Whining dog...we just went outside.
Wading through internet DATs and cogs and bandwidth hogs, outside still raining cats and dogs.
double-click trawling pics and blogs searching for remedies and laws that inhibit logs to saw.
Wide-eyed, face down I sprawl still awake, redefining  my character flaws,
fearing my falling into the trappings of urban sprawl or
investing your mind then hitting the wall.
Lose or draw,
a new artistic affair or creative outlet dares you daily to fall.
"Late" is now "Early"
Dawn's illuminating looming, night to be soon consumed.
Insomnia vacuums,
drama typhoons,
crooning tunes....
It'll be June soon.
Feeling marooned waiting for the opportune...well, I'm still waiting,
Whining dog...we just went outside...Fine!
Rain drains backlogged in the AM black...****** dog. Decide! He takes his time.
Three nights of showers,
cowering under this street corner lighted power tower,
unrequited efforts to stay dry.
Moon still high, clouded bright behind the wetness...
Wait, what if I see "her"?
Should I dare bare my soul, take control, or say simply "Hello?" just to know?
Do I want to know "yes" or "no"?
Grandmother always said "The truth is the most powerful force you'll ever face, trace, disgrace or embrace"
I remember my last pursuance of the truth.
You remember college...
The ubiquitous responsibility of apologies for the skewed knowledge sleuth colleges preclude.
A four, no five year matterless smattering reviewing the hows, whys and whos who of Impressionist imbued hues;
the politics of subdued Katmandu coups,
Homer's muses; many a Siren sank the boats I crewed;
news crews that flew the bird flu news coop and recouped,
skewed suing over Golden Arch morning brew,
tragedies, sonnets, and nothing adieus,
spewed formulas and equations notecard ques,
standing in long line registration cues every time we change Major views,
all fueled by a boozing, smokey ballyhoo of Tullamore Dew, hopped brews, tattoos, crude food, music muses and quoted virtues.
What’s even true and what would you do if you knew, ****** logic class…
And alas, you're through! “Here’s your paper, now choose.”
The ****** inequity of iniquity dams me so I can't break free.
Such an abrupt disruption could erupt great corruption,
the self-destruction is tempting, but doesn't pay rent.
Not today, but maybe soon.
June's coming...dryer and higher noon.

R.Craig David- copyright 2008
Redux Edition April 1st, 2013
Inspired by rain, blame shame, the game and a cute girl just 3 doors down that still remains a stranger in my old college town.

Observation. the act. a frenetic rat
turning the cheese around.
Twisted little turning fingers.

a scientist looks at two peas
in a pod, and deigns to his ******* child.

His spectacles reflect the world
and classify to a faulty eye.

As fingers manipulate the strings;
connected to divinity
or the prison-within-ity?

A man long flown towards freedom...
hanging high from the telephone line...

Triumphant introspection;
chains inwardly strewn;
a thrall to the matterless dark.

A slave to the unreal Master;
now free to plot against his enemies,
he curses the baker’s wife.

Turning the cheese around
the rat sniffs and inspects
with an eye for ratio,

a life applied ambitiously,
to the Holy cheese and gold trophies.

A ticket to the image of love
But how will he trust her fidelity?
The mail-order bride, she cries.

Dear...
This haphazard poem was written solely for you
Matterless, what you came garbed in
Fever elicited, passion anew
You’ve graced me, the repetition of ‘could-have-been’
I loved the way you speak
Of knowledge and triumph
And I, bumbling and meek
Tirelessly I sought and now still seek
Your council, your court
For my amusement, for my sport
Conversing over a poisoned well
I listen in genuine
Raise my voice
Sing with my friends amongst the din
Higher on the pillar, you I hoist
Pure skin my well intentioned hands mar
Clumsily, I lean into a similar heart
To discuss life and literature, fantasies these hands take too far
How eloquent the silk you weave, which you impart
Which inveigles and entices, cajole us into the city
On pale page, the street lamps and dim moon, art
Palpitations and liquor test the pity
Of light and fire
I cannot help but explore your shapely form
And yet, without bar
Across miasma, my guide is a cute little hand
Solitude, the pulsations do doggedly solicit
I just want to be close, you grant this
Bewitched by the creamy satin of pale skin
Distantly, warmly, I gaze in those God-given sculptures
Of the richest green and azure hues, bespeak feminine
Engaged in the other’s stare, two drunken apers
The night, black as sin,
The mould of outcome of we are the shapers
And I shape regret that rises with the sun
You come back vividly and lucidly
Distant and opposite, worlds across, you from me
A nondescript ghost in the corner
Who speaks so placidly
I remember with regret
I remember with exultation
I’ve ruined our relationship
Our relationship topical felicitation
I haven’t had time to apologize
I haven’t had enough time with you
If I ever see you again
I’d mend everything
I’d discover the girl behind the name
And cleanse the projection askew.
Love, Me
Dear...                 .

