Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions

We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground

With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism

I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend

We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated

Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb

So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans

As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge

So, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP

No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung

Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity

Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility

The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day

Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom

Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight

A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived

A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause

A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite

Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark

Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal

Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity

Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time

An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents

Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring

I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch

Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain

But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd.

The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity

Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins

Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade

This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed ****** waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare

Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries

Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul Armed to the Teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes

As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes

The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens

With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last

Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs

In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog

A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter

A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach

Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives Stayin' Alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride

Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring

Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on A Horse With No Name but so consumed with fumes

A fright occultist Thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight

He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer

Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun

We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right

And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight

*** and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies.

Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from distant forbearance to nescient ultimatum and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam

walking through the woods i was surrounded by a plethora of golden bronze amber leaves tumbling in the wind sparkling with a star fire that evanesced from their jagged edges upon their descent.  i stood entranced, mesmerized, utterly hypnotized by their glorious magnificence.  i observed with intensity as a golden bronze amber leaf never having been attached to the majestic tree had no need to let go but gently released.  feeling no trepidation it wholly lacked desire for manipulation to control the forces of the wind.  i watched in awe and wonder realizing that it never disengaged from the tree knowing that separation is an illusion; it simply became the wind.  whirling it shimmered in the autumn sun as it wafted with no need for reins allowing its destination to unfold.  gingerly cascading it settled tenderly on the ground resting comfortably in ambivalence.  i sensed it did not cringe when it was picked up by an unsuspecting boot but intuitively knew immediately that it was being carried and dropped off serendipitously at an auspicious location.  i listened to it intently and drank in its essence as it simply lay in being not obsessing over what would happen consequent but sat in sheer stillness seemingly encompassing all totality.  i was stunned to see that it lingered without judgment in undivided clarity for what wild synchronicity would come.  it quenched its thirst in mystery while being completely at home in uncertainty.  the golden bronze amber leaf seemed one with all that is while simultaneously retaining awareness of self-perception.  as a gentle gust of wind coalesced with the beige fall sky it literally merged with the momentum enjoying the ride to its perfect destination.  with delicacy it rested cozily in ambiguity whispering to me that heaven is a state and not a place.  i vow surrender to black and white existence pledging fearlessly to climb higher creating life with vivid vibrancy adding golden bronze amber to my palette of colors with which i’ll paint.

©2016 janetaylor

I never could quite imagine the day
When a creature quite as wry and presumptuous
Would break so serendipitously.

She lay ruptured in the desultory plantation
The Stygian colour of her fur rebelled against the sage of the contiguous earth
And her eyes mimicked nothing but the pain that consumed her current thoughts.

Her body was transfixed in an inert trance
The fur on her hunched spine quavered in a subdued zephyr
Quiet insecurities were hid well in her tranquil pained state.

The moon intently watched me
Waiting for me to alleviate the agonized entity
But solicitousness was blank in my frozen psyche.

The moonlight pierced the fox with intimacy
I grimaced in the realization I had failed the universe
With my perennial void mind broken in vain.

The fox gathered some stoicism
The blessing of the moon granted requital
As the fox proceeded to maul my perception.

I accepted my retribution with ratification
As I was the soul who violated the creature
A skirmish that clung to grandeur.

