I am the falling out, no doubt and no doubt I fall away
From favored hands and favored eyes that once held Cupid's gaze
A host of a former heaven that landed upon the ***** ground
A person who is always there, but never can be found

My heart has gone unstruck and unstruck I fear it will keep
For I dug into my heart a hole that was six-feet deep
So here I am buried in myself simply because you never came
And I must pull myself out while dealing with the shame

So I will stand with depth in hand and hand in the depths of my soul
Holding on not to things gone wrong, but making my half whole
With unflinching determination I will rise from misery
And find the love that Cupid seems to have denied me

During the day and all night long
I am hearing a very peculiar song.

There's unstruck music much like an infinite melody
resonating inside my head; an enchanting symphony.

It has no real tune or beat which one can recognise
only by hearing it then as all else is a compromise.

In silence and solitude it's usually heard without end
an invisible companion and sweetly sounding friend.

If one is listening intently and endeavours to get to its source,
can hear one finer sound inside another, which is not by force.

Who can rightly say from where it comes and where it does go?  
perhaps only a true mystic has the knowledge or ability to show.

With practical wisdom and a clear spiritual insight
by his grace and advice can lead one into the light.

Until, at last, reaching that inclusive shore of infinite silence
which the experience of there being is a permanent abidance.

Could this be the long lost legendary music of the spheres?
that few people of times past underwent the trouble to hear.

And when it’s continually heard confers many an untold blessing
the likes of which most people now would not even be guessing.

Should I comminate my enemies,
Or simply,
Educate those who are kin to me
Its sad to say
most of my elders aren't men to me
Don't take offense,
It's not directed towards anyone individually
But I'm Ashamed to say
most of my people aren't strong mentally
We remain in our chains even tho we appear free.
Enslaved since birth my rights were stripped from me.
Tho, I came up chasing knowledge,
I knew the truth was the key
Way before college
I learned the universe went from
zero to infinity
About zero point energy
And the truth they shroud
Surrounding this melanin
Multiplying my energy
Never dare to hide  
I don't wish for invisibility
So I see  the countenance of  
These racist faces filled with envy
Strong Black Man,
Convict even if I'm proven innocent
You can't say that makes me Militant
Just wondering why I was born here
and have less rights than immigrants.
In a sense,
I can't make it in Amerikkka,
Regardless of my diligence.
Just have to go where my destiny sends me
I know my soul is immortal
so these cowards could never end me
All my life I had to fight
Its the Will of Fire within me.
Tongue sharp as a knife  
I can feel the spirit shield me.
So I keep my boots on Mother Earth
I'll forever war for her.
I try to keep my chakras in sync,
But may disrespect you
If you accept the lies they wrote in ink.
We are the original people,
Our ancestors were Kings & Queens
Yes you I,
Even though as blacks we're only expected to die
Royalty is in our DNA,
not just in our dreams.
We've been empowered longer than enslaved
things are never what they seem.
Wait I forgot,
You were distracted by the love of green.
No not Anahata, I'm unstruck
I don't know if I'm living,
Due to dumb luck,
Or this Old Soul effecting my conduct.
Let me induct you into enlightenment
Active your pineal gland like lightning
Teach you about the astral
its oh so exciting
Tho this all begins with you my child
Please don't be frightened.

like a dragon your breath lingers on my face
i inhale sweet scents of cinnamon and turmeric
the sweat of the days labor
the ecstasy of savoring our good natures
beauty resides in chambers of the mind
i decline accepting favors from neighbors with grudges
and axes to grind
and sharpen my own knives against the silver blades of time
in snowfall the descent of vision is secondary to the suspension of gravity
and love has risen like reverse lightning
hungering for its return to the starry eyed sorcerers
selected from the mantle of antler wearing shamans
the nativity is blind as a blonde from Wisconsin
sonorous dulcimers depart for the auto-tune convention
sing your limits like you spring for chicken dinners
impossible symphonies, silent epiphanies
facsimiles of days spent wading through carpool lanes
with tiny elephants dressed in swimming trunks

