/                                                    so...

    gravity is a vertical

powerhouse...

  while magnetism

is a horizontal equivalent...

i get it,

     well, not really...

a fear of the night?
    
  counter a fear of open space /
large crowds...

   can the two never, ever,
be synonyms?

        but there's a sensation
replica akin to magnets...
  
  and the sensation doesn't express
itself sideways,
but within the confines of a copernican
up and down        \/===....

sideways? nothing,
up and down,
like my neighbours playing
my nintendo,
and almost experiencing
an itch, on the tip of my fingers...

you can't get this if you're
not a one child policy artifact of
chinese politics...
            enforced "solipsism" type of:
oh, look at you!
    not in my boat?
not a giraffe?!
          comes the time when
you tell a ******: overboard
with 'im!  ****...
bypassing: walking the plank...
he'll either giggle with the dolphins...
or look dark eye with the sharks...

but you can sense a magnetism
with a naked hand,
eased away, or rather, lost to the night...
there's this obstructive force
you entertain with north-north
facing magnets...

      sonny corleone type,
akin to the nonchalance: hey! a pizza!
        no biggie!

            what's gravity sideways?
yes, copernican, gravity horizontally?
police academy joke...
             what's magnetism vertically?
what's east, left, right, west,
up, south and down-trodden centre
                       (north)?
                        
     i thought flat-earth implied that:
you could actually navigate a car
past the rhine spaghetti of

duisburg, düsseldorf,
                  essen, dortmund...

you want a flat earth?
it's there...
   reading a printed map,
navigating a car like
      competing in a rally race...

3D earth is about useful
on this navigational crux of
travelling to poland from england,
like an ice-cream on a rolly-polly
shoved up a dead turkey's ***
on the 4th of july.

no one questions the facts
at this point,
   but somehow it's worth unquestioning
the copernican genesis
with a bundle, unfolded,
and stressed as: ably read;
i.e. what the metallurgy professionals
demand a technical drawing to
be...

      i still don't know whether gravity
is allowed a, sideways, a throw,
a horizontal aspect of existence...
  rather than increments, of up,
shying away from a jamaican 100m,
or the somali 5000m
                       for a sip of water...

maybe the heatwave, coupled
with: maybe the fasting...
            but magnetism is akin to
a sensation of numbing...
       sure as **** gravity doesn't
express itself sidewise...
             and magnetism is
left right up down and center
equally, being the same:
nodding approval...

                   magnetism and
a numbing sensation of obstruction
on the tips of your hand...

   gravity is too objective
at this point...
              it has exhausted itself
as a subject matter with einschtein...
and whoever roman polanski was...

             magnetism and the skeletal
unravelling...
   a numbing sensation on the tips
of your fingers...
   since... what's west of nowhere
when there's the universe that
is a one dimensional proportionate
aspect of "space", confined to a "time"?

a sensation avert to falling,
bound to encompass even
the sameness of such expression within
dreams...
an up, to a north, a down,
to a south...
           but then... regressing
to defame pluto as a planet...
  outlier moon... ice, thingy majig...

    magnetism! in the palm of my hand...
a numbing sensation
on the tip of my fingers, and then as
the entire hand outstreched...

   the concern for understanding
magnetism, will be,
what the 19th and the 20th century was
concerned, within the confines
of electricity.

outstretched,open,eager
smooth home wet
collection palms
grace
        timid
napes waxing
                      for
accurate devotions
      broach bearing
pink garden
       oracular bemoan
sudden winter spring
    erupts cold
reds glory on her neck
       the sad glimmer
of shimmerlips
                   i want

those they(soft oral)

***** spun dangerous captivation

     midnight dawns magic

Fanatics fixed their eyes upon
The screen to cheer their team
The mood there in the air was tense
Tricolor seemed out of steam

The clock was counting down
The time was drawing nigh
Doomed to lose and head on home
Bid Russia their goodbye

An errant shot deflected out
Gave them one last chance
To score a goal and prance about
Show off their famous dance

From the corner, the ball soared in
A hero rose above
Mina smacked it with his head
And won his country's love

England shocked to see the win
Snatched right from their grasp
Colombia delirious
Successful at last gasp

And thus the game was sent along
Into the overtime
Two periods were played to nil
Two teams full in their prime

Penalties would now decide
Which team would advance
The locals glued to their tvs
The nation in a trance

Falcao scores! Kane as well!
Cuadrado, Rashford too!
Muriel then strikes one home
Tricolor up three to two!

