With white frost gone
And all green dreams not worth much,
After a lean day's work
Time comes round for that foul ****:
Mere bruit of her takes our street
Until every man,
Red, pale or dark,
Veers to her slouch.

Mark, I cry, that mouth
Made to do violence on,
That seamed face
Askew with blotch, dint, scar
Struck by each dour year.
Walks there not some such one man
As can spare breath
To patch with brand of love this rank grimace
Which out from black tarn, ditch and cup
Into my most chaste own eyes
Looks up.

A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
          (in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
          near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
          the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
          while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.

A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
          and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
          neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
          sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
          in random splayed and sprawled runs.

A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
          the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
          his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
          with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
          is on his way to find ’em.

The pack rejoins with weary ***** -
          perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
          with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
          for, yes, he’s still the rover.

When snow enshrines the timberlines
          and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
          as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
          they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
          float, hanging in the air.

Their path is black (they can’t look back
          for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
          the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
          he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
          display the night’s devotion.

The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
          and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
          a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
          like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
          and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.

With snout upturned the moon’s discerned
          as well as wafts a wendin’
and muzzled growls and shriekin’ howls
          mark wolves in quests unendin’.
With fragrant hint, the wolf’s a’ sprint,
          the pack begins t’ rally –
in swift descent they’ve seized a scent,
          that’s flowin’ down the valley.

The wolf moves on behind the dawn
          and shades the pale horizon
as she-wolfs vet his silhouette
          each time they lay their eyes on.
With trek discreet, a trail is beat
          across a river frozen –
when day’s complete, just mice to eat,
          a choice despised, but chosen.

A stillness jeers the shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over),
while caribou, with much ado,
          drift, seekin’ blades o’ clover;
the wearied pack picks up their track
          (with stony stomachs pangin’)
through endless seas of barren trees
          with ice like daggers hangin’.

The wolf invades forgotten glades,
          the pack stays close behind ’im;
the caribou, in his purview,
          seem far too far to mind ’im.
Above, a baleful moonbeam wails,
          “oh god he’s gonna’ catch ’em”;
the scene is grim, the Reaper dim,
          the night has gone to fetch ’im.

A moanin’ mynah’s crying loud
          as birds of prey are preachin’
to cravin’ ravens prayin’ proud
          and wide-eyed owls a’ screechin’.
The wolf, unrushed, is breathin’ hushed,
          his hollow eyes a’ narrowin’
and focused hard in fixed regard
          on herds they'll soon be harrowin’.

The morning breeze is ill at ease,  
          a surge brings sudden silence –
then haggard swarms launch poundin’ storms
          and hurricanes of vi’lence;
the herd’s surprised and paralyzed
          all over hell’s half acre –
the leadin’ buck’s run out of luck,
          he’s soon to meet his maker.

The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
          on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
          is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
          tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
          repaint the point o’ dyin’.

A magpie flies with frightened eyes
          (on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
          of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
          a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
          its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
          for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
          as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
          the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.

On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
          the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
          the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
          the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
          with icy hails ’a blowin’.

The storm abates and terminates,
          the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
          and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
          not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
          ’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.

As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
          they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
          strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
           (the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

Deplorable: that's her election
as it veers in a ****** direction.
Though some mention Lewinsky,
it's really Alinsky
revealed as her true predilection.

The vane on Hughley steeple
    Veers bright, a far-known sign,
And there lie Hughley people,
    And there lie friends of mine.
Tall in their midst the tower
    Divides the shade and sun,
And the clock strikes the hour
    And tells the time to none.

To south the headstones cluster,
    The sunny mounds lie thick;
The dead are more in muster
    At Hughley than the quick.
North, for a soon-told number,
    Chill graves the sexton delves,
And steeple-shadowed slumber
    The slayers of themselves.

To north, to south, lie parted,
    With Hughley tower above,
The kind, the single-hearted,
    The lads I used to love.
And, south or north, 'tis only
    A choice of friends one knows,
And I shall ne'er be lonely
    Asleep with these or those.

