Every somnambulist must find alone, a thorny path-
through, encircling hedges of dark night and gloom;
between dreams and reality's abyss, mine has a beacon,
*with my eyes wide shut, I walk toYou, my only flame!

The somnambulist searches
in an insomniac stupor
His glazed eyes
unseeing
he gropes in the darkness
His hands graze fleshen walls
that pulse
as if with subtle breath
Who knows what he seeks
certainly not him
Naked he wanders
clothed only
in a tattered Jolly Roger
skull stained red
caked in dried blood
He longs for something he cannot comprehend
he longs
for the one he lost long ago
Each stumbling step he takes
he sighs
praying in vain
for a hand to reach out
and grasp his
to lead him from his endless maze
of failure
Into a new realm
where darkness dwells in beauty
and love is not an illusion in the hat of a trickster
"This way"
a voice whispers
and he stumbles on blindly
to his doom or to his joy
this is something he cannot know.

Many days I spent running after somnambulist shadows
Which sometimes seems as closer as my heart.
And it sometimes looks stumper and hoax.

The word of thy mysterious gazing at me.
Many times I went to you to ask for.
But I was failed and knee to your stubborn.

Your adamant makes me afar infinite miles from you.
Everything what you have seems ruth to me –
And that ousted me from your heart forever.

Thousand more times I tried to disclose
The meaning of my amorous feelings for you.
Thousand more times I kissed you through the wind.
I don’t know those are reached at you or not.  

I feel you always and all time –
When the blue stars shiver in the distance sky.
When the mid-night wind sings around.
In middle of the night of Spring when leafs fall down.
I can hear your delicate voice always and everywhere.
Though I know in my heart, you’re no longer.

I forgot the Class, Society, Religion, Country and Community.
And I made a drastic mistake.

You are the brainteaser for what all the intellectuals have become somnambulist
Still you are inconclusive;
All the linguists have become asinine
Since the language of your eyes are indecipherable
Every single iota of your heart is a nuclear
And all men are in love with nuclear
When they burst, burst in silent
You are the only cloud
that brings rain in the heart
For you all sins seem Romantic
And all catastrophes are Dramatic
All lovers watch, and remain as a sparrow alone upon the house top.

Sometimes I sleep so **** long
    
  The fabric of my dreams rots around me*

                                             **And im left lying on a cold unforgiving slab of reality.

Balancing whispers in our scales
We exhaled our reason
And spent a lifetime
Immersed in a spiral of pleasure
The grass may seem greener
But only in fair weather
And your mind is a heavy sweater
That you wear sparingly
To cover up the bareness
Of your shoulders

Aquiver mellifluous ineffable hiraeth nefarious somnambulist epoch sonorous serendipitous limerence bombinate luminescence ethereal illicit petrichor iridescent supine aurora solitude syzygy phosphenes oblivion ephemeral incandescence denouement vellichor eloquence defenestration Sondra effervescence cromulent cellar-door debridement

Illustrator icon verdant cerulean aeneous  albicant amaranthine azuline argent chartreuse damask ferruginous  haematic  hyacinthine ibis ochre primrose russet sanguineous virescent mystborn transcendence

Mist told me in her vaporous touch
"Let me dress you in my fine muslin clothes,
though you may find it a cold comfort
my love will endure till sun drives me away"

And sun, strode in donning his warm golden gown,
splashing his sunny voice, he announces,
"Purple, red, golden yellow, as time moves,
choices you have, folks, till i go back with my stock,
mine are silk, the purest for you to luxuriate
unlike with others, my love for planet earth,
is something never fully told, whoever does it "

Ah, then comes the lady clad in sensual black,
with her one powerful color that makes,
none stand out in the line, all are equal in her bed,
dress she gives you have to accept,no choice there,
somnambulist deem it a privilege  wearing it,
those ones that vanish, seek out her winged dress.

The sleet is drawing boxes 'round
our mud-and-snow sashed towns.
We'll check 'em off
                      with crunching footsteps,
slash our gallows grins through static
weather. Nervous laughter fights off winter
while somnambulist nights
                    hold the anthill days at bay.

And each repeated conversation
coats a thrumming undercurrent
echoed by the groaning rivers
in their arthritic fatigue.

     where the ice piles up
              like car wrecks.

