In the midst of sea, we scream
Where are humans?
Where are super humans?
None to respond to our desperate scream,

In the midst of a sea, we are
A deserted island
One that can most likely be submerged or
Reach shores unlikely
By the events, we remain helpless
Being human less and with inhumanness



We, at the brink of death & last inch of hope
Expect miracles and wonders
Nature fails us
Kills our expectations, fills more sorrow

Nature fills our body with
Slow approaching death,
We remain as a secluded mass of useless disposed waste,
On a world that has a place for all the flora & fauna


Modern nations-the epitomes of peace
Wash their hands away remain
A hopeless, useless, helpless puppet

Ostracized from our ancestral land
Vehemently opposed and reluctantly accepted
We remain a displaced alien
In their eyes.

There are nations,
But where are humans? Where are humans?

A hope puts us to survive,
Where we leave a message,
As we get back to the graves.

We send the waves of final message; we fall,
Not as a disposed waste,
But as a Phoenix that falls as a nutrition,
For the soil,
To revive an infinite and eternal humanity
That stands tall as an undestroyable banyan tree
Unshakable on any crises

For humanity, we give ourselves
As dare-doers and daring self-killers.
Let's harvest the human hearts
With the ever rising flames
And give back
Our future generations the homes.
We lost and dreams we wished

With a thin ray of distant hope,
We dream to give our future generations
A world that has no,
Hopelessness of being helpless.
We assert
We are helpless, but not hopeless

Unfaded love from ages past
It is time to let go at last, at last
Make is so my heart stops burning
For pleasure it is yearning, yearning

Faded happiness, lost years ago
Weights my soul, it feels so low, so low
You gave up and I let you go

We were dead wrong
And now I'm dead gone.

before it falls i dilate
with electric scent, spine-hairs
string her possibilities as kites
to tug my summon ground--
lilt, wave and spiral
distant mischief to a head.
i rumble on the vista, far, and,
on occasion of a social clearing hum,
chance aloneness on a hill
to watch the herald lake and trees, nets
secure themselves as emblems to my storied lust.
apsara, i
breathe you in in strokes
submit unconscious rhythm of imaginal delights
made real to last beyond experience of time
descended of the clouds
sea rich, heavy, sultry
you unroll an atmospheric fate:
my lust to span the sky, irrupt an earthen,
orgiastic zenith of all things--burst fantastic quell
in pale continuum your pedestal allays

floating hair as long as frantic overcast
horizon length
and indistinct of rain..
green, blue continents of eyes, mists
suspend ecstatic sway
in areolae breeze,
my hands the brimming cups
to gather, spill
bright ****** drops
into the signal essence rising,
center rhythm of a liquid bounce
that shines in belly-button crescent moon--
each gust a lapping of the sky-clad ache of moonlit summer leaves,
another sudden adolescence lost and gained--
falls on me, dripping
legs to wrap and draw in
every ***** blade of grass--
saturate the lingam i am living in--
enveloped in vaginal dance of pressure
pulling on the earth i am
an arching back
and skyward ******

begun before a time historians belie
wind genie, yoni,
full of all i ever willed..
how rare appearance has to be,
knowing you unique
to whimsically revise
your lightning shape akin
exotic form to fit my changing own
and yet you don't exist, my eyebrow says
between horizon-cracks
and patter of the gale--
bolts to spread dark syrup
through my veins..
i am intent on having you
to let you have me as your first and last
--being young
i am intent on twining my virginity to you,
to pierce my own hymenal dome--
slick with yearning, thundering
in moan across the hills and puddled tennis courts
undulating to my concord whim
your rivuletted ***** of the gods, goddesses --gulped between inhaling--
eyes that roll pineal
genesis denuded of a crime, apparel
gone insane delight
of endless tempest ***--
the purge cascades a vacuum in each vessel..
limp on writhing grass
euphoric in a space of never having been

what soul i have
her visitation marked--
with gridless memories unfaded by the games a decade
striates on the mind. i made
her more than what my way would make of her
and less for what my symbols lose;
i call her muse,
and forfeit right to call her anything again.
i am the burning key and lock
our chastity attained and lost
in vaporous blurring of all stars
rewinking in the gossamer above






.

helplessly, I watched
the sun set before
it even rose,
dewdrops faded
like vulnerable dawn
afraid of the noon
that never came...

yet, why do I feel lost
amongst sweet dream,
oblivion in your arms
and forgotten
amongst my a forever
once promised?

you were a mirage
but the heartache you left
was real and hurting...
you left hope hopeless
still I am a believer;
my scars your reminder.

Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.

No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.

Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:—
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!

Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion’s feverish dreams.

For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;
But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.

Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain’s earliest dawn:
Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil
Of nature was withdrawn!

Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;
Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.

And not unhallowed was the page
By wingèd Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;
Love listening while the Lesbian Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own æolian lute.

O ye, who patiently explore
The wreck of Herculanean lore,
What rapture! could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unroll
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides.

That were, indeed, a genuine birth
Of poesy; a bursting forth
Of genius from the dust:
What Horace gloried to behold,
What Maro loved, shall we enfold?
Can haughty Time be just!

The shell of objects inwardly consumed
Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes;
Such sense hath Fire to waste the heart of things,
Nature, such love to hold the form she makes.
Thus, wasted joys will show their early bloom,
Yet crumble at the breath of a caress;
The golden fruitage hides the scathèd bough,
****** it, thou scatterest wide its emptiness.
For pleasure bidden, I went forth last night
To where, thick hung, the festal torches gleamed;
Here were the flowers, the music, as of old,
Almost the very olden time it seemed.
For one with cheek unfaded, (though he brings
My buried brothers to me, in his look,)
Said, 'Will you dance?' At the accustomed words
I gave my hand, the old position took.
Sound, gladsome measure! at whose bidding once
I felt the flush of pleasure to my brow,
While my soul shook the burthen of the flesh,
And in its young pride said, 'Lie lightly thou!'

Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
My breast against the golden waves of sound,
I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,
Mocking fatigue, that never could be found.

Chide not,--it was not vanity, nor sense,
(The brutish scorn such vaporous delight,)
But Nature, cadencing her joy of strength
To the harmonious limits of her right.

She gave her impulse to the dancing Hours,
To winds that sweep, to stars that noiseless turn;
She marked the measure rapid hearts must keep
Devised each pace that glancing feet should learn.

And sure, that prodigal o'erflow of life,
Unvow'd as yet to family or state,
Sweet sounds, white garments, flowery coronals
Make holy, in the pageant of our fate.

Sound, measure! but to stir my heart no more--
For, as I moved to join the dizzy race,
My youth fell from me; all its blooms were gone,
And others showed them, smiling, in my face.

Faintly I met the shock of circling forms
Linked each to other, Fashion's galley-slaves,
Dream-wondering, like an unaccustomed ghost
That starts, surprised, to stumble over graves.

For graves were 'neath my feet, whose placid masks
Smiled out upon my folly mournfully,
While all the host of the departed said,
'Tread lightly--thou art ashes, even as we.'

It's the smells,
The woody, earthy laden lift in the air.
A scent guilded in memories of twigs breaking under feet,
As I walk to the One Stop with my dad,
Wet, amber leaves stuck to his holey shoes,
The air is damp and unfaded, but lightly coated in the smoke from his roll up.

The smell,
More floral now,
Warm, heavy rain drip dropping onto vast leaves in Mexico,
The floor drier and peppery compared to it's English cousin,
My eyes locked onto the stars through pointed dancing clouds,
As if the sky has been dipped in glitter and laid out to dry in the jungle.

And now its moss,
Moss and pine and your hair.
It's both of us gazing through the foliage to catch the eye of a bird,
Our fingers brushing and clinging,
I can feel my mouth lift,
As you pull me towards your nose,
And whisper 'I love us.',
We walk,
Warm in one another's stories,
With wet socks,
And pink cheeks,
We inhabit the trees.

Speak of the arrows which collapse unfaded through the gates of gated gratuities
Expansive perpetuity
Leading to the loose leaf paper falling from empty trees in the dead of an autumnal night
Moonlight,
Clouded contact lenses

Mills billowing, malls bellowing
"Open for busy-ness! Open for busy-ness!"