The euphoric parallax, the vast.
The concealed, the intangible known.
The indifferent future, the decaying past.
The inconsistent, looping drone.
The lengths of our splendid slumber.
With both laugh and loathe entwined.
Bears witness to the wonders
Of our consciousness - sublime.
The falling from a heightened frightful.
The embarrassment of youth.
The promise of danger - delightful.
And the grand purpose - aloof.

All is vivid. All is bright.
All the colour stains the light.
All things hazy. All things merge.
All connected. All converge.
In the early, in the old.
In the fresh and the fatigued.
In the clear and the controlled.
In the apt and obsolete.
Where days come to end their lives.
To bask in the blurred glow.
To steer the sky behind our eyes.
And allow our liquid thoughts the flow.

Time's waste - the wondrous tragedy.
Mourned hour after hour.
The inescapable catastrophe.
The sad, slow devour.
Sight, to the dull of eyes.
Stability, in the earthless turn.
Tranquility, in every sigh.
Truth, in what we're yet to learn.
Here you hear the happiness.
And the sadness of the stars.
They share a song - synonymous.
They sing to us from afar.

Stumbling through the shapeless silence.
Merging with the mangled mess.
Tampering with the truly timeless.
Engulfed in what we can't caress.
The vague and subtle sightings.
Through the chaos of your plan.
Into the long wait for nothing.
Which kills the heart of man.
In the all encompassing loom.
Where you can finally be alone.
Your mind - a fragile bloom.
And the void, your only throne.

A state of elasticity.
A transparent mirrored wealth.
The nook of all necessity.
An eternal nocturnal self.
Where does this calm originate
That seems so unprepared?
Who truly can appreciate
The blankness of its stare?
Imagination meets mere memory.
Rearranging what we think we know.
Distorting what we want to see.
Inspiring how we hope to grow.

Now see the minds that wander.
With the twisting of the trees.
With the certainty of thunder.
And the warm, empty breeze.
We have to leave, we have to go.
Back to where we loathe but know.
We want to breathe, we want to glow.
We want the reap but not the sow.
The change that you so fear.
Roams the halls of this distortion.
It pauses, sways and veers.
In ceaseless, cruel contortions.

There is something that here dwells.
Something small. Something real.
In our greetings and farewells.
In all we see, hear and feel.
It writes itself on our faces.
It penetrates into our sleep.
And although we can escape it.
Into our subtleties it seeps.
On a buoyant float of black.
The black of vacant oceans.
It throws what we still lack.
Into monstrous swirling motions.

From the canvas of infinite infancy.
With broken wisdom blushed.
Forgotten almost instantly.
In your dazed, waking rush.
To a mountainous climb of morning.
We share the sun of skies.
For it wears the warming.
And the opening of eyes.
But how fine the line is drawn.
Between the sleeping and the aware.
Between the smiles and the forlorn.
Between the dream and the nightmare.

English language remained father's maid servant
Who played with her beauty for thirty five years
He passed it on to us to take , to the bear brunt
We loved to be on the line to embrace the veers

We have a claim of native with spark of language
To cross the barriers it has provided us the bridge
We salute to our father who has given us courage
And helped us to portray and celebrate his image

Let be specific and clear in the standardized stance
Let us not give to any Tom,**** and Harry a chance
Let us with the help of a powerful and strong glance'
Celebrate the prime occasion with intoxicated dance

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

He veers to the left when he walks
in and out of lives
up and down city streets.
His gait clumsy
and haphazard
bumping passersby
and knocking glasses off tables.
Slack jawed stares and
excited whispers;
unphased
unwavering
steady in his unsteadiness.
He meanders down alleyways;
breaking hearts
and preconceived notions about
what a vagabond should
or shouldn’t be.

Our relationship was like the part in a movie when two people run towards each other and the main character looks so unbelievably happy and they close their eyes and just as they are about to embrace the other veers right and jumps into the arms of another.

An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery



----------------------------------------------------------------­----------------

A babbling brook of blood
Veers violently and viciously.
Slipping silently through sunsets,
The trials and tears of the terrified
Add adversity to the adamant tide.
Hunters hound the hunted,
Sacrificing several subtle souls,
And manically murdering men.
Forever on the freshet flows,
With darkened death as deluge.