And, out of those disastrous angles,
     jumps up and trips back down.
          Blinking eyelids, right then left.
               Sunrises. Sunsets.
Dusks and dawns in places familiar
wading through liminal space.

Circles darkened. Footprints filled in.

The heat just circles lazily.
Our flushed and clammy brows
will **** askance
               and sweat while footsteps
melt our swaying way through boiling
sidewalks. Nervous laughter dulls the impact
of seared, rapid fire nights.
             "Ha." "Ha." Shrug off another.

And all repeated reminiscence
does is hamstring overthinking
of the closing jaws of traps
in these rusting western towns.

        where winds breathe dust
                by mouthfuls

So, into our familiar mishaps,
     ***** up and falls back down
          melting into neighborhoods
               dress down, upbraid us.
'Til our feet do not walk circles
'round these wilting Western towns.

Once upon a time
I am a sleep walker
Somnambulism was
my daily routine
Jogging in the room
With no sense
Everyone who stayed
With me had a wild
Experience
They gonna tell me
The other day about this
Finally I got remedy
I just spell this words
Every night
"No sleep walk baby boy
Don't let this happen again"
Now I am free from
This Sleep walk

I’ve felt like something was wrong with me
for not feeling at all. this flat, heavy indifference
that sits in the pit of my stomach, like whiskey
I haven’t even tasted. so uncomfortable in
this body, this state, like my skin is an
itchy, irritating sweater that I can’t seem
to pull off. I want to feel again. I want
to know what mornings are again. I want
to have this longing for life and experience
that had once made me want to actually
be awake. I’m sleepwalking. constantly
in this blurred phase that makes everything
slower, everything distant. maybe my body
is in shock, protecting me from the flood
of emotions from the empty bedroom you
left behind. maybe this is for the best.

Fell asleep under clouds and I woke up here.
Fell asleep under clouds and I woke up here.
With a timestamp expired under looming storms.
The bleeding Spring never leaves
the rainy shores,
When I only wanna
                         live in the Autumn
of two-thousand-and-twelve--
in the days and the hours
before my guts soured.
when my hollow heart leaked down
                          shaking legs
                   into small town streets
                   and I forgot myself.

In the dregs of my doubts.
In the bouts of a cowardly man
                                unqualified
to carry your baggage
                         from the airport in Billings
to the bottom of my parents' stairs.

You stared hard that night
through the North Dakota Winter
and suburban blight.
November air
chilled my lungs and my breathing stopped.

In my Lillingtons hoodie,
I stood sad and shivering
and watched you drive away
through an assaulting army of falling snowflakes.
                            the last words
                  that you'd say to me were--
the last words that you'd say to me were

"I hope you're happy, you stupid scumbag.
No one will ever love you again."

"I hope you're happy, you ******* scumbag.
No one will ever love you again."

Fell asleep in a glass and I woke up here.
Fell asleep by myself and I woke up here.

1:AM hail run
somnambulist suburbs coo
with ice on wind chimes

The abysm of the unbodied Infinite;
A fathomless zero occupied the world.
A power of fallen boundless self awake
Between the first and the last Nothingness,
Recalling the tenebrous womb from which it came,
Turned from the insoluble mystery of birth
And the tardy process of mortality
And longed to reach its end in vacant Nought.
As in a dark beginning of all things,
A mute featureless semblance of the Unknown
Repeating for ever the unconscious act,
Prolonging for ever the unseeing will,
Cradled the cosmic drowse of ignorant Force
Whose moved creative slumber kindles the suns
And carries our lives in its somnambulist whirl.
                                         --By Sri Auro,Book I,Canto I

This wispy somnambulist
an ethereal spirit no doubt
I bumped in to by chance
on a strange hour at night
during my wanderings
for that unknown essence,
conveyed this, sans words:
"From nowhere I did start,
the journey was what did count
this winding search was my find
have no destination in mind"
I recognized the truth
behind all this;
           quite an arduous trek
I was looking for him
in my perambulations-
all through my life.
We are 'one river' slowing down
as we reach near
the deep blue ocean.

The sundancer is dodging space junk on the moon.
She is daughter of the sun, reason the moon shines.
The view is breathtaking, and so is the vacuum.

Below spin smells of seaweed, wildflower perfume,
but here satellites crush to dust, just alkaline.
The sundancer is dodging space junk on the moon.