Unzipping jackets with a smile that says
"From the ends of endings, I have always begun with an eternal grin while you slept on my knees and I dreamed of things smaller than the precipice of the period at the end of this sentence."

This never loved that
And that never loved this
Because they soon discovered 'This' was not this, and 'That' was not that
They were all There together, and discovered an 8 kicked sideways was an honesty beyond promises
And angrily, I remember wondering what had ever come over the all of us that wanted nothing more to do with anger

Had we stormed off in all directions, reading to seek in veins for a blood that was unfounded in the deadly hallows of happy mathematics?
Or were we simply throwing words together in the hopes of sounding surreal?

Sometimes I feel psuedo when I write, when I know I'm quite as real as anyone else.
I just need to struggle with the words more honestly, I suppose.

Perhaps I need to struggle more honestly with myself.
As Kerouac said,
“My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it's bound to be a waste of time in the end so you might as well go mad.”

I need to go mad.

I need to quit my job and be here and all over here without a worry for the ideas
Yesterday, tomorrow
It is only ever today.

It doesn't need to make sense. It doesn't need to oblige my mother and father with a proper philosophical argument as to why I want to be here, because all they've ever been is 'there,' with the best intentions at heart I know, but without ever coming back down to Earth and letting their worries waft away like the smell of fresh, metallic rain during the Ides of March.

They failed the exam of the lilies which did not accept the parental "this is the way it is."
It is only the way it is because we are too cowardly to endorse our wildest dreams.

We do not wish upon stars, and if we do, it is because we wish upon those stars to help us get out of there, when all we have to do to escape there is to be here like a sudden clash of thunder upon a bobby-pin that has been pricked into the arm out of an innocent curiosity which all the There-Afters would call strange, while the Here-Nows would smile and nod at such beautiful sincerity.

At such pristine reality.

All the logical arguments my father confers upon me during our Grand Cosmic Debates always feel gently serious. He does not wish to convert me, nor to convince me.

He simply tries to pull me gently back into his reality, which sits reinforced by the rest of the global nay-sayers and There-Afters.

Why is it that my parents never had the courage to go mad?

Why was it nothing but a literary curiosity to them?

Why do they still continue to believe that one cannot simply run off into the sunset with a cosmic sense of reckless abandon?


The human race is nothing but a grand conviction.
The words themselves look to say, "Now, here here young one! You are a part of our great label. You owe us. We have been measuring since the day of your birth."
It's like we are born, and hopped through hoops until satisfaction meets the empty stomach to tell it that it must be full. So we struggle to fill, but it always becomes empty again. We seek to devour and consume and listen to the creased minds of our parents as they confer to us their common notion of sense which truly senses nothing beyond nonsense.

All of this makes me feel like I'm jogging on a sidewalk of soap.

And I'm sleepy.

We all work too hard, even when we're not at work.

We feel the affluenzic pull of occupation.

Not because we occupy our occupations,
but because our occupations occupy us.

I am a Cosmic Hobbyist

For the infinite round of nowever and always again.

There is a wonder I have of creatures
The sky is ridden with stars
Can they see them?
And do they wonder and awe at the dots on what should be a blank sky

There is a wonder I have of mine
Is their dreaming before the dawn of time?
Are we dreaming in utero?
Who created our dreams?
Was there ever a time we did not exist
Is the past but a figment?

Oh! mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos.
    VIRGIL.

Ye scenes of my childhood, whose lov’d recollection
  Embitters the present, compar’d with the past;
Where science first dawn’d on the powers of reflection,
  And friendships were form’d, too romantic to last;

Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace the resemblance
  Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied;
How welcome to me your ne’er fading remembrance,
  Which rests in the *****, though hope is deny’d!

Again I revisit the hills where we sported,
  The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought;
The school where, loud warn’d by the bell, we resorted,
  To pore o’er the precepts by Pedagogues taught.

Again I behold where for hours I have ponder’d,
  As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander’d,
  To catch the last gleam of the sun’s setting ray.

I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
  Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o’erthrown;
While, to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
  I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone.