Love is like,
A man born without arms,
He lives his life accepting his disability,
But Constantly jealous of those with arms.
he sees people with arms of every variety; skinny, tattooed, bruised or muscled, and even some like him.
Everyday he watches people use and missuse their arms,
Yet Barely appreciating the mere existence of their own arms.
One day, he hears about a new procedure that could give him fully functioning prosthetic arms.
He is hesitant about the cost and risk,
but decides he must try.
A week later after a successful surgery,
The bandages finally fly free, and so do his arms.
He flexes and bends them every way possible,
testing the boundaries of what feels like a new world to him.
There is an endless beauty in their function.
He feels a joyous wonder,
to experience the touch and precision
of his sweetly sensitive fingertips caressing the surface of anything in their reach.
For the first time, he finally knows what true freedom feels like.

  Months pass as he becomes familiar with a new world under his fingertips.
But as time goes on he begins to notice occasional malfunctions in his daily tasks.
He thinks hes losing touch with the connections used to communicate with the main circuits,
But doesn't think it could get worse.
As Weeks pass more connections falter between him and his once perfect partner.

The day starts like any other winter morning,
an icy cold, cloudy drizzle.
He's driving the windy back roads to work,
rounding a sharp bend in the road, when he suddenly feels a spasm ripple through his arms
ripping his hand from the wheel and all control.
His car veers off the roadside cliff
leaving gravity to doom him to an icy river below.
The car careens through the droplets of rain in the air.
His world slows down as the car begins to plummet downward,
only seconds before impact.
The freezing icy rain and air rip
through the broken windshield,
but nothing feels colder than the betrayal of the arms he once held so dear.
And in that moment,
he wishes that he'd never had arms at all.

Tapping the vein
at the section of upper and lower arm
striking the needle deep,
jagged and rough,
upon notice that Second
isn't a one-way street anymore.
Must have changed while I was gone.

My Malibu,
swerving viciously to avoid the old Grand-Am
finds its way into the right lane
the only lane
fitting like a glove on the wrong hand.

Ahead, 475 dictates my exit.
A detour, the sign says,
with little ostentation,
even more accuracy.
The highway vomits me away,
chewed and confused,
an exit before my usual.

Though the path ahead
veers straight as a needle,
it's two miles downwind.
Two miles behind.
Great symbolism,
I tell myself,
pressing ******* the accelerator.

Eye sore at  Cisco
the weight of the World veers unwaveringly.
Careless whispers prevaricate,
what was strong
now senses its own weightlessness,
floating on, circles loosen,
traces of people deep in our recesses
slip through the  minds flotsam.

luminous and trembling, he
walks like the soles of his feet are made of moonlight, he
***** you like he's trying to tell you something, he
shakes and shudders like he sees something you don't, he
is everything all at once, fragile and overwhelming, a dive without air, he
wraps you up and doesn't let go until he burns alive, he
dissolves in your veins like surgical thread, he
****, he
god, he
could build on this for hours and still be ready to swallow you down, he
cant ******* breathe without touching you, he
lets the sun bruise his back a thousand different shades of pink and still comes back for more, he
calls you when his voice is crackling with exhaustion and sticky with hunger, he
lets you sleep inside his ribcage because that's how he keeps you warm, he
shivers in the dark and wont let you take care of him, he
tells you you're some precious pretty thing as he veers into a ditch, he
needs seventeen stitches and a transplant with a name you can't remember, he
always shatters on impact

Where along did the line become dotted?
When did the line become crossable through gaps?

Steady white line, double parallel yellows
Following this lined street till I find the end,
Till I get to the bottom,
Till this drawn line stays constant and cannot be crossed.

Who was the first to cross this line that is so drawn on my soul?
That so moves me to boil with red convection and spill
Drips down my pan side face. Third degree flame ignited pain
In every line of bone and vain in my body.


Walking by playground filled with shouts and laughs,
Stomping little feet, hands of monkeys.
Nothing but joy and impressions, pressed into the skin.
Children are so easily impressed.