There's no air to breathe up here, only fumes;
she sees moons fall into their planets all the time.
The view is breathtaking, and so is the vacuum.

Sundancer somnambulist hears ghosts in her bedroom.
She pulls the tides to her chin, tucked in, and hides.
The sundancer is dodging space junk on the moon.

She dances in dark but keeps a toothbrush in my bathroom.
She is trying to survive.
The view is breathtaking, and so if the vacuum.

She whistles at birds, content in her own volume.
Constellation clustered face, her freckled stars align.
The sundancer is dodging space junk on the moon.
The view is breathtaking, and so are you.

I don't eat no beef
No **** no lamb no swine
Only on the verdurous etch
Doest I within my thine I dine

I don't eat Jellie and sauces slick with ill
Confounded with animal ****

Nor powders and honeys dripping and grime
Spent with the wretch of genocide's time

I don't hunt for game or trophy ****
I don't glorify **** or bile or swill

I don't bow to the customs and conventions of now
Now matter what serve of the demonic a sow

I don't **** my brother or sister for food
It's not blood on my hands that's reddened and hued
So why take the life of an innocent babe?
An animal born here of terrestrial habe?
What for the taste of delicious a flesh?
To accompany sauce Cantonese wan szech?
Or is it to sate gastronomy?
That bloodies the hands of you and me?
That forces the carnivore?
To act the ****** *****?
And ***** an animal innocent and bright
Is this self deified act requite?
What do you proclaim to be?
To ****** an animal's right to be?
A god with insight and power so great?
To forsake your right to heaven with hate?
Or a devil or demon anon?
To justify your sleepy murderous throng?
Or merely a human who follows the lead?
Of our common culture's bane banal creed?
So what is it that drives you to the deed exact?
To cut the throat of creatures in act?
Are you saying that murders ok?
And you'd enact this upon your own whether or may?
If you could knock or whack a human for merely the taste of its flesh?
And not because their discord did not mesh?
With your idea of what justifies life?
And end a being forever of strife?
Is it ok for aliens to prey?
Upon our earthen developments stay?
And enslave our species to sate their gut?
To fawn and feed and slupper and glut?
Because they have a higher IQ?
Or more dextrous fingers with which to hew?
Are you sure you want to be an unthinking one?
Of the masses maraud and to the deed done?
As somnambulist reaching with a laden gun
And end life forthwith no winner or won
Unless you count dinner to the taste of your tongue
Trained since a child to sing the song sung
Of the glory of meat as to salivate and savour
As if bowing to the idea of what will crave ya
Haven't you ever heard of an acquired taste?
Well couldn't we now apply this with grace?

Blink and you miss it
Time is a somnambulist,
Travelling without
Realisation of the
Destination or purpose

Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation

If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation

An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation

Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes

The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent  mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes

Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time

Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.

IN the divine frenzy of that moment,
when they met each other first, as predicted,
she pulled him down over her,for eons together,
on the marble step they just passed each other.
Both froze, trapped in a time wrap,
within a moment as a sculpture in alabaster.

A somnambulist sculpturer,with a wild imagination,
claimed it as his master piece, oblivious of the facts!

The cosmos is only a thought,like a flowing river reaching
to the ocean of eternity, if you would remember.
Every imagination, at a point becomes real, memory,
happenings, gains and loss all look the same as one goes on.
Every one passing the steps up and down, invariably is amazed,
wonder still, who this marble couple are, what story they'd tell.
The circle, is bound to get completed, a million years after,perhaps,
                                                  ­      2
Two butterflies, flying around the sculpture, to see if there is a drop
of nectar anywhere,find it on the lips joined,in a kiss eternal,
as they taste it together, they did remember a day in the life of universe,

A wise silver owl, watching this divine pantomime, flies up,
enlightenment strikes hard;on that zen moment, all fall in place!

The somnambulist son,
to whom dreams come no matter
dusk or dawn
laying in bed awake.
Feeling every tear
on my shoulder shed.
How many have i held?
Tears falling into
skin. Clavicle (for)
acting in retention.
Lachrymal in mention.
Soporific, i cant see it.
Time for the drunks to head home.