Or, as Lear, I pour’d forth the deep imprecation,
  By my daughters, of kingdom and reason depriv’d;
Till, fir’d by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
  I regarded myself as a Garrick reviv’d.

Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
  Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
Though sad and deserted, I ne’er can forget you:
  Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.

To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
  While Fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since Darkness o’ershadows the prospect before me,
  More dear is the beam of the past to my soul!

But if, through the course of the years which await me,
  Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
  “Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.”

The neon kisses the sidewalk below embracing strangers as they pass
in all directions none seem towards home.
***** sidewalks and the slums splendor Im a gatekeeper of despair and hard
luck just living for the bells chime to echo from the counter.

Drunks and ****** gather within my confines the outcasts of the night my people
seldom will I ever know more than a signature upon the page.
Moths drawn together attaracted by neon light.
Tommorows not a promise so embrace feeling and grow numb in reflex for now.


Are we not twisted from exposher numb from the streets brutal truth?
I count the hours a television for companion a bottle a often short staying vistor
who's welcome till the hangover's regret.

Some pills to drive my thoughts and a fresh *** of coffee to fuel my engine
tIme kills even the most unfaded of us all.
And through the night they gather some to escape the cold others for a quick escape
or fast **** to forget as if in a Halloween costume soon they'll return to there true act
of a life.

Embrace as lover's when there nothing more than roomates hey kids were doing great
you coming home for Christmas this year?
And so they like well trained actors reprise there roles.

But i see there mess allnight I collect the rejects nothing more but fragments
glass that reflect what they wish could never be.
If only we could rewind.
But life's highway cant be retraced so on we roll.

I  collect there money and take down there names the keeper of memories
tattered wings fly none the less.
As for the women the far away stares are but shared thoughts of a misery
more bitter we drink from the same passed down glass.

Some things just don't have to be said to be understood.
The nights my watch my vices fuel me for yet another round.
the neon signs my beacon And the moths glide to flame with the turning of the switch.

Were all ****** up but seldom can some show the flaws .
I embrace them unspoken please sign here.
Tommorows walk we'll pretend to not see for we all need to feel
invisible sometIme.

The end of my shift bids farewell to my collected chaos tired we've become in constant
recollection the light is off for now.

Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess
Boy, you’ve been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down
                                                           ­                    John Lennon

A carnal muse and fallen sprite
I’ll paint for you, in flattering light.
My model’s sensuality
Shall trump all dull reality;
Inspired by Womankind’s raw truth,
Life-drawing class heats up, uncouth.
Still, I am sure some stiff-necked *****
Shall smear my heartfelt lay as lewd.

Edenic exile sought by men,
Receive this tribute from my pen
And keyboard, played inexpertly
By one who knows you rapturously
As a muse of Aztec/Latin race
Prodigious in your works and grace:

Born Ruth Ayon, in God-Knows-Where,
She overwhelms in underwear—
And shedding that, turns good men bad,
Makes angels fall and gods go mad.
Los Angeles (and that’s the joke)
Is where this cherub went for broke
Cashing in her soul for action,
Soreness, ***** and tumefaction.

Laurie Vargas, mouth full of ***,
Spread for us now your Aztec ***
Your sultry contours hypnotize;
The laughter in your ******* eyes
Brings music from Tenochtitlán
And opens windows to Aztlán
You smile, unlike those other *****
Who merely grimace. Gringa butts
Are less audacious than your own . . .
Their charms are better left unknown.
Your cheeks in tan proportion shine
Embodying some rare truth divine.
(Through Poetry, I’ll make them mine.)

I must speak forth of what I found—
Though standing on unholy ground,
Here I behold your lively art . . .
Your unpierced flesh has lanced my heart.
Whereas most stars are tattooed, jaded
Your bright aspect shines, unfaded.
Clad in campesina thread
While moaning on your torrid bed,
Adorned in homespun broidered blouse
In some vaquero‘s rancho-house
Or naked as Mexica dawn,
Bespattered like a dewdropped lawn,
Spurting with some panting plumber
In an endless *****-summer,
You glow, like honey dipped in light
And undulating Latin night.
Your burning bush, much-trafficked place,
Recalls the Red Sea’s parted space
No less than your beatific face.