The blacktop filled with lines is the child’s whole world
Of lines to frolic at four-square or hop-scotch to the jungle bars.
On the way to the cafeteria to lunch with pink and blue tennis shoes
And lunch boxes of Snow White and Buzz Lightyear
Listen when told to stay in line.


Listen to:
Lines of scratched skin. Lines crossed.
Lines of makeup drips. Lines crossed always remembered.
Lines of people trying to forget
Being line crossed by one who found a gap.

In the middle of that same bad dream
I always try to wake you up before it happens.

To you who veers the line, you who crossed
You who stings, you who injures:
When and where I meet you,
I will show you these lines.
I will teach you.

When I deleted myself off the face of the earth
And it still spun
And you were still there
But I was gone
How could you, how could…they
Keep on
I always expected one after the other you would all come crashing after me
Like children playing follow the leader off a cliff
Or the carts of a train jumping one after the other in rhythmic timing when the engineer, asleep at the
wheel, veers off tracks and goes over the edge of the mountain
Yet here I am
Lone at the pit of the valley
Staring up, not at the heavens as I hoped,
But up at you, and your life
Going onward
How can you mourn me
Say you ever loved me
If you can go on with out me
Here I am, in all your triumphant glowing glory I couldn’t even go on with you
You said I was everything to you
I picked up so tenderly each thought
Sentence
Syllable
Sound
You laid on me
I was so eagerly in love with you
And now my heart is breaking
And my tears melt my body into the hauntingly dark soil
Where other wayward people must also lie
My breath, now, has long expired
And you are not coming
So as time passes
And you grow older
And meet other women,
and shake hands
Shake hips
Write your stories
Stagnantly, I remain
My decomposing, hallow body
Dissolves into the earth
The wind quivering, and wailing above me

holdover from the air cools bitter awash of dark and a turning horizon without centre. where i entered an empty frame across distance and skin like smoke. ive been having nightmares of cosmic terror a sublime loss of control like paper tearing in the chaotic drifts of broken eddies and other everyday things an inward open mirror a sunlit line wavering to heat disintegration dispersal erosion and death. ive been reading uncanny fluctuations in the sign of things in a power too great and sparse to comprehend overwhelmed by haunting finitude as time veers into collision and the fleeting panic of yesterdays blood. i find myself shaking at the thought of contact the electromagnetic law of repulsion built into the fabric of my flesh eyes turned away like a promise all language from dead stars. dragged along these orbits my skin trembles and i am hateful. faces blur in passageways half-lit rooms smudge across the surface of my memory until i see nothing but the colour of what was tightening the cords of my ribs stumbling inflexion. in the precession of traffic light blurs through my sleeve and i realise i was invisible all along and that i did this to myself and that nobody can help me and that i did this to myself and that i will retreat further and further and further because if it hurts to be abandoned it hurts more to be approached and misunderstood. the masks the words the acts the plays and beneath it all fear cruel mounting hopeless wretched fear eyes turning fingers running over and over until they break the lines of my face a *******. i turn the clocks upside down. i take the batteries out of all my electronic devices. i break the locks on my door. only then does morning come.

patience and desire
eyes on the prize
even though it seemed lost
true gold lies deep in the glow of those hazel eyes

a tale that threatened with tears
and the dread of heartfelt slips
veers towards the tessellation of your body
head-to-toe with my lips

overwhelmed by fears of turbo-charged love
and at which stops this train may be calling
yet trepidation is drowned by exhilaration
as this new adventure is dawning

hips on hips and longful gazes
hearts singing unheard notes
your hand in mine, side by side
we sail forth on our choice of cupid's boats

In the darkness he felt threatened
the tables turn as he veers away,
ages usher had  nothing on time -
just the haunted side of jade,
the fossils turn of anger
a packed mass of double take
impenetrability stakes the  hills.

The Cri de Coeur
screeches urgent emotion
but their Exclamations
are unpicked , back to determination
Did the Revellers needlessly pay for this their Summer ?
But for Capricious truths
they now run fickle and jarred
naked is the heart of the matter,
a hastened path runs counterintuitive
as empty silences often veers
ungrounded.