It’s more than friendship for us.  We’re closer than that.  we never needed the same blood to call each other brothers.  We bleed similar ideas and thoughts, like telepathy is our only way to communicate.  We’re linked in ways most will never know, See, we’re cut from a different cloth. In our ragged robes we feel like kings because we know we have the greatest jester at our sides. Mind that this is a love poem, love for my friend, my brother, my phone call at 1 am, chatting about everything and anything.  I never walked down streets with such confidence before. his are my guard rail, stopping me from slippery streets and inattentive eyes.  I don’t think we can count the times we’ve defined our code.  It’s not a code of arms, we don’t need to arm ourselves with each other at our sides.  I’ve gone from the boy I was to a man I want to be, thanks to him.  I don’t think he’ll ever understand how much he’s done for me.  It’s been such roller coaster ride, dating best friends and losing loves, we stuck by each other, Spartan warriors would be proud.  He’s like a spider web.  Hidden in small spaces of serenity.  He catches anything that we need to survive and destroys anything that could harm me.  serendipitously our friendship evolved like Pikachu and Squirtile.  We have that Pokemon type of bond, I’ll choose you, every time.   No one will understand when I say, Saving him from SunKist liquids is our defining “broment.” See, in that moment having a bottle rise to his lips, I knew that he needed me to tell him the dangers that lie ahead, as he’s have done for me countless time.  Now, It could have been the time you  told me you hated me in middle school, or the time you tried to save me from a fire breathing dragon. He became the one person I can count on, in a world where a clock ticks too quickly.  It’s you and me against the world, They don’t know what they got themselves into.  We are soldiers, brothers at battle, we start wars with words because our poetic voices are needed in the struggles of a lost generation.  But,  we don’t need to take up arms, we pick pens and write the words that no one has the heart to say.  Our words prove that we never needed the same blood to call each other brothers.  Because it’s more than friendship for us.  We’re closer than that.

Are we to reject a greater unity
for the sake of a superficial
sovereignty.
For does not the richness of
every need its canvas.
And every flower deserve a special
place in the garden.
As every star sits in the nights sky
belonging to a constellation.
I never hear them complaining
only gently sparkling.

Are we to reverse down a dark alley
not knowing where we are going.
Do we wish to offer a clenched fist
or are we to open our hand and heart.
Have we become so inwardly looking
that we switch of our lights close our
eyes as a room full of blind nations
continue to fight.

Are we to be influenced by papers
that serendipitously cloud the difference
between EU immigrants and Syrian refugee's.
As Rupert Murdoch and corperate power
divides and conquers.
Trillions gather of shore sit on the world
like a giant cancer and all we do is fight
with each other.
As they in circle us with their power we become
the entertainment at their coliseum.
Or do we pour love within the gaps becoming all
so much closer bringing back all our power.

Are we to live in a shrinking world where
other people's problems do not matter.
Is it time to close our eyes or time to look
in the mirror.
Out out out keep the bad guys out
as though our hands were clean
that we had never done anything wrong.
Are we we to cling to a penny pinching surface
or delve into the depths of our character looking for
a deeper treasure that truly matters.

Will not the true values of our heart not proper
when connected more deeply on the inside
and out.
By clinging to a superficial sovereignty we may
find ourselves also clinging to a wobbly mast.
As our island drifts of into a rough sea we maybe
to involved with surviving that we forget
who we truly are.

I listen to the whine of time
That goes in a line, a climb,
A silent sign wave; fine
Resonant and resilient,
Nearly sentient, it reminds
Of times of meditation,
Of peaceful celebration
Like music with no beat,
No melody and no lyrics
No clerics can well describe.

Whatever remains of before
I ignore; ideas like yesterday
Which is to say tomorrow,
Bring no sorrow here, no joy.
They are a ploy to change,
To rearrange the apogee
Of this lovely inner symphony
And bribe me with self-pity
In sympathy with some dream
Which once made me scream.

I imbibe in the circumstance,
A chance to muse on forever;
Words like never and regret
I forget and only think of serenity.
A rarity; an affinity with infinity
Entices me to surrender instantly
Serendipitously and trustingly,
Just me and the universe
Chapter and verse, still unwritten,
Unbidden, I surrender.

they exist
in perfect stillness,
surrounded by
flowing water and
comforting earth--

the tree extends
it's spider legs
serendipitously over
casual rocks and crevices
to reach the Mother's stream
of which life truly flows--

they come to heal
heavy hearts
beneath the warmth
of winter's light rays--

blessed anew,
they carry on--

Towers tumble, egos fall
My house, is on fire
But I will not get there
Chest squeezing in despair  

My heart is breaking
The ropes are slipping
And life is disappearing
Just keeps on racing

Been such a fool
Always born a tool
Paddled and paddled but
Yet so wasteful, in my toil
  I had to spoil

Just missed the bus
There goes my train
The enemy scores again
Though my legs how insane  

Keep on falling
My heart is calling
A tumble ****
Just keeps on rolling

Spent so long
Looking for answers
In places that had none  
The harder I try
The more I cry

As I am suddenly awoken
surrounded by costume
An actors changing room
Never learnt my words