Do you remember the first piece?
Did it wrap around wrists, a Twist or Curb
hug fingers or hang round your neck holding on 
for silver or gold?
Maybe it was gunshot through ear lobes 
hot blood rush, diamond studs sit in until 
body heals and holes held open stay open
for hoops and dangles 
Is it worth your face in gold?

Does he bling too, that black boyfriend?
Is he Bead or Box or Byzantine chain
blazing bronze or phat platinum
Did you two star gaze for long
at rocks and stones and coins
stunned and dazed in all that tomfoolery?
Did you ever put his glitter on
and how long did that ice last
before melting down to a memory?

What would it mean to leave the house naked
no sequinned cloak covering 
no shiny ear lobed shimmering's 
no solid gold hood hangings
wearing just your skin to hold yourself in?
Cloth does not count, it is matterless– 
would you be worth your face without gold?

Back on earth hand in hand,
Gravity holds our celestial souls
As our spirits freely flow...
Above stratospheric heights
In streams of northern lights
We drift into the ionic night...
Swirling lunar dismay
As astral lovers play
Through waves of gamma rays
Vertical horizons give way
To a star cluster phase
As our spirits make haste
Beyond the milky space
Unexplored galaxies exposed
The nature of black holes
Worm holes throughout the cosmos
Supernovas as they explode
Still our matterless spirits flow...
Nebulas illuminate our dreams
Music of the hemispheres sing
A gift from the multi-verse
Inner stellar angels bring
A world made for kings and queens...
Back on earth, side by side
We stare into the midnight sky...

“a starless galaxy carrying gas and shrouded in dark matter”

a townless galaxy
rich in sulfur

a gas cloud plummeting towards the milky way         home

you are reminded and now pale peels off you, shaved as ice

the implosion completes itself in four ways
replicated by the gravitational lens
of something heavier than itself

time in time in time rich in sulfur and algae blooms

everything beneath the meniscus
heavier than itself

drowning in algae blooms

purple mollusks, sardines
sea lions
swallowed by forests of kelp
guts full of domoic acid and forget

we eat the toxin-laced fish
and cannot talk about what we wanted to talk about

star matter, rich in sulfur
rich in

dark matter, heavier than starless towns

home
heavier than itself

toxin laced, eating and drowning
on matterless stars

There is a number that knows itself
Logic has predicted its numberness at most
but logic does not know to what it matches

Within its coordinateless space
beyond the mind
the number has formed itself
at the expense of fixing
a masterpiece about a lover
made of the shape of one’s desire
becoming that one pure desire
of and to and for  All

or simply invisible
known to none
matterless
formless
filling
temporary silhouettes
until
silhouettes collapse
unknowingly
about their
barbapapaic nature
to the unknowing

so
what you call

‘grand’  
‘poetry’

the combination of chosen words
made of letters
presenting duality
between me and me
made of the sound of the form of one’s
ever changing body in one’s mind
Vibrates

in such frequency that
when one reads
one connects one to one
( like in maths –
and a bit more complex than that
considering sensual feedbacks etc :))
and transforms
almost vectorial  to

some resulting frequency
of an irreversible altered state
and a doses of future changes
but such occurrence cannot take place
when once known

OOPS!

such occurrence takes place
if it is irrevocable of the finite shells
of time

a true joker
has a pure skin as such
through a veil of pores
nothingness floats
towards its knowing
keeps oneself as is
unknown to all the separateness there is
Thus the program forgets
(:D = thankfully)
or runs infinitely  at a place :
‘this could be heaven and this could be hell’
as in Hotel California

so
you should know for yourself
if you wanna make it love  
because

If you not
It’s then someone else
because
It is always someone
as reasoning goes

it is a manifestation of the self
a contextualization of a narrative
as story requires
as story unfolds

I always remind myself to
keep up to one reason just
which eventually are no words
but sound or silence of
a reflection on an expanding
surface of a bubble in pure
unfixable color

Oh
words of preconditioned unoriginals
manifestations of self adorations
what is there to be said or heard or grasped?

when All stories are the same?

Shaped extensions of one source
sticking out repeatedly to tell one thing just
expanding the bubble
within the bubble and the bubble

just
to be heard
once
as big as a
Hum

en route exit as scriptures call it
but am I gonna be able to hear it?
(or you or us … )

It's been 8 days since this healing has begun
Since your fradulant presence has not stung.
And slowly my body drifts
Towards the so called healing sun, ..
But why does it burn ? It won't let me turn
Turn away towards my once so familiar cloud.
Time takes me towards the smiling sun, yet I grasp the matterless clouds
There's no going back now , your eyes are not in my memories now.
I'd rather be in the rain , if it meant
I would remember your name.

i’m searching for words that do not exist
grasping for something in the matterless air
they call it writer’s block
but i feel much more disconnected than blocked
as if overnight someone had unplugged
all the cords to my creativity
my mind feels dim and dissolved
a damp empty space
having no mass but seeping into my heart
the nothingness fills me up
and i stare hopelessly
at the blank page in front of me