How deep does the dread go?
As deep as the fear goes
How far does the fear go?
Much deeper than the shadow

With a pick and torch light
Find the gem that will shine bright
May be day in this sun blight
In the dread it is midnight

Keep the flames burning ember
For the chill of December
For the hope to remember
For the dread to dismember

Only light burns the dread fear
Only light makes the path clear
When the light sparks the dread jeers
When the gem gleams the dread veers

Who knows where the gem grows?
In the hollow of the shadows
In the dark where the dread goes
In a place only hope knows

Clacks the train on pre-made track
Taps she on and on all day
Wheel on rail, turns wheel on rail
Never wavering from laid out trail.

Clacks the train on pre-made track
Oft taking souls both to and fro
Alas unseen goes the weary rail
As metal cuts through the nestled nail.

Clacks the train on pre-made track
The unjoining joint harked too late
Souls on board feel blinding pain
As loco veers off its destined lane.

Clacks she no more on pre-made track
Unhinged, undone, has no path, no role
Bent beyond all blacksmith skill
Now left soulless, without way or will.

my timid tournefortia,
whose peripatetic scent matadors
the mad men.
whose laughter veers away the impossible,
of whose flame will gander
like flotsam in a sea of aloneness,
you are a danseuse in the
misty moonlight.

     perpetual in the night illume,
    perched in the deepness of
      sad walls calling out the
   azure. my little tournefortia,
      it was such joy to have lived
   when you have blossomed.

--- as all flowers go, you too, have gone - flagrant grows regard, like a prancing flame
    of blue my eyes are frantic and
    anew --- i seek new flowers.

The kind that picks you up and drops you off in a different state of mind

The kind that leaves you lost in the right direction
it has unexpectedly taken

A kiss so purposeful and sound
Even the force of the wind nor the stares of passersby can break it

The kind of kiss the brain is stubborn to erase
because with every eighth minute
the present veers off its natural course
to travel back to that enchanting space

Back to him and me
planted in front of The Liberty Tree
Back to the heated discussion between lips
and to everything felt and poured out in our kiss

To hello and goodbye

To stoked intensity

And to the eloquent expression of elusive chemistry

2016 ©

The memory of her face you held so dear, has gone away...
That gentle caress that calmed your fears, has gone away...

Heavy onslaught, clouds of cinder made a brume above.  
The stars in the sky that navigate frontiers, have gone away...

Bleach white canvas, metaphorically cleans the slate.
The painted past, the way your brush veers, have gone away...

Empty your pockets, take everything, give it your all.
The energy, desire, the charisma and cheers, have gone away...

Skyscrapers tall, city streets, flashy lights and cars.
Thousands of trees, tranquility, forests for years, have gone away...

Crippling car crash, broken soul, fingers frozen.
Their musical genius, symphony for the ears, have gone away...

I take nothing for granted, for life is far to short.
Countless walls of whom etched “I was here”, have gone away...

Stepping out for a midnight snack
As its stomach roars like a lion
Taming the jungle
As it stalks it's prey
With adrenaline pumping

It smells and sniffs
An alluring scent
As sweet as honey
It's hunger enraging it
Like a stone cold killer

Licking and smacking
It's lips as it lusts
Over the smell of blood
Quenching an uncontrollable thirst
As it's prey gets closer
All humanity disappearing

It hears the feint heartbeat
Of another as it grows nearer
The temptation grows stronger
As the lust looks for an outlet

Crouched like a lioness
Hunting down a gazelle
Readying to pounce
Willing itself to stay down
Coiled like a viper
Ready to strike

The sweet scent
Daringly close
You could almost taste it

It starts to snarl
Barely audible
Not a creature could hear
Not even a mouse

the sweet scent
So close its tangible
It's eyes narrowed
It's head cocked
Like a loaded gun
Daring to fire

rummaging it's paws
Into the earthborn soil
Sizing up its prey destined to pounce  
It billows it's growl
To a narrow roar

Coiling back
Latching it's claws into the earth
Lunging
Letting out an earth-shaking roar