But there is a
Blissful realization
When you see your
Life just slipping
Out of site, far away
Down the drain

As abandoned waters are lifted
A myriad of moonlight sparkles
Scattered sent shimmering
Cascading across my waters
I feel no need in responding  

When I am humbled
powerless out of control
My life vanishing  
A black hole
A dark void

I have to ask did I loose
my life or did I just
Serendipitously
just FIND IT

Nihilism, for me, is pure liberation.
The realization of nothing possessing the slightest bit of significance is ultimately freeing.
All is chaos.
Nothing is meant to be.
My beliefs in irrelevant unknowns resulted in sheer despair for, when the unanticipated occurred, continuously I gravitated toward discouragement.
I yearned to believe in something, but deep within I sensed the illogical. 
The entirety of human consciousness is but self-deceptive illusions.
Society deems faith as an aspect which shapes humanity however,
I have transcended humanity as to free myself from the wretchedness of existences absurdity, Intimately embracing the vOiD has ultimately freed me from my inner darknesses, allowing me to adopt them with complete sincerity.

Infinitely,

I am,

and shall remain,

a supersonic, suicidal, schizophrenic, enigma.


and this....



... is the reality of my existence.

The boys ran
After the ball exploded
The bedroom window.
Shattered glass shards
In indiscriminate flight.

The ants re-grouped
To build after
The red-cherry erupted
The hill like Pompei,
Scattering serendipitously.

Grimmacing quarter moon
Pumpkins lay in hodge-podge
Pieces on All Saints Day.

Suitcases, clothes and neckties
Stewn on a runway
Like a kid's bedroom.

We move from order to chaos,
Like the third light
On a match.

I was lead to believe
Displacement Laws,
Science, and regular
Bowels could explain
Explosions,
So we can lift the stones
On Salisbury and Newgrange,
Or re-arrange grains of sand
With projected order.
We only have a beginning
And an end, while living
Through the explosions.

*******, Evangeline
I hated you in the seventh grade
When you were pushed on me at school
And broke my rib,
As I badmouthed you on the monkeyswings.

But quickly I learned
Not from mom or sister
That to be a man is different than
Hollywood and Disneyland
Nothing Loves, Actually; Forever calls—

Very quickly

It seems

That I go from adorable to expendable

Serendipitously,
With a bit of mandated mail
And affairs with Eros’ bureaus of State

Back then I played with chitinous bugs
Baiting them fluffy placentas
of budding trees
And stalked them back to their cave
Before I knew my felonies

But I was a baby,
A child—I never could have known what it means.

But of course I do,
I’ve seen
the running of the bulls
The utterance of men
They are angry and gouge *******
with cold vicegrips around their ******
And are kicked
Mercilessly
Spurned to wrathful affectation
To be murdered in the evening
With rapturous spectation

“But they are bulls!”

Of course they are
"These feelings are only natural!"

No man can equate
With the pleasurable temptations of the state

Not bird or bug or steer or doe

The only Hierarchy permissible
Is of the animals
And of that we hate

I don’t see you woeing
About that steak on your plate.
Or the Glue in the soles of your shoes.

Stroll a bit
Sniff the trees
Whiff the *******
When it’s in the feed

He runs in circles shouting, chanting
“Oye, Oye, Aye Piche Cabrone!”
As the solo mothers cut his lengua
for the starving Ninos
In an apartment complex
off Oxenhoof Lane

Where

Papi got iced
By I.C.E or the like
And the kiddies will never know what it means.

You’ll never know what it means
To be a bull
Muster your might for this—demand with laughter you die
I am an ant in the ever-washed hive
Of sterile kin who have no lives
They give for their queen or infectious despot with wings

Despite all the kindness they've given me,
I am not ready to be meat for the feet.

In every blade of grass I've faith
That no bird or sin will ****** me from my place
And into the sky or the unsatiated mouth of the various
Disunified highs

For now I share the toil and vitriolic
Callous
Jowls of those who hate themselves
More than me
And try to smile and bring food for the queen

But deep inside
I am an ant
And that is all you will ever see.