Ospina blocks the next one
Hypes up the frenzied crowd
But Uribe hits the crossbar
And the silence echoes loud

Trippier knots it up again
We're down to final shots
Bacca fails to get his through
Past Pickford's valiant swat

Fate rests upon this final kick
Well placed with perfect spin
Just past Ospina's outstreched hands
Dier seals the win

The cafeteros reel from shock
No sign of jubilation
But still the crowd, crushed in defeat
Show their appreciation

Colombia eliminated
We give them all a hand
And though their World Cup here is done
I'm now their biggest fan

walk with me,
         into the yawn of a moon
                              that's the night,
grieving the last zenith,
                the solstice,
gathering round it's
geometry a welcome
behaviour.
     so unto the rain...
drinking...
     with one arm clenching
a glass of *** and
ms. pepsi,
  the other outstreched
into the night....
   supposedly "counting"
raindrops...
indeed, counting raindrops
kissing the hand...
            drop by drop,
and the memory of running
barefoot in the rain with
my aunt, who was only several
years older than me,
    and our great-grandmother,
who began reading
                  me the bible...
the solemn care for memory,
as me walking in
the rain...
               i'm loyal to my
memories, having abandoned
the care for dreams...
   indeed,
an arm outstreched from a window,
attempting to count
  the number of raindrops
            "pinching" it;
and of those who loved,
  know that love cannot
                      be domesticated...
like a fox, like a wolf,
   it's fleeting, crimminal,
                    wild...
    it cannot be domesticated with
either home, roof, or a cross
slung around one's neck...
               love is primeval,
it has no historical balance...
       rain! fall!
   fall onto my outstreched hand!
let me count your lampoon
of a waterfall!
                come juno's tears!
  come, dear rain!
             let my outstreched
hand count what you propose
to have been falling!
          sooth the tongue,
let the zunge escape the mouth
and the clutches of teeth
and embody some other part
of the body...
   the long roman handshake,
   nearing elbows...
                   let the tongue escape
the mouth, and the clenched
          pairing of ivory
                   carpet, and ceiling,
jittering over a piece of meat,
   like the twins might wish to
do so, chattering over
           a minus-calories'
                       worth of opinion.

Read me, in the elixir of life,
have a slice of duality pie.
Behind lined ivory,
is someone you call you
and I call me.

Read me, in a tear of sadness,
orbs of memories stored
in genetic madness.

Read me, in the dog-eared page
the leaf that quiets my mind
and makes me whole again.

Read me, in my racing thoughts
bipolar existence is more difficult
than not.

Read me, in the grip of melancholy
revisit the wrist scars
of folly.

Read me, in the breastplate of armor
the era of my belief
in chivalry and honor.

Read me, in the time of sepia
tradition fueled
by dreams and dementia.

Read me, in the tip of a candles flame
passions burn bright,
yet I wear no others name.

Read me, at the foot of an altar
murmuring prayers, "...lead my paths..."
or I will falter.

Read me, in an open palm
outstreched, open to you
and calm.

Read me, in the fools smile
the joy will last
only a while.

Read me, in the clear walkway
steps number
all my days.

Read me, in the shattered glass
anger subsides
down to simmer and it will pass.

Read me, in the inkwell bright
the pen has punctured me
felled by might.

Read me, in the moonlight there
lie to me,
tell me you care.