The chase was on
As the hunted bolted
As did the carnivorous apex predator
It's instincts honed in to the prey
The creature heard the heartbeat
Of its dinner
Grow denser
Grow harder
Grow faster

The predator smirks
The enemy grows weaker
Dodging trees
Jumping rivers

It knows if it makes one mistake
It'll be all over
As the hunt veers a left
The stalker flanks it

With a final lunge
It's jaw meets the jugular
Of its dinner
The prey squirms and whines and wails
Then silence

A sickening crunch
Breaks the deadly silence
The chase is over

A car speeds down the highway;
an aching heart beats on despite constant
complaints. The car veers left on a straight road, tires spinning on gravel;
the heart housed in, surrounded by
disease. Slow, plodding, it beats a little slower
with every passing day. Momentum
carries the car, spinning then rolling,
bits and pieces flying in all directions; the heart grows weaker still, others keep coming because a dying heart shouldn't beat alone. The car takes one final flip,
settling upside down, glass broken, seatbelts still in place, dents, scratches, scrapes and newfound bruises; the heart is slower still,
pained peace settling until, veins showing, baggy eyes, wrinkled hands, it stops. The car, leaving black marks on straight highway; the heart leaving a slightly different imprint. It all
stops,

I need more souls around.
Look-
the knife I chewed up sharp
sways and dangles a glaring charm,
(and a charming glare)
double knotted on a piece of rope and
tucked under my shirt.
It bruises my breastbone when I jump.
I’m always jumping.

I don’t cut paradise into pieces anymore.
I take it all in with one quick bite.
I’m hardly chewing;
I never learned to savor
and it hasn’t rotted me out yet.

Late last week I had an idea.
I told the room:
(thirty eyes squinting,
a dozen minds listening,)
‘Let's get together and refuse
to acquire a taste for civility.’
So what do you think?
I was only speaking to you.

I've been playing a private game
all summer and I keep scoring.
I wear long skirts and eyeliner
and keep my mouth shut.
I trapeze across centuries and well traveled
roads with my long hair
and track the pontential and power
assigned to my quiet smile
and gentle pout.

The world can be mine with a
flick of my wrist, a lick of my lips-
But I don't want it:
i'm here to expel, not to endure,
the point is to leave as light
as possible.
I won’t win until I have nothing left to carry.

Tonight I'll just seer sailors;
soldiers call to me
like I’m their sole daughter, their soul daughter,
dripping green jewels and deep, brown
curls onto tan toes and
dancing in the road-
(eyes decidedly closed,
rush hour.)

I gulp in smoke from their pipes
while spinning circles in the dirt.
My voice trails over tree branches,
my lungs smolder and ashe.
I smile sweetly-slow.

When I do meet their gaze-
(measuredly striking; a tender,
lingered look which veers me from gypsy to divinity,)
they tense.
They call out
You are my Odyssey.
You are my Wild Waves.
you are my Purple Heart.

Skipping stones over oceans and puddles,
I keep nodding and careening.
I keep coursing and coiling,
keep slurring my words,
refusing my name
and pocketing your promises.
I gave up on air-drying my skirt,
(You are not what I’m thinking of.)

I’m only a little bit of what’s left--
everything we tried to know,
everything we only read once-
everything we left in footnotes of
essays, under passenger seats
and tangled in the bed sheets
of that swollen-heart name
no longer spoken.
I'm only the woven wires
and reins braiding bold
acrylic cities across knuckles
and palms, flashlight
illuminated and glowing.
It's new skin shimmering in the
daylight, pearling over
and throbbing awake
in places only I can see.

Chapter ***
Second Hegira to Patmos
Part VIII - Conclusion of Judah

What can be perceived by the Universe of Judah would be in a Universal Eye of photochemistry, within the phosphorescence’s of the spectrum of the Jaffa roadstead, which magnetized the electricity of the visible spray, within the visible field of the photon in the same bay. ,  as the responsible elemental particle guarantor of the quantum manifestations of the electromagnetic phenomenon. Carrying gamma-ray electromagnetic radiation over the entire Jaffa atmosphere, X-rays, ultraviolet light, visible light, infrared light, microwaves and radio waves, causing the ellipsis of Radio Moscow on October 29, 1929, right there appearing in the future to the present before the Hegira to Patmos.