An unrepentant Magdalene,
You plunge into each graphic scene.
Madonna of the varied act
You swell, engorge, dilate, contract
And play the part with crazy wit
Suckling madly at your own ***.
The way you can accommodate
What barely seems to satiate
With pure abandon, leaves us awed,
As mesmerized, your name we laud,
(With one hand—harder to applaud !)

Will you survive to have regrets
When raw desire no longer gets
Your body hot with inner flame?
When *** has ceased to call your name?
I wonder if you’ve found such paths
Of flesh and pimping sociopaths
A route to riches, gain, and pleasure
Or mere sacking of your treasure.
At the end of your sweaty day,
Is there more than a harlot’s pay?

I wish you well—and hope in time,
When life has left you less sublime,
You’ll find your way to God through Christ
And learn of what was sacrificed
To free you from your sordid fame
Where sinners hail your glorious shame.

To wish for love, to be brand new
to dismiss each tongue as untrue,
No pleasures likeness should make move
To live with me, and I thy love.

Time drives the flocks yet I the field;
Adroit with cloth, the cold we shield.
The Nightingales again can sing
For Tereus no more's thy king.

The wilted roses I'd replace
To wake upon thy winters face
And see thy morning smile creep
Mine eyes subside but soon shall sleep.

Though no longer, we once were young
And cared for things that now are dumb
Like fine flowers referencing fires
Or the fading of all desires.

I once saw you and burned inside
When the strength of youth did reside;
No pleasure of youth could you approve,
Nor living with me thy heart move.

I see you now Unfaded Nymph
And mine own heart as young unstiff,
But no pleasure shared would make move
To live with me, would life improve?

As the Northern winds let loose
My thoughts they turn to you
The mystery to my moments
My cool September blue

You left a trail of flowers
I wish to follow and pursue
You left memories unfaded
My cool September blue

You kissed me in the season
Held me in the dawn of truth
Thawed the chill of reason
Turned my senses loose

The furnace of my heart
Cannot warm me now
I shudder, chasing my thoughts
As they chase your ghost somehow

Leaving me momentarily breathless
Without a summers clue
Hoping to find you in time
My cool September blue

I know you'll come again
And bring a brighter hue
But for now, I stare in silence
My cool September blue

Break the glass encased around
Hear the loud crashing sound
See amidst the shards you've found
Is a secret long since forgotten

Read the words upon the scroll
Etched in ink derived from soul
From half of one which once was whole
Thrown into bottomless sea

Pass each letter with your gaze
See this love, a trivial maze
Unfaded by a undaunting phrase
Oh sweet love, return again

these cold nights,I was with you.
these cold nights,I spent my time talking to you.
these cold nights,you were here.
tell me,you'll come back.
tell me you feel the same way.
I'll be waiting for you if you ever come back.
still,even in these cold nights,i still miss you.
during these cold nights i wish to spend them with you.
during these cold nights,i wish you'd be here.
I wish you'd tell me you'll come back.
And i wish you'd tell me you felt the same way all along.
If not,then you remain my unfaded memory that still burns in the back of my mind.

He held my face and lingered
Eyes like the stormy seas
As if I could see into the world
Where he and I are free
And the sky lit up with clouds
Where love overcomes death
His face unfaded like the sun
For what is lost are only feelings
Moved by the wind unsung

died without knowing the truth of what happened.
the past unforgiven and never again forgotten.
memories lost are now found.
no justice in a world that is round.
a sadistic amnesia with repair to the damaged mind.
my heart breaks with what I find.
remembering a soul mate too late.
when it mattered the most.
I now stalk his ghost.
a bodyguard untrusting.
a sickness was lusting.
evidence remembered but undiscovered.
a last will and testament in the wrong hands.
npg was his band and 3rdeyedgirl became his new world.
he found me when I could not remember.
after he died my memory returned.
my heart cracked and burned.
his essence cremated.
his assets debated.
his legend unfaded.
my soul forever waited.
a destiny outdated.
an image unhated.
a body degraded.
now extinguished.
pure intentions never mentioned.
to bring him back a miracle I wished.
I would give anything to make true.
to restore his life new.
so together we can be two.