In our childhoods the biggest want and the most creative entertainment
Were toys
We whined
We pined
We begged
We even bartered outrageously
That we might serendipitously
Find the strings
The felt cloth
The plastic so pristine
Under a tree
Or under our beds
Or behind the backs of those who love us
But even hours go by and
The plastic shatters
The felt tears
The strings snap
And the most regretful of all things
The dust settles

Once,
Love doves
Deeply in love
Began to write
A lullaby in delight
Reflections of their history
Nothing but a fantastic story
Promises of being each other's number
One, always beside each other as they slumber
Whilst listening to dulcet tunes of harmony
Of Nightingales whispering a symphony
Giving each other a life of joy and laughter
Promising to love each other for ever after
To each others ***** embrace as to fly
Merrily towards velvet skies up so high
Only alone by themselves to a paradise
Where the sun doth beautifully rise
Upon streets paved with green and gold
Such ethereal pulchritude to behold
Surf evenings of carnal pleasures
Thus delve into all the worlds' treasures
Naked in the aura of the midnight luster
Undulating to the rhythm of stars in a cluster
Whilst lying on verdant greener grass
Under a silvery crystal clear moon as a glass
Neath sycamore shadows
Beside  beauteous meadows
Exploring moments to forever stay
And never to ever, ever fade away
Having a splash in a cool fresh stream
Of everlasting love now but a dream

Since one dove did fly away
Mercilessly to the very far away
Left the other to languish
In a world of relentless anguish
With a heart shattered beyond repair
Where he drowns in a sea of despair
Whilst reminiscing of a golden chance
Once he had tasting of sweetest romance,
Plus golden days and nights whilst together
In a paradise of exquisite pleasant weather

And high above frisky clouds
Stars now come in crowds
Painting their history
Now but a mystery

Left with nothing, as he prays
Whilst gazing at leafy sprays
Extremely lovingly embellished
Inscribed with poems she relished
He thus feels the pain
Alone in the heavy rain
And nothing but tears
Drenching him in fear
Whilst sitting underneath the sycamore
Longing for his love now and forevermore

However, serendipitously one night
Whilst drenched in despair, an ethereal of light
Appeared, touched his heart with Hope
Shadows of fear, afraid of light couldn't cope
Mustered courage to go beyond all measures
Neath to the Atlantis for his lost treasure

Thus like Pluto, distant from the sun
Relationships he chose to shun

Only longing for his only dove
She who was but his true love


© Kikodinho Alexandros

Jumeira, Dubai
20th July 2016

Check engine brings in the sufficiency of evil.

How does this work? Re
cognition, I suspect, a seemingly tireless system,
each day releases a sufficiency of evil,
just
enough to re
mind me-you, I see everything, I know

--- within the system of ignition and motive power

peace is after the first explosion begins to turn the crank.
all the piston resistance is pushed toward fore,

and we are off
the line ready

-- and I drive on to exit 28

The Madness of Crowds,

find what my tweets should be today,
read all the madness streams venting
into
the
new ideology of
entertainment,
consider comes up as a word, verb, I paused to look to the stars,
with their shine
to see me

as some bit of all that.

Far from the madding crowd maddened
by the noise we make in preparing
for war

from the foundational texts, in context,
time relative to everything, before
now, position point
meta data do the ID ea, ificate,
ego, go go on, wonder if

what if
hapt
ha, that one worked, eh? We.
You read, I write,
output input output with the effect of input,

loop once, and get the idea that this may
go on, never off,

well, we may imagine that goes nowhere,
round and round, balanced, as the best
1800's steamy perpetual motion patents were
compared
to vaporous IPO's in 1999,
which were overly faith-biased,
as a man thinketh in his heart, the whole world
seems to be… what the mind of the crowd can
conceive, with grip taken, hold on and lift
toward the top of the ripple,
balance
to the tip… of next…

here, put a gate.

Leave a legend of a fiery sword,
impressed
on the mind of a child living in a world
lit only by heaven and fire stolen
from the earth,
go mad with kuriosity

mad on me, mad on you, mad in us is used
to make us choose to believe or not,

dared? were we dared to doubt,
dared we be of two minds
in the matter of time and my being any thing?

Aye, and art, the wit of knowing, we are mortal,
don't forget,

how happy shall we be in ever, is there a demo?