Out of the depths I cry to thee...*

wake into difficulty
from lovely sleep
of night's negation

to news from the
bird world sung
and insects that know

what finds its way
early into this
familiar room

two of gloom mornings
in glued sequence

sunrise of grey
clouds scudding

of light opaline
through windows
diffused

are windows only
worlds of open

is rain a form
of loss

and truth but
power moving

all melts and
can be replaced

the soul sinks

a day of grey
makes a day
of blues

death spiral
         of the spirit

when did I
become so weak
against the intractable
what is of daybreak

cruel the new has
become

and terrifying
and
continual effort

time not a friend
as clocks threaten
actions untaken

the mereness
of mortality
disappoints

sand mostly gone
to the final
hourglass' bottom

distance incomprehensible
away a way which way

each day a fainter path

fading notes of
unstruck chords

save me from

this cruel unwritten
poem of morning

this syntax of unbidden
meteorology

oh lift me up
and desire
make young

break my human fall

beauty and joy
cannot be sundered

we live by grace
or not at all

allow me survive
what must arrive

for every broken
poety fool

that famous final
Day of Decide

kyphosis/hunchback--basket of abandon, made

stronger than a dozen shadows of men.

mustachio bushel eyebrow covering his left eye,

a bloaty flap of toad-warts covering his

right eye.

palsied arms clamped at his sides--like a chick's

wings embossed in yolk, draggy right foot trailing him.

Quasimodo: 'half made'--to swing from thickly fibrous

ropes & land on musty planks.

swinging/sliding/climbing, up & down, man to creature--

creature to man...in the attic of housed worship.

made deaf by the struck-unstruck sounds of Notre Dame's

bells, cathedral that gave him ears to hear.

of which he named each, each a heroine of the belltower.

made King of Fools by the townspeople during festivity--

crowned & propped up on a third-hand thrown.

stealing away a crowd throwing currency in a gypsy

goddess' tambourine: Esmerelda, whose proceeds went

to the: King of Thieves.

not long after Quasimodo/Hunchback is accosted with

rotted vegetables by the townspeople as he's led to the

public square.

after blindly following orders to abduct a certain gypsy

by the archdeacon.

where he's bound to a rotating pillory & flogged thirty times.

Esmeralda mounts the pillory and pours water from a leathery

flask into his mouth, as he called for it crooked-faced, the jutting

topples of sparse--but hard in the yellow of teeth.

amid bloodlust catcalls that already drenched the pasture-green

rags of his shirt.

his surrogate Father, archdeacon: Claude Frollo, the one that

first reached into a basket to coddle abandonment--as to invest

in afterworld treasures...rebreaks the bones of fifteenth century

sacrilege into covetous place.

whose unanesthetized voices escape from the mouths of Quasimodo

& Esmeralda.

whom the Hunchback rescued from the gallows, citing sanctuary

by church decree, after being falsely accused of murdering

Captain Phoebus.

a philandering standby of integrity, that saw Esmeralda's

eyes follow & fall for the span of his sword, all the wooded

babes of her marital hopes--dashed.

followed up by the sped blackening of the archdeacon's

hooded robe, ripping open the door of jealousy he spied thru.

an almost unbroken motion of forced entry, & ****** of blade

into Captain Phoebus' back--though the ***** survived the *****.

this active underbelly could withhold no more the fat of

a pig on a spit, so after several **** attempts on Esmeralda--

the "bewitched" archdeacon: Claude Frollo, was impaled by

a nail like a renounced garment by Quasimodo, and left to moths.

he loved Esmeralda as he hid his face from her in their brief

interchanges, with the rests of a pianist absorbing unplayable keys.

along with the gargoyle that spat fire from the belltower to ensure

her escape into the arms of her true love: Piere, a poet.

along the underground torches of safe passage, Esmeralda &

Piere, followed Quasimodo's secret instruction...as they were seen

to sunset.

as the king's army closed in on: The Hunchback of Notre Dame, he

clung to his stony confidant--a gargoyle.

where the pale stories of dawn climbed the cathedral, Quasimodo

clung to the gargoyle's head, where he was talked way down.

there's a hall of mirrors,

that shard configurations of:

Picasso's: '''Mademoiselle".

unstruck poses, pelted by

an apple seed--banging

against glass.

until reframed...unofficially.

codex irises hair like frozen noodles
a wonder of science in pediatric crib
configuring the context

the fractures and the consequences


Waiting to be held for the first time.