Do you ever cry for things long past?
For some things you miss,
And times that wouldn't last?

Do you ever wish for memories,
Those days of joy and bliss,
To return again with ease?

Do you ever weep for loved ones gone?
For words said in haste
That can't be withdrawn?

Do you ever hear their falling tears?
Flowing free and unrestrained,
Unfaded through all these years?

Do you ever seek forgiveness pure?
Having brought what they've faced
And been made to endure?

Do you ever wish to apologize?
Show love unfeigned?
And dry tear soaked eyes?

Do you feel that love inside you grow?
Wanting nothing more
Than to ensure they know?

And in joyous embrace felt through skin to the core,
See that love in THEIR face,
And NEW memories in store

©Neil F.  9-30-2013

Your black, charcoal eyes
Enchantingly hypnotic
Like dreamy autumn kiss
On my skin
Ignite my unfaded passion

Vast Winter I have you
Under cloud and sullen skies
Revolving endless loss - Life
                               Closed utterly

Over impressions of Summer
Like faded ancestral footprints
In arid and dry wilderness - Choked
                               We breathe
And turn rested on past horizons,
Sure memory poised and pressed
Unfaded prints as fresh as yesterday;

The aching of soft sorrow
Peels the ever intruding smile.

Morning commences with the friendly clink of
cups, sitting beside the tea cosy-clad kettle,
Fresh, calming fragrance of warm tea nudging at
My just-awakened senses, a little unsettled,

My favorite ghazal colors the background,
The record though scratchy, its influence unfaded;
Abida Khanum mellowly croons, urging her lover
to not insist on leaving that day.

I smell, instinctively, the red rose he hands me,
The same rose had traced my skin in the dark
The missing petals testimony to its journey
Over troughs and crests, marks and landmarks.

What is so utterly, heartwarmingly romantic
about something as simple as him spreading
butter on bread, mixing sugar in chai,
what makes his 'routine', for me so endearing?

He watches me eat, breaks into a smile so wide,
'How do you enchant me, even with the mundane?'
he asks, same question amusing us both,
Same passion coursing through our veins.

The poetess inside me, happily chuckles,
Of being the one expressive, of solely giving away-
Are the days of the past, as breakfast in bed
Becomes our way of Give and Take

The yellow taciturn
highlights of your room
The glistening of your crystal eyes
Snow globe domicile
Star studded decorum
Infinity unfaded in
the ribbon of our embrace
Recurring dreams of
our hypothetical life together.
And dreams apart.
Seperate our bodies but
not our souls nor our hearts.

I need you to understand my silence
not my eloquent words of wisdom
not my mountain of intellect
not my impactful insights on the world
not my ability to introspect.
I know not of these things.

I need you to understand my existence
what exists in me through my experience
carrying loved ones
unfaded
persistent
optimistic
consistent
hope.

It was a day like today
Thursday winds and blues
when I was ushered
on the volcanic soil

It was a day like yesterday
Wednesday lights and blooms
when I prepared to leave the womb
and touch the web of the world

The disconnect from the placenta
was the start of the absentness
inquisitive of this voyage
the forgone past I left

For what karma should I learn?
in a world that I am perceived
as weird and out of control
who can teach me to be?

For what karma should I learn?
as a non conformist creature
one who can't acquiesce
in this inauthentic existence

It was a day like today
A Thursday of torrential rain
When I felt the pain of the world
the unfaded tears of the masses

It was a day like tomorrow
A Friday of hope and love
when I long to make a difference
Fuel my being with zest and joy

Strings sharpen the plane of my words
Psalms heaves as the knife cut my words
These blades shall never hurt me anymore
These blades are the weapon of the unsuffered

Once I locked the heart within a flame
Turns and meanders of the fearless and lame
These blades shall never hurt me anymore
These blades are the weapon of the unsuffered

Angels whispers of the undue fortunes
As tears billow in the depths of the tunes
These blades shall never hurt me anymore
These blades are the weapon of the unsuffered