This year I vow to change for the better but remain constant in my being. This year I vow to embrace this body, this skin, this figure, the only one I will ever have. I vow to love myself before I do anyone else. This year I vow to listen. I vow to be open ears and heart. This year I vow to be patient, to be still and trusting. I will not let the past spoil expectation. I will be as hopeful as I am eager for opportunity. This year I vow to not take health for granted, to appreciate the existence of it when good and accept the challenge when it is not. This year I vow to let nothing break me. Not disease, depression, or person. I will not fall victim to weakness. I will do my best to be as human as I can possibly be while also being understanding of human flaw. This year I vow to not judge. I vow to welcome the unknown with outstreched arms and a wider perspective. This year I will not hold on to mistakes with closed fists. I will let go of what is not meant to stay. This year I will try and do all of the things I've sworn I'd do a million times before. This year I will try again. This year I will try my best.

From the boardwalk I cast a view from weather beaten rail.
To ocean erased shore.
In a vision of two lovers often we can't recall.

A time's past in a more forward view.
Im at the end.
A chairs stance and a rope's hold to neck.

Smoke ring's the night's in my failures I've bled my sorrow's
dry.

Saltwater  from eye's a overview from a scrapbook's
hell.
This prison I created harbour's my wall's of minds design.

Like a beggar most choose to ignore.

I wish if only you to care without touch but of spark.
And mother natures soul.

Sand of glass frayed the edges of a weathertorn manuscript
of what never was.

Let me die in memories eternal embrace.
No hand outstreched.
Rejection of existance so often home I've come
to reconize as this  place.

The future is not orange.

It's the colour of faded newspapers,
Dying embers, Buttery moonscapes and
Concrete scars.

It reeks of chip shop oil and skidmarked tattoos.
of Rotting flesh and accelerant
fumes.

The future comes with arms outstreched,
with daggers in your back.
with comforting palms.

The future tastes of soft toys, lost in time,
of thick cut white with butter
of goat.
It tastes of blessings once before.

and with luck, tastes once more.

Icy fingers that touch your thoughts from a distance let you know in an instant that it was me and I was there. There, where I lingered freely in your inner most secret feelings, twisted them into doubts and fears. Echoed in the sound of your tears as they ran down your face in their race to the ground, slamming violently down without a sound without a sound. So draw near! I am the lover hater you fear yet hold dear. The secret that you knew all along, containing all the right answers gone horribly wrong. In a song I have kept you lost in the promise and hope of passion so lasting, delivering emotional lashing after lashing after lashing for the taste of tears that I savor. For I am the dream breaker, the beautiful monster who decieves to recieve that which I do not deserve. Keeping my song bird locked in the cage, break away and escape the fate! Run fleet of foot fleeing from these outstreched arms of an empty being until you reach the place where you were meant to be, get away from me and sing the songs you were meant to sing.

Note that when I say boy
I say it with purpose
I say boy
Because only men know how to hurt with intention
And you never did

I knew it then
And I know it now
You were too good for me
You are the glowing sun on a california morning
And I am a rainy dark seattle afternoon
The only time my city ever saw blue skies and sunshine
Was when you were in it
You made me laugh
On days when the weight of the world fell on top of me
You always made things light again
I am stubborn
I always have been
I was a bull that you never tried to tame
You never asked me to slow down
Only waited patiently with open arms
For me to come to a halt
I was rough
I would pluck and pull at your thorns until you reached your breaking point
You never did though
And in my moments of panic,
All you wanted to do
Was comfort me and try to understand
I'd push you away before you could even attempt to
I remember laying in bed
Your arms outstreched and caring
And me refusing to give in
Because of some grudge I was still holding on to
We fought a lot
But every time you were the first to forgive
I mastered the art of crossed arms and silence
While you sat laughing out of frustration
Because I was so ******* ridiculous
I picked at you until you bled
Waiting for you to hurt me back
But you never did
Only men know how to hurt with intention
And hurt was the one thing you were incapable of doing
I don't think you could have
Even if you wanted to
You were the first one who didn't try to break me
And I guess I was just expecting you to
I could say I only treated you this way because I didn't know love could be stable
But I think the real reason
Was that I feared if you knew
How great you really are
You would leave
I think the real reason
I treated you so poorly
Was that I was afraid of losing you
I want you to know
That I never intended to hurt you
I know now
I should have loved you better
I should have loved you
The way you loved me.