Thee garden is an overgrown jungle
Since you left

No one knows how to keep up
With eachother

Never mind their selves and a love
That once was has been unstruck

I have a hundred unacted possibilities
And a hand that's scared to lose again

Combat boots to crush the frost

August leaving my heart with every step I take
I've been blurring out your face too much asoflate
To be ready to say goodbye. But I'm keeping time


Mum I love you to the moon and back with roses.

Stead he, once aloft high mountains
the ravine bellowed upon tides unsung,
sought lands unbeknownst to him
far across oceans as daffodils chirped
to be still whilst robins burned
and hound the tasteless nectar
ripped asunder underneath the spiral shelled slimy chained beasts ...

Once it was that everlasting agony
could not fulfill perfunctory oaths whiche'r
sunken tribe prided upon,
the chieftain adorned in his garland of skulls
satiated his pains within lofts of fire.
Sparks clouded the presumptuous begat holy water
and knives wound heretofore hate ridden bellies,
carved with rusted blades and bent iron
With each bell rung, a million epochs tumbled.
and Thus hovered the pledgion, crying hoofs and browbeaten droughts
in all splendor and prose !
Giant trees stood before him
reproaching the presence of bygone feet
loud was the rustle and harsh were the uncurling leaves
to be withered away by blackened seeds.

In halted symphonies did cries of woe recede before
hate blurred lines that fear devised,
and pride begrudged asunder, crones of fruitless endeavour
towards sunken cloth and forsaken joys;
Instinct upon reach lay before he
"Whereupon this glance is my whittled bride
she who prattles about in surreality ?"
the silence followed the swift tail wind and met the brittle spear
****** herein, louting jaundiced rendezvous and accoutrements winked into
by lonely hearts shrouded in frivolous tones of mystery.
But falter not did he,
for men do seldom bathe in the harness of failure
rather than crows mimic the nests of sparrows
so that every twitch lauded and immortality spanned by darkened visages
cawed into the blood, hitherto plucked in tarry reeds;
He came upon a fork
and wondered aloud "why is there but a nested abandon 'ere -
soaked fragrance and ridicule greets but the seldom few
who dare challenge the beast that lay within;
wary of unwoken lust bound in shiny drudgery,
be it ignorance that compels the starving
that voyages sown upon tapestries raw,
could take shape in weary eyes
and nascent tears of milk,flood the bow
yet unstruck by ignoble appetites of unladen treachery
while lurked prey lament the sharpened
sow of her majesty's trumpet ground in dust through
riveting songs of intertwined floods
adorned in destiny and swindled by fate !"

"Now look here, to the west" , the voice cried
for riches to be held in weight vanished the annals writ within
"Cry to me the sorrows to be laden
by growing tendons and grudges herein.
In these pangs of misery do I dream of the morrow,
of countless sunlights upon the flesh of misery
and wings that glide amidst tenuous storms",
For neither did mountain nor river below
do little to fasten a shade of warmth and passionate sin,
halt either stride or furrow
With which giants leaped across corpses of devils
and men scribed souls towards glimpses of voluptuous grins.
"Lend but an ear, to the magical east,
at laughter glowing and talons lauded
with unsung whispers raked in sun belied rot,
and sagely jests upon magisterial gods"

Thus ends his journey to fallowed ravines,
bound in knowledge and in blood,
O Men, Speak no more of his glorious persona!
As mercy beckons for grace to begin
and with fallen stupor groweth wisdom
to be perched upon desire unfulfilled but lulled into unity,
As twilight echoes through dawn like rumbling snow capped peaks
and the orange night succumbs to starlight with fateful longing
So does he peruse the forsaken trail
forevermore, and at ever last.