The rhythm cuts me in halves under troughs
Diced under the authority of dragons
These blades shall never hurt me anymore
These blades are the weapon of the unsuffered

Here I am once again, overturned all latches
Words once again over unfaded skins
These blades shall never hurt me anymore
These blades are the weapon of the unsuffered

In the absence of noise where the
voice of the inner soul rattles
Burried in pain as the world's foot
rests on your crumbling life
An innocent soul trembling yet
stumbling through a dilapidated life
long journey
À stormy hope rushing along with
the unflinching faith
À bigger picture unfaded and a
vivid figure appears in the absence
of fear
As the tables turn and the world
becomes your footstool
in lack of answers when your
intelligence is caught in an empty
box
The nothing box that stops the
sound of music and turns the heart
beat loud
In fear of what the future may
bring
Peace and harmorny is found in a
step at a time

In a dusty room, dark, in your heart’s blindspot, right there, behind the fold...

there sits

The untiring, my untying, a flame, fatal, that preys, pierces, pulls and dances down...

down, go down, then see the smoldering and  flowered flame... a fire that passes into once humbled hearts, stuttering till it shoots, straight to a shop work and sunken soul, it presses, presses, push into paste, now all to ash... with ash it chokes, with ash that never ask if it may that blind you... I cough when I remember your scent, choking... choking, choking, bound and blue by all those that dare not defend, those that dare to pretend that they could haunt like you,

haunted damnation  , when I dare to dream that diurnal oasis daydream...

daydream illusions, illusory in that final form, fill up the day, flicker flame, flicker unfaded forever more, moreover may we emerge, emerge again, each day resilient, always arisen, rising again and again unbroken; unbroken and unbound as the spherical shadow sits against an aged and golden summer sky...

hold, held now, the grip, that grip, a grip of a million thoughts, the grip of a gaggle of lunatics; the lunacy of those madmen screaming, maniacal men with their long claws...

“Come now”, I pull, pull away, scratched but unsullied, away with my tense and tethered thoughts, thoughts of a woman; where is she?

“oh woman, woman of pure and pallid beauty; tell me of tomorrow, pretend to portend, promise me it is there burning so still inside you”...

still, still I stood, stood inside that stillness, so sullen and so clear eyed in the realization that, I would eye a thousand faces just to see you...

you, you stole, stole the thunder, and laughed at lightning, with your hips held down, writhing when I witnessed, witnessed and watched you with a holy cutting cold glance, insisting i ”hurt you in a good way”, pleading for more, in the sacramental haze of an eternal disorder...

now willow, wisp, widen, wake and open my once violent, violet, and envied eyes... because I, I was empty, emptied and forever falling, into the gravity of you, you and your irises aflame pulling me hard like 10,000 planets, each with 10,000 suns, sparked when I saw you stroll so serpentine in red *******...

pull, pull back now drawn, drawn in and dripped like warm candle wax... down, down, do it, dance away like those storied flames, for martyrs mind not the Solomon sacrifice of the final flame’s immolation ...

naive, naive as the spring, naive as children caught in an illusory and smokey future... the churlish, chided, child’s lament, lamenting now those souls, our souls, souls sewn cold, souls once so elusive...

trapped in a vacuum

a souls will burn until extinguished... go, gone, gone, unable to burn, to blast a fire, for in a furnace, a furnace gone cold, it’s where we are found **forever jealous of the once animated, deoxygenated unheated and hateful heart

There’s something in your magnetism. I’d love to find that out.
Maybe some other day, my love, or should I say not?
Because today I’m not in the mood.
I’ll need a good wash, a lonely walk and a snack
Perhaps some thoughts of happiness to invade my head
And conquer my horizon.

There’s something in your pull that stops time in its tracks.
It keeps past at bay with all the unfaded memories.
May them strangle my future,
Or take it charmingly astray
Along the lines of gross idealism.
I hope I stay not here.

There’s something in it, I can tell.
Whatever, how far, or how many moments whizzed by.
The hold of your gaze was meant to pierce through.
All the rules and casts we put ourselves in.
Yours, my love, or should I say not?
Was the only iron lung I look forward to.