It's kind of cold in here,* I think as
I leave my
Laptop on the chair and
Pick up the last pair
Of wool socks my late
Grandmother knitted.
Spoiled from spending time
At my girlfriend's place, its shell being
170 years younger than that of
Mine, I suppose...

Old houses breathe.

The cat is balled up on the sofa;
Sleeping within its own
Body heat, only responding
With a flick of an ear to
My patting it.

I light fires in living room and
Kitchen, and
Recall how I used to sit at
Four in the morning
Under a blanket with a cup
Of coffee and tried to

Shiver less as I waited for the fire
To take. My parents' living room,
Having had to move back.
Late twenties. Divorced.
Undergone heart surgery.
Declared bankrupt
(On most levels of Life, in fact).

The ****** Months, I used to
Refer to them as. When it all
Came down.
The following years -spent working,
Saving, drinking the weekends
Away and lying to my doctor

About it- I got to know my parents
Again. My father would knock
On the door to my room and make
YouTube requests; recalling songs
From decades ago he never thought
He'd hear again.
He still brings up those nights
On occation. It was good.

Mother's knock meant room service.
She loved waiting on me like
That. Feeling useful.
Having me there. After all that
Had happened.

I had all I needed up there. Guitars.
Weights and a bench. Decent
Internet. Sometimes I'd just sit in
The dark in silence, hearing nothing
But the ticking of my St. Jude aorta
Heart valve, feeling the soreness of

My fresh scar fading, tracing the
Uneven bones of my rib cage
Where they's sawed me open.
Gutted
(On most levels of Life, in fact).
But it was good. I was
Aware. I was still here.

In the mornings I'd get up at 03.55,
Light the fire and sip my coffee,
Watching snow land on the
Windows, or stars illuminate the
Fields of white outside, perhaps even
Dancing northern lights
Above the pine tree tops.

Winter. Summers were summers.
Bird calls preceded my alarm.
Coffee on the stairs outside.
Sunrise streching her hands above
The horizon as I awoke.
Nothing I could see wasn't home
(On most levels of Life, in fact).

Three years until I moved out again.  
It got quiet for them, I know that.
But I had healed.
Trained.
Grown.
Smiled.

Three moves later, and I'm back in
My home village.
Neighbouring farm.
Countryside silence.
Home.

~

The room is getting warmer. I place a
Piece of wood on the embers and lean
Back in my chair by the fire.
The cat is now completely outstreched
In a full feline smile of fur and limbs.
I see movements in the trees outside in
The corner of my eye, but the winds
May blow as violently as they want.

I have four walls and a roof.
A belly full of salmon, a job that pays,
A wonderful woman who
Loves me as much as I love her, and
From my bedroom window, I see the
Lights from the
House where my parents live.
Where I grew up.
Twice.

You sit all alone
In a place that may be familiar
watching the world around you, for you are far too
timid.

Pretty people with wicked souls
Blemished hearts rotting with slime
spew their words at you, but you don't stop them
shy.

Your heart tells you it hurts
And that maybe it will **** you one day
but you hush your organs in your chest
quiet.

Until one day, you explode from the inside
Thoughts bursting forth like steaming water from the pipes
they cringe and fight their through, but you are not
empty.