May we try your way a while,
at the speed of thought
in unspoken words

read words in constant presentpast state, the angel
or the thought asreal,
read, but add the phenomenal experience of knowing

this one word is coming to me
from one level lower than the creator of all,
from one little measure above common
mortal humis based life…

where is peace in now?

An intention pledge, above the ethic moral tide,

as sea levels rise, tides rise, settle
us…
be the unem, see the top, from the bottom.

I look up.
BUT THEN SEE
the word realm I reside with
in time and chance,

such as the first fit word was serendipitously sung
in the sixties most recent,

along the marked ***** twisting thread through
the eve of destruction survived
by everybody getting ******,
according to Phoebe Zeitgeist, my once intimate
Tinkerbell fixation,
**** pixie,
in words.

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
Hopft hopes to

twistit
little bit,
{which way, apriori flaw, *** of u and me}

-lefty loosy, righty tighty was known at the ***** line
so, ***** you, tighten
the connection,
let less - power - flow, {force me, Luke, make me look}

Hopfordsensation spun'n'set to spin on and on unless

- un less, add, subtract prove this equals that
- this is odd
- what if there is always a way good wins?

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
dimmed to minimum spark, flash 10 second rewind,
I lost my mind
I set a reminder for a live feed proper propaganda
event for the latest contender
arisen to question the faith that is in me,
is me, I am
after all, covered
in the entire line of promises which,
culminate in Christ, if you know what I mean,

other wise,

you call truth liar. And there you are.

Wishing you knew if I were
you
would I lie about something as serious as happiness,
the state?
the condition?
the I'll go rhythm schism prism sparkling down the dusty trail…

mind wandering in ever after, as we have done, un
thinking, epi-
evolved by
tuning to those early greyscale programs with random snow
of many colors, when
you were of a bubbled state happy to watch the noise
of the universe
rippling through time to me via amplified CRT bursts
sans earthly input filtering output.

The white room we all remember,

staring in white room mode at whatever is on tv

see, think, imagine doing, that's it, that's it… nope, no good,
you feel bad when things go wrong,
even on tv,
we see.
These bits of us that make no sort on reality verification,
- there is no standard zero to divide by,
- and all the ones are whole
physical, hardwired, nurtured knots and nuts and bolts and
fast-ening things, thoughts that snag
hang-ups,
run the silk, expose the flesh, pierce the epi dermis

determinus outer-most
me,
into innermost you. In a given word, long ago, I think.
Life began to leak from ever before into ever after,
through now,
like this… quarkishly entangled with every thread of ever,
from then to now,

at any point in time, imagine, this is peace of mind, I MADEITUP!

--- a lessoning, to me today
--- opportunity to take responsibility, noticed,
there in our perifery,
leaning
left horizontal attitude adjust

POV straighten up
fly right.

Cultural norms super impose, form a me you may re
cognize in any mirror here on in…

that is not a clue, that is what you do. Now, or re boot day 7.

that gurgling brown hunger you feel deep down it wasn’t you
god knows who put it there no it’s only natural it was she
who planted the initial seed grown up into a succulent leaf
frowning nature abhors a vacuum and she wouldn’t couldn’t
endear herself any more if you sustained such a saddeningly
blank space she’s given you the device for devising wickedly
clever ways of consuming it would be a godless shame
to leave the engine idling now what you eat doesn’t mean
as much as the act of eating itself actively naming god’s
creatures great small may not give you dominion or merit
ownership but ingesting them sure does dainty fingered
sentimentality lost her privileged place when steely
eyed invention serendipitously shoved a ****** cushion
throne up to your table’s edge it’s a divine and kingly right
to take your fill with hands nimbly fashioned for taking
all that’s managed eon after eon to crawl out of a world
engendering slime until there’s nothing left but the awful
runny pallid mucous you’ll sneak back to sated at last

I am guilty of the sin of luck.
Serendipitously born into wholeness.
My head was filled with stars,
the sun placed in my hands.
And I never wanted more.
Who decreed me the fortunate one?
What stroke of fate, what hand of God?
I am grateful.
but why should I be whole
when so many others are broken?