As he walks blindly, the somnambulist
deep in his subconscious is awareness why it happens;
loveless nights prompts wanderings in darkness
he can't willfully stop this wild goose chase

i see graves in centrifugally waiting
faces
     of vain.

    mortised to sleep, somnambulist
   of this prickly road,

   i kneel to pick flowers
   and throw them
  onto the face i long for
  understanding my eyes
     my mouth
        my body
          steelwork of soul,

   tossing as if a toast
     to our end-fate afloat
  in a raven's wingtip:

      we are all deaths
         wa
     iti
         ng.

Inside I am somnambulist, busy never still
Shut it, stop it.
Sleep deep. Keep me safe.
A place to be.. Just be.
Round at times, no sharp edges.
Softness, spotless
Inside I am somnambulist.
Sleeping not, unravelled ball.
Messy in there. Don't look.
Take me. Comatose. Out of kilter

Wearing a drab dress, all white,
I see a girl child of about eight
seemingly lost, perhaps left alone to fight
her continuing wars with a callous world,
walking hurriedly all by herself along
a desolate street, that to me seems familiar
yes, it's in the part of the city, once I lived
which always was seen teeming with life
except perhaps in such mystery dreams.

Think of this, don't you in spirit live in many
different places, like hearts of lovers one cherishes
though now one hardly remembers, how
it happened and where it was or how many
different persona constitute, the 'You, you think are You'

Like a somnambulist she walks along  the tree lined street,
I was watching her through a  window set high,
as she passed a young palm laden with coconuts,
and then a strange feeling gripped me and said
"It must be she, standing in this cozy room's warmth
and isn't that I, taking faltering steps along the street,
where she has been never before and don't know
what  awaits her or any other beyond that corner"

Is she a refugee from somewhere, an orphan whom
the world has jettisoned, with nothing to look forward?
An improbable adventurer aged just eight, still
ready to stare a dark, overcast day, on it's face fearless?

I just flew out of the window and was astonished at that feat
and  the speed; who would think I could pull it off?
I flew following her as if fearing for my dear life,
as if she and I have a cryptic connection I forgot,somehow
Where is she?my heart in palpitation,I flow with the wind.

when I think I loose
something goes to places of comfort
a sort of lattice with no edge
thinking is for ******* or simply graduates
my sole solace is to sleep
no waking for a single heap
women are somnambulist
with *** appeal
the brute will inherit the earth just wait and see
or don't
do as you please if you can

I don’t like when Jane leaves the baby’s door open,
But we’re away now. This house is heavy with strangers' history,
It's peeking out of the shaded paths and gardens swollen
With verdure; hinting at the tantalizing possibility of mystery
And restorative power of air, after all, that’s why we’re here

John doesn't believe in fantastic daydreams
(Imagination is a delusion perpetuated by fools)
John says we are sleeping in the nursery for its sunbeams
But there are bars on the windows like metal rules
And it is papered in a grotesque sin of undulating chaos

It inhabits me, twirling dreadful arabesques behind my eyes
    Momentarily.
Many yellowed
                Almost, not quite, dead
It grows within me
  Dis-
        -tending my belly
No no no

This air will do me good.

I move as a somnambulist through the morning
Succumbing to sleep in the afternoon
       (Moonlight brings the amber insomnia of the walls
                    Bends my eyes from sleep)
But it is nothing. Merely my own laziness. A hysterical tendency.
Really.
shhh..

SULFUR
   Color
SULFUR
   Scent
In my (inhale) lungs and
(Shoulder to the wall, follow) on my clothes
Proptotic eyes leering from crooked necks
Carious fingers reaching into-

Fireworks on the forth of July and me,
with the docile vengeance of a failed mother
Writing with the frantic purpose of a bumblebee,
…If a bumblebee was splitting
in two

    two layers of the wall
         One mutating concentric fungal prison
         One captive-her?
(Her that creeps, her that inhabits [me] the wall)

I am tired.
    But I must find the origin. Pattern. Meaning.
           I know it holds someone.some memory
Hidden

My shoulder is covered in yellow pigment
My knees hurt
(faded band following the baseboard
pressure of a shoulder in orbit)

            She hides, but she is mine
She who-I who shake the wallpaper-
SHE shakes the wallpaper in moonlight
I who shake the wallpaper
I who T
E
     A
         R
with teeth and claws
my prison from the wall
I who creep beneath the paper
           (crept behind the paper)
    FREE
           OF-
John
oh,

J
O
H
N

You're in my way.