildly outside your own.
So you feel what I felt,
                   and maybe still do.
                                                             ­                       I knew it was possible.
Comfort is nothing,
                                  an illusion of safe bed.
Time carries forward.
                                  Forgotten, I have accepted.

**Oct 21, 2013

Fainting at how stupidly I love you
Crying because it's a stupid sweet addiction
Stripping meaning from all my diction
Knocking my air out me
Jump faster with me lady
Spin till we fall down Venus de Milo style
Venus venus falling into Venus arms your hands are soft
The friction is so impenetrably soft
Falling asleep sideways airtight
Laughing at the light
Remembering how the sun hid itself
Light laughed at itself

The band's bass player & principle songwriter,
William
Williams et al... saw Eli sitting alone at the bar;
He knew it was Simple b/c Eli Simple always wore
impenetrably dark shades; so did 99% of the faux
hipsters -
but still too terrified, "star struck,"
by the great painter already drunk & sobering up
the more he drank: Finally, getting his girl to approach
the artist, not "His" girl; a groupie that stuck to the
Uk's all tour; Eli didn't know her from a brick: She said
she'd do anything for no reason & the painter liked the
sound
of that.    Will watched them go off into black shadows
& after so long,  figured they weren't coming back.
He'd blown his chance to meet Eli Simple.

Eli had the habit of taking his chippies
"under his wing,"; he'd done w/ TT &
Hel, & a few others, he couldn't recall how
many or many of them at all ... some didn't
muster up, some died; some would have an
unforeseen blind
date w/ Leonard ... This one was chatty ...
when he absently set a thick vinyl platter
on the vintage turntable, common n Russia
& cranked the volume on DEATH POWER;
she became naked before his very eyes ...

They didn't talk for hours;
but they made a lot of
noise; but not a sound
could be heard ... over the
screaming neo-metal;
when the music abruptly
ended, she aught herself
loudly panting; Eli had mixed
something with his liquor
that made his body limp
but is **** as rigid
as a metal pole; she liked him.
He was rich, famous & cute,
& a Blackout Drunk ... & She
Snuggled His Taut Body, ||||||||
there on the floor. She nearly
leapt out of her skin when the
hypermonotonous metal blared
out again as the needle swung
back to the disk's beginning;
Reassured, she nestled beneath
Eli's arm, chunky, droning pitch
soothing her where she lay ...

I won't rest tonight, nor will the tempest.
Sound found far off cracking and crumbling Where skies split, like locomotives rumbling.
Unearthly bodies foreboding and foreshadowing
Something that draws near,
Like a tsunami
Careening across the atmosphere,
Polluted completely and impenetrably
By octopus ink and oil
Over vacuum and void.
Stars concealed behind congealing clouds,
With white leaping free in streaking thunderstrikes.
The shroud of night clouds
Over void and vacuum.
I hear further in the distance
Beyond my room.
I hear the thunder echo within me
Down where space is free.

everything is wonderful with my world
and I am happy
happy happy
it’s a beautiful evening and I love my house
my street
my job
I am lucky lucky
lucky
the breeze tells me so
in the impenetrably delicate language of chaos theory
and the setting sun
is just a setting sun
no matter how many tales it spins
into electromagnetic currents around the earth
things spin
we spin
I spin
and fall down laughing