It happens just because we need
To want and be Wanted too
Serendipitously here, spontaneously there,
A true friend I've found in you.

Now friends will come and some will last, but in the end so few;
Are in actuality Ride or Dies
Disappointingly it's proven true.

Lucie my friend, has forced my hand
To write my words of feeling
For untill now there'd been no reason
To attempt a written healing.

♡

Sun-drenched in a smile between the dark hours of nine to four.
I'm caffeinated by his loquacious charm,
Easily awake for more.

We are uninhibitedly excited and tangibly so.
I am pacified listening to him loving to speak -
His passion is potion for my perpetual anxiety.

We kiss serendipitously the same.
Sloppily making an important point,
Intentions intensely plain.

(Written January 2011)

on the bleak abyss of glaucous rock
unending in its terrible splendor
lay the two that hoped the longest.
hands clasped,
their breaths rasped,
and one light faded more rapidly
than the other.
one lone final flickering candle let out a sob,
succumb like the mob
had before, serendipitously.
fractured, shattered
the sun rose
baked the remains of lovers,
and grew the purest of white desert daisies
to commemorate
that the tyrants had fallen at last.

i.     He calls me sunshine.
ii.    He hypes up my pictures.
iii.   He reaches me every day.
iv.   He tries to speak in my favourite language.
v.    He absolutely knows how to flatter me with love.
vi.   He spams me with morning and night wishes.
vii.  He still makes time for me out of his packed schedule.

Best of all, he is **** serious with his life vision with me.

— seven things I thought they wouldn’t happen to the insignificant me, before you serendipitously came into my life.

They had once been in their prime
Now littered across the newborn grass
Remnants of flowers, which had once been
Vivacious. Pink candour.
Of those that bloom, they're on top
No worries, swaying to the gentle jazz

With a gust of wind flies off a blossom
Sails through the wind like a blazing ship
The candour vivid, its last time ever
Lost in the moment of the infinite music
Until it hits the ground.

Rumpled, crumpled. Oh narcissistic irony
Those on top still lost,
The hypnosis of that fast life.
It slowly sinks through the blades.
They run deeper and deeper until it's
Limp.

Serendipitously someone comes along
Little Lucy perhaps
Pulls the ancient thing out of its pain and says
"Ah. It's beautiful."

17
Million little pieces
Sprinkles
Hammered Coke

The wind blows
It falls
Cascades

Faded
Me and then the high
Where the little pieces gone

Colors gone
White it overtakes. I overlook.
Or pigment spread across Earth

17
Million little pieces
For me to stumble upon
Serendipitously

Run into me
As I cross from Hell to Hell
Pieces of me.

Aphorisms rarely confer the comfort they intend
                                    BUT
   “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”

An antique wooden trunk sits languidly beside the road (Alabama State Highway 98 Scenic Route, Main St. Daphne, for those that need to know) atop a concrete culvert cover amidst a color-guard composed of an unused ironing board, and a mildewed duffel-bag (but the nicer kind- made of synthetic blend, with the wheels that don’t really roll, and an extendable handle that’s stuck “in”; not the heavy olive-drab canvas of the pop-culture cliche, found slung across the shoulder of the love-lorn/shell-shocked/long-lost soldier returning home unannounced in a lifetime movie melodrama) discarded haphazardly, and awaiting their diesel-powered trash-truck ferry to the afterlife of moribund things; but serendipitously and surreptitiously it is to be rescued from oblivion by the unexpected happenstance of a passerby passing by distractedly (gone out of his way though he really has no where to go, just somewhere to be, eventually) meandering through town, down alternate roads making his way to a rendezvous with a friend to give them a hand, for a minute, with some chores they’d like to get through before they leave for Atlanta, because he hasn’t seen them recently, and he had nothing better to do.