You've listened all of your life
Hoping and hoping for an outstreched hand
now, it is time to make your own destiny, full of glorious and wonderful
*courage

The darkness here is thick and cold
Im living a life but I'm not bold
I sit here scared
Scared of my life
Scared for my life
Scared of where my life will lead

There is no light
For it has ran
My life's not bright
Its boring, bland

So here I am where ever this is
In a place of darkness, fear, no bliss

Its dark in here
Its cold in here
I look around
can't see the ground
where am I

Then I see a flicker of light
I come closer
Its suddenly bright
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

Then the brightness fades away
Im stuck again where i was before
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

My skin is burning
I'm freezing cold
I want my pain to end
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

But then all a sudden
In front of me
I happen to see
A figure a shadow
Of who it is I'm meant to be
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

This figure reaches
Outstreched hand
Gives me a light
A torch in hand
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

I thought the torch
Would warm me up
But the fire's cold
The wood will not scorch
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am i

I look around
Now able to see
I see no color
Only dark empathy
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

Im all alone
My feelings drone
I feel like I'm
A life unknown
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

I live my life
In the darkness here
But no one truly knows my fear
In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I

I fear a lot of what is to come
And where my thoughts will be
Im lying here my thoughts all dead
Then I remember my life I dread

In the darkness
In the cold
Where am I?
The answer is
I'm in my mind
Alone and unforgiving

My mind is dark
Not easily lit
And if a light
Can manage to shine
Its only for a bit

My life is shattered, torn, and cruel
I feel like I'm in a standing duel
A duel I cant win because if my sin
Because of my lack of sustaining joy

So here I remain
In the darkness
In the cold
Stuck inside my mind
Please someone
Make it end

An end to all my grief
Only then will you be
Someone I can love
A sincere and true friend.

So please my friend
Be a light
A light that will last
Or else my head and I
We may just have to never see
An end to this dark sickness
For it to end is what I plea

when it rains,
i sometimes stick my
arm outside
the confines of my room,
close my eyes,
and try counting
the number of kisses
the rain makes
with my outstreched arm;
i never keep count,
i just keep thinking
of the attiring
trees and other plants
with my own,
inverted set of lungs.

Winter brings
falling puffs of weightless white
gliding effortlessly down
to the ground
pausing briefly on the wings
of swaying outstreched needles
from the pine,
the winter wooden warden,
trustee of frozen forest.
Arctic winds
seize hold the fragile snowflakes
plucking, snatching, and clutching
the flimsy
whisps of still independent
drops of moisture from the air,
forcing them
down, down, down to the icy
surface of the silent earth.

Steady hands are something I've never known
Trying hard as hell to hold my weapon straight
But a shot in the dark is a shot in the dark
Wherever the bullet hits, c'est le vie, that's fate

Are you lurking in the shadows in the corner of my good eye?
Waiting to catch the bullet on its flight
Or do you have your back turned unaware
That this little chance I'm taking might take your life?

Steady hands are something I've never known
Trying hard as hell to let these words ring out
Like a shot in the dark, but still a shot in the dark
Scared to scare you with what these words will be spoken aloud

Will you ever eye me through the scope of my outstreched arms?
Sometimes Eden ain't as great as it's made out
And although the world is cold and bitter to you
Just know for this moment you're all I dream about

I wish I had the courage
When I last stood
In front of you
To tell you
And if I only could
Stand in front of you
One more time
On more moment
I would tell you
Not for your love
In return or to feel
This love that has burned
And consumed and haunted me
Both night and day
In dreams and fantasy
Pass from my lips to yours
Not to ****** your flesh
And remove your clothes
Rain my fingertips over your skin
Not to hear you whisper and moan
And shout under sheets
Not to claim your soul
Or your name
In that moment...
No
I want that moment
To reveal that this love
Smiles madly and lives completely
Feels impossibly and dances wildly
Lasts eternaly for the beauty
And perfection of the stars
And heavens and endless bliss
It finds in you
And against time and distance
And possiblity it will always stand
And burn with its hand outstreched
Should you want or desire
Or need
Or not
It will live and love
Alone or together
It exists only by the chance
And the luck of that
First moment when my
Heart knew it had always
Loved you