Vagabond with an empty carboy
Searching through the murk of starlight
Drip the molten ice of winter harsh
And the blooms of his past repitoire
Engulfed inside the ethanol marsh

Conscripts fly through bus of steel
Tails of fire and smoky heal
Through the scar shred ****** sand
And rain a glass downpour
That licked a smile to open addiction

Barrel wash and nebulous hide
The screams in blur of addled mind
Red heat burn the hand with shrapnel
Bodies piled in empty screams
Weave through open mouths their spell

Rolls of tracks and wheeled anger
Windows filled by smiles and raining tears
Cobble graves for those who pass
And carafes for relinquished hands
That cannot escape the felt triggered blast

Flower fields like dispersed astral clouds
Colours sharp as bayonets downed
And rusted worn their armaments
Leave in beauty and fictioned dream
For those who died least be their penance

New asteroids collage in belts
Learn the easiness of their strikes
Have fury boiled by worldly ties
And over brims of forges rise
For they must learn their mental cries

Haggard ruins of their youthful posture
Scars and stains litter uniformed closure
The realities nothing can be described
So shall their children not expect
How holding embers in their grip will blind

Threats in words that once were death
Borders crossed without their step
History just words and relics for sons
And in the eyes blanked with the horror
Lest they be forgotten by any one

Soak whom dines on gangling relief
Desire the amnesiac amber thief
But teachers cannot misplace their sight
Have nothing left for meeting glance
Of a innocent smile asking their right

Stand tall with shaking wounded legs
Shell shocked craters as red pegs
In the global map always in shift
Have lessons for the ones whom wish
To know the proper and the wrong we missed

Dwarfs inside the void of matterless
Black blend into the snowy countenance
While burn the brightness of their parents
From ago before repeated actions
Watch fires live in vivid visions

See the tortured starving faces
Break into a knowing grin
As spectral shadows for the lush
To keep their finger always *****
To the evidence we left so much

An endless window sits before me
The ebon gleam
Entices my forest green...

Contact starts with eyes
But what contact is left
In this empty planet.

be aware of the sludge pouring from every hole grab the stone that stands alone becoming all the mud tickles the throat no mood since it's matterless plays to love prays wide crawling downstairs the lard breaks slips on itself ******* non existence of all of them ***** fragile vulnerable almost make us count them up the racks the slacks figmented meaty mind-snacks

i wish i could hate them all to be so idiotically radical to explode in infinite gorey fragments of love and lust and sweat

the most potent toxin the one that causes vivid ******* rather than ****** death pity and awkwardness...alas

dear we know so little about love as little as its re-existence outside all poeticality and now we try to convince us in others that we do that we are

your mind one of the best kind make every happily inside the eyes

receive your aethereal caress

“There are days where I believe that my morning resurrection is met with nothing but passive malice.

That the world is nothing more than a solid pinnacle of frictions, blocking our path to the next.

The great next, the forever better next.

Some see this blockage as absolute and choose to set thier grave at its base.

Once again, our race choosing to bend before the self proclaimed unfathomable.

To most, these are truths. But for me, I believe different.

We can make the ground move, just through our will. We’ve grasped matterless vacuums of space, for no reason more than our curiosity. We can draw ungodly power from every glint of gold our eyes find in whichever direction we so choose, passion.

Passion, such a small thing to some. But for those who choose to break down their own barriers and transcend the fog. Passion can obliterate any obstacle.

Never forget, even when beneath a large marble idol. That we were not made in the gods image. They were made in ours.”

I Don’t Care no more
**** the soul, who
Only causes more.
Forever wonder, forever cold
Alone I stay , lifes matterless
Gave up so much
For nothing in return
Besides a broken heart &
Aching bones

I’m just a cage
what you see
is matterless

It’s what I protect
it’s what I hide
that matters

Beneath the flesh
behind the tissue
beneath the bones

Lays a heart of gold
rests a beautiful mind
holds an old soul

Of course I look familiar
because you only see
a cage within sight

A blood pumping heart
beating very strong
Veins filled with blood
transporting life
I’m alive physically
but feel like a GHOST
A host to a false pulse
matterless matter
Lost within, lost outside
amongst all others, lost
Unnoticed but present
right in sight but not visible
My mind begins to wander
trapped thoughts irrelevant
My gut feeling is telling me
to run quickly, hide
They don’t deserve you
you don’t need them
GHOST, we all know
I’m here and now
How it has come to this
we may never know
Lost within life’s spectrums
hidden between the lights
My eyes tell it all
they are always visible
But who cares to stare
into a confused soul
But who dares to stare
at someone unknown
These eyes don’t lie
they have seen it all
But I fare this curse of hell
I remain victim to life’s spell
If only our natural feelings
weren’t to fear the unknown
GHOST