How many others have passed by the unmapped X, but never saw it for they were so myopic in their missions and goals: rushed and unconscious, on autopilot, en route, to work, or to lunch, to mid-day meetings with clients for paper and gold; How many missed the possibility of adventure passing by, the childish excitement that could unfold, if they had just looked up from their phones and coffees and looked around for signs, untold? How many noticed the slight shimmer of fantasy left sitting by the road, but couldn’t stop because they were in a carpool, they weren’t driving, or just so unimaginative that to believe, for a bit, that a treasure exists outside the storied pages of fairy tales was too much to do, or too much to bear, with a rundown, old soul. Did a child see, with impressionable eyes, the chest of treasure left by a fool, unattended, out in the open (not buried, not even a bit, barely even hidden from view) and instantly wonder, too, just what might be inside? Could it be shimmering, shining jewels, loose and encrusting golden crowns, and goblets, scepters and silver candlesticks, precious oriental silks, or bullion and pirate *****; possibly a magic lamp, or maybe some enchanted tools?! A flying carpet!? Perhaps A Ghost of some grim ghoul. Did they beg a guardian to stop the carriage, but were denied and told, “we have to keep going little one, there’s much to get to that you don’t know. You have to go to school.”
Well, the glimmer caught the eye of one beholder and made them think immediately, “That looks like treasure!”

Indeed!
It did look like treasure: a literal chest, built of heartwood with a carved arch-top, weathered paint, rusted hinges, metal bindings and filigree.

(It was obviously empty of value, scuttled, broken, and relinquished to the refuse heap; However, To one with a limp, and a bad eye, and a deaf ear, brandishing a homeward bound insignia upon his chest and an island luck charm in black ink on his leg, whom you’d easily confuse for a pirate misplaced, you can see how it might seem to warrant an inspection.)

Plus: It’s uncommon to find a treasure chest
in the trash, in this century. Perhaps hope got the best of me; but also I knew its fate was not to be buried under heaps of plastic and rot.

I’ve a friend whose proclivity one could describe as a collector of things, useful and abandoned... but not a “hoarder” like on the television - Unless you count Ariel as such- with all her jetsam, Knick-knacks, thing-a-ma-bobbers, and dreams.

We are “of a kind,” prone to picking up after others, collecting aesthetic driftwood- anthropomorphized or just architecturally interesting, finding faces in fallen leaves, pointing to leaves that look like bugs, picking up bugs dried up like leaves and or sticks and stones and broken bones of small creatures long left rotting, beautifully decaying detritus of modernity - deemed useless; but still WE believe a greater purpose lies within, undefined by its usefulness, to be determined by it’s form Rather than function, appropriated and repaired  or dismantled and “re-crafted” into art, by simplification. Driven by a simple inspiration; To make beautiful decoration.

I pull aside, let traffic pass, circle back, reorient and reclaim this bounty of the proverbial “spring-clean.” Its condition is one of slight disrepair: needs hinges re-attached; but otherwise in fine shape. I collect this treasured trash and return to my path, on course to its new home with my friend to whom I was already bound; But now I come bearing gifts.

His smile was worth the drive and the dumpster-diving and the the whole day.

A gift given is a love lived-in, and a smile
shared with a friend Is love and life for me.

One day
a million miles,
a million years,
a million thoughts,
and a million lessons away,

We'll see one another again
We'll bump into one another on the street
Or Ill drop' my purse
and you'll help me pick it up
or you'll hold the door open
not realizing at first-
the very person-
you are giving favor too
is the one person you owe favor
to the most

and serendipitously,
or auspiciously,
depending on who's
window
you are viewing
this from
your's would be the former
and mine the latter
we meet again.

And this time its sweet
but its aftertaste is
faintly bitter,
as if the ingredients
are just not
quite,
what they should be
because-
in your eyes is the sorrow
and finally the understanding
of the million glimpses of me-
I gave to you,
and how you never really took the
time to appreciate
any single one
and so in this moment
all the things you wished
not to see
became all you could
see

all the little doors
i granted you access to
were blown wide open
in realization
of the we
we could have been
and the
effervescent regret
bubbled beneath your surface
and in what seemed to
be
a last attempt
to access those
hidden pieces of me
you lay the pieces of you
on the cement
in the middle of the street
unknowing-
that those little whispers in the dark
those sparks of veracity
i gave you so swiftly
a lifetime ago
were no longer yours to behold

and in that moment
in the middle of the street
a million miles
a million years
a million thoughts
and a million lessons away,
you looked into the eyes
of what very well could have been
your future
but then I turned away
and looked into the eyes of my future,
a future I never would have
had the chance to find
if I was the the future
you had chose.