Thoughts of pure rage and eternal sadism are locked behind penatrating blue eyes, intentions cruel and filled with a darkened sense of immorality. Slowly yet surely it seeps deeper within the heart, consuming all kindness and sympathy that the soul has left to offer. Scaring the mind of the ****** as it fights this curse. Day after day, the haunted shadows creep closer, their fingers outstreched as they attempt to capture her heart and mind. She screams, but the cotton of the pillow poors into her throat muffling her to a soft whimper. Her body pulses, twiching but only in minimal movements. No signs of struggle, but inside she sees it all, the blood, the corpse, the weapon firmly grasped. By the end of this masterpiece, she drops her paintbrush, the blood running down her own body as her eyes open to the soft and warm sheets of the bed.

simple swing sunlight
glinting off tiny sparkling feet
the pure joy of wind and speed
rushed and slipping by through the hot summer
days. streams of shadows play and splash
around the busy feet, the small bodies
jump and swoop up and around the
flat cushion ground.

memories are made here, with mom
just an arm’s length away - and then -
woosh! soaring again, mouth with
six new teeth shouting in pure
moment and monuments of love and
fun cement themselves in this
flashbulb second:

imagine it with me, I’ve taken
you there: a girl in a pink
dress, the fluffs of her curls just
emerging from her soft head and wide
brown eyes, her smile suspended in
the air as she floats slowly forward

her mom, her source of love, arms
tan and strong that have held her and
kissed her tears away, outstreched
to meet the red plastic swing to push
again, to push again, and her daughter

enjoys this almost-flight. she never
wants it to end.

i have no intention in protecting the man,
         i have an instrument i have to guard:

                                      Y
                ­        
                    H                                H

­

                                      W

and that's it! but what of the initiation?
   in making the symbol, as the rites
of catholics and the orthodox have shown

                              forehead

   left shoulder                            right shoulder




                        centre of rib-cage

yes, the rib-cage salutation represent the heart...

  the difference being:

                                     1
                4                                      3



   ­                                  2

which is catholic (protestants do not perform
this gesticulation) -
                                    the orthodox arithmetic?

                                     1
                3                                      4



   ­                                  2                              

or how catholics don a wedding ring on
   the right hand, on the ring finger -
while protestants don their wedding ring
on the left hand, on the ring finger...

the gesticulation hits a third alternative that
abandons protestant sensibility, due to the hay-chys
being placed outstreched:
            to spell out the tetragrammaton
      in the according sequence:

                                     1
                2                                      4



   ­                                  3

alternatively: the interchange of 2 with 4 and
4 with 2... depending on your copernican
                   argument of how to pin-point
n.e.w.s. (north east west south)
                             on a "flat earth" argument
when that's... really necessary when reading
a map, and needing to go from point a (genesis)
   to point b (exodus);

i'm really surprised the orthodox volk do not
write from right to left,
      like semites...
                  if they were truly orthodox
they'd imitate the semitic impression of writing
from right to left, rather than write
                as the europeans do: from left to right.

Visions of a searing pain heading straight for you, the oblivious.
Noght terrors and pro f etic dreams tossed to the way side with all the other so-called profetic doomsday losers. As the sword of thought touches your neck youd rather slip into non resistant subconciousness. Weak and inward looking masses of babies ******* life into thier wants and screaming for attention. The world of touch offers no deliverance. It distracts the soul. It blocks compassion and feeds greed. Power stoked by the few torture and consume the masses as they are cyphened into a must do way of living. Wake up get your freedom back by denouncing all you have and walk into an outstreched hand and collect the trapped, downloaders of destruction and walj together  pay nothing use only what is fair and change the world. Disconnected from money and pain, enjoy true power and the gift of a simple life.

I  stand tall,
Contorted,
But beautiful,
My shape weird,
But wise as an owl.
My limbs outstreched,
My roots deep,
I embrace the sky and the earth,
I have weathered many seasons,
For many reasons,
SPRING is my rebirth,
I bloom and bring  colour,
SUMMER I  am evergreen,
Give shade from the fiery sun,
AUTUMN I am dressed in a colourful gown,
Of gold, green, purple and brown,
Soon my leaves fall,
Dry and under people's feet they crackle.
WINTER I stand naked,
Snowflakes come to my aid,
They veil me from tip to toe,
A blanket of snow.
I am one of the ecosystem,
Life on earth with me rhyme and rhythm.

In the company of friends, we find our wings,
To dance and soar as the melody sings.
In each step, a tale of liberation untold,
A symphony of freedom, bold and old.

With arms outstretched and hearts ablaze,
We move together in a mesmerizing maze.
Bound not by chains, but by joy's embrace,
In this sacred circle, love finds its place.

Our feet tap the rhythm of ancient lore,
As we dance through the night, seeking more.
In every twirl and every graceful glide,
We shed our worries, casting them aside.

For in this moment, we're free to be,
Our spirits soaring, wild and free.
Each sway, a testament to life's sweet song,
In unity, we dance, forever strong.

No boundaries hold us, no rules confine,
As we dance under the moon's gentle shine.
For in the company of friends, we find,
A love that knows no limit, no bind.

So let the music guide our every move,
As we dance to the beat, our souls approve.
For in the joy of movement, we unite,
Celebrating life, love, and freedom
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI

The Magical  garden of life

I stand around  and look  at a far distant  land  of  mystery with   desire and walk towards a gate  overlooking the  hills  high  into the summer sky above my shoulders. A lady appears and calls me gestures to me   with  her hand  drawing me closer  to the gate of mystery and suprise l follow her  through this golden coloured  gate which reaches high into  the summer sky  and find a land of beauty enchated forest   with rivers flowing  down a step  passage and flowers and light  grows everywhere.
The lady stands and looks at me  her posture look strange  like a ghost like figure wearing  clothing from  the past of yesteryear. I reach out to touch her hand  and my hand passes through her body   and she  smiles  at me  and  slowly turns towards  a wall near the the garden entrance   and  disapears  from my sight like the ghost of despair  and into a distant new land . I turn round and walk back  into the beauty of this  new found garden  forest  and  wash my eyes with  the water dripping down from the waterfall behind me .

I suddeny feel a sharp  nudge  in the corner of my back  and  l slowly turn around  with fear in my body and   the  tears of sweat  pour  into my eyes the ghost lady has  come  back into my path   she  stands over me  holding her outstreched hands   protecting me   in this beautiful garden of  pleasure.  I stand a gaze at the  magnificent  land  and   relax my  body  because l have found the  true  passion of life a beauty  lost  to life  and a dream l never thought l would  find.

written and produced by wayne mockler
copyright  ownership wayne mockler

A snapshot

Insignifigant in the moment but oh so important now

The silence of the room the burst of joy       the imediate downfall

Spiraling
Alone

Dark 6 days a week but that one day that one day that makes it all worth it the one day you sit in a field miles apart, faces covered and arms outstreched but never touching

Then you go back to little black boxes like the seats in a theater, talking infront of a class has never seemed scarier

Oh to go back
To That insignifigant day

this... this long awaited bottle
of wine; that's for omome,
but not you... if there's going to be
a me and you...
we'd needd a ms. amber...
and some hereafter...
that bouting with the bridge
and bride of hades
and... whatever...
come tomorrowland....
i will not birdge any gaps
or any other interludes...
save those bits that welcome
the last of life and that killing joke...
here, now, the better half of
me... closed circuit worth of a
pundit...

lingo sputnik that one into an equation
for the basis of oasis that
never clamoured to burden the eurotrash
with blur
and pigeon shtiting clarificastions....

manchester chequers...
n'ah n'ah hey jude... ******* worth
of wriggling and teasin'...
  
happy to have made cheese...
says anyone beside...
an alex james...
   gear up to be riddled, moi...
something sharpening in
tone-deaf pain...

no... 4 down-under
3 across a "crew"...
             he's also greaved in
the soloist "moisting up" of suicidal tendencies...
linger me for that spot
leverage: major major of rationed bacon...

you really don't want the kinds
of me crafting a ridicule of
your naked ***... making
tabloid "oops"
of that always appeasing moon
whips and tenures...

two birds with one stone...
except the arithmetic of twenty-two...
and there's a whoop-catch
of the better half of rottten tomorrows
of the intelligent:
hardly an i.q. tester, tester, count...

i come from this affair all..
all ******* dehydrated...
and fixated on a d.n.a. of the wirth
of argumentation for the worths of
tomorrow...

hardly the happy slap...
          we... the governing
lords of salem...
                        that last misendeavour;
culprit, corrupt...
of that what's best salvaged...

mein besitzen!
           az én saját...
                               mano savo!

refresh... the death upon the crucifix
of golgotha...
then again...
that death of being impaled...
to dangle with death in tow...
but then... being impaled...
all that glory-******* the tenets
of homosexuality...
then one is being impaled
via the transcedence of buggery?

it's one thing to dangle on
a crucifix... hands outstreched...
quiet another...
to have ones hands tied
behind one's back...
being impaled...

           na pal z tym skurwysynem!
i will just listen to enough
wading through the glories of
the cossacks mingling with
the crimean tartars before...

                             crucifixion is
hardly the worthy bargain of torture to be...
exemplified...
there are so many, more...
na pal...

   to be impregnated by a quest
of making **** *** normie-proud...
at the crux of where the pelvis ends and the coccyx
begins...
at the point where the birth of the iron maiden
welcomes the weeping willow...
as a response of being
the sulking bride of commerce...

i do pity the emblem of the crucifix...
there's being subject to the pike...
one can be made to suffice in this
instrumentation of torture...
with a leonardo da vinci exegesis...
the limbs extending...
but never quiet so on a pyke...

                          butterflies of all
held hostage high heavens...
as ever... the inglorious stump...
sharpened... a death proclaimed...
two weeks short but then
the interlude... of the agon. of "waiting"...

it's called the highest crucifixion...
the lesser **** forthcoming...
the hands are tied
and the body is made to pivot
on the pelvis come coccyx...

              no angel will come here:
in spite... or repose...

                    i have lost my amibitions
to imagine... thus, this,
this torrent of whimsical expenditures;
bone-breaking
copper nibbling skimming
of loitering examinations of:
the awaited loss of value.

The daylight,

how elusive

How many hours
Until it slips away
Parting from me once again

And when i call out like a child
Will it not
-indifferent-
Look away?

I had spent years in darkness,
For the mind is a cavernous *****

Labarinthyne pathways
And crevaces that reach longingly, fingers outstreched into the deep

How long since
i had bathed in white sunlight?
And the sky breathing its warm breath-
The soft caress
And springs that ring like bells

Perhaps all memory of this daylight
Will be lured into the abyss
And even time will be lost in darkness

Evanescent
My joy is counted in minutes

And yet i feel grateful
that i, too,
Must silently

fade away

We lie in the same bed
Side by side
Sharing the dark
And comfort
I offer you safety
Over my outstreched arm
Our feet touch slightly
In a secret embrace like
First time lovers.
I can hear you breathing
The covers rise and fall
Cascading with every
Breath you take.
And i wish it were me
You were taking in
Piece by piece
Slowly so I can savour
Becoming one with you.
At 4 am there is nothing
But you beside me
My finger runs down the outline
Of your  body
As you dream
Frolicking in the waters
you so like
You walk gracefully
on the wet sand
Leaving  your footprints
Like the kisses I plant on
Your lips every morning
Trailing into nothingness
When the waves catch them
Crashing
when we awake
and I wonder,
If you were with me
all along.