Ellipsis Radio Moscow 1929 - Parapsychological Radial Regression:

“Radio Moscow goes on the air on October 29, 1929. And this first foreign language broadcast would be in Greek, to be heard by everyone in Jaffa. The Radio Moscow bulletins expressed great unease at the recent rise to power of Adolf ****** in Germany during the 1930s. It was considered an unintelligible and visionary daphnomancy rummage, predicting the persecution of the Hebrews and the extermination of themselves, for which San John the Apostle immediately tunes in common with Vernarth, the instant he was shaken by this radio wave from number twenty-nine of the Jaffa exit edict. The visible fantasy of this would disconform the audio listeners, towards the behavior of certain swings and intermittences that made the natural light of Jaffa intermingled with luminescence’s, with waves and photons in presumptuous duality to dominate Vernarth's behavior when invaded by this flash of prophetic invasion. The spheres of observation of the Apostle made it faster to climb and try to sustain this invasive radial wave that crossed time thousands of years, from the year 1929 to the year 165 AD. C. approximately that it traveled with a great infinite wave speed at a great percentage of microseconds. All this information alerted the native son of Capernaum, worrying too much about this ethno-political situation. The microwave refracted, undergoing a change in direction that collided with the ship, in its floating basement portion, due to the fact that this wave propagated at different speeds, considering that the medium in which they were moving was clearly made of wood, but propelled by a large vehicle of transmission through the winding water up to the massive hull. Doing and scheming what would make them move immediately to go to Cyprus; Limassol. The speed of the radial wave was stationary on the canopy and that of the hull by the chromatics of the water that lightened its refraction, through the facets of the canopy and canopy, bizarrely acting as an overheated exponential concave-angle drive motor.

An expeditious quarrelsome radial wave appears in Vernarth's tongue:

Vernarth says: “Anti-Semitism is a matter of the profiteer of slavery and insubstantial ethnic resources, not allowing the advancement of millennial and primordial civil social immigrations to be related, which migrate to the socio-political statuses, already allowed since their arrival in the Rhineland during the Roman Empire. The Jewish community thrived until the end of the 11th century. Starting with the First Crusade, it had to go through a long stormy period, marked by massacres, accusations of ritual crimes, various extortions and expulsions. Their legal status was degraded and Jews were prohibited from exercising most of the trades. In the 18th century, philosophers of the Enlightenment, such as Moses Mendelssohn, were outraged by this miserable condition and launched a campaign of denunciation. However, the path that led to Emancipation was long and lasted nearly a century, after which the Jewish community was integrated into society. Its assimilation allowed an economic and intellectual success that aroused suspicion in certain sectors, also giving rise to anti-Semitism. The coming to power of Adolf ****** in 1933 put Jews on the fringes of German society. The persecutions were followed by deportation and then extermination during World War II. After the war, the Jewish community is slowly rebuilding thanks to the support of the German federal government”

The Apostle heard this with the speed of becoming a steely carnation, breaking the prominence that would be caused by intervening with other civilizations with invigorated gardens, to predominate in the existence of the world as a chosen people, and having to submit to all kinds of propagandist ministerial exactions. , limiting the legitimate gaps to prosper beyond the Mosaic acquired teachings, in some dense field devoid of different disintegrations of divine rabbi illumination, either in a straight line or the same line of the One-dimensional Beams of Ein Kerem's geometry. This time enchanted with lamb's blood coined on its cornices, to sprout them by all those who had to endure the enigma of departure towards the rectilinear desert, as a property of the radio waves exhibited here as a dogmatic whole, dusting in the geometric regime, which testifies to a all of "May the Savior's Tunic shake all the structures of critical and political thought and race brilliance." Producing objective intellectual blood,  which would be integrated into the Social Christian party in Germany in 1930. But every elementary thesis, it would promulgate the emphasis on the centrality of social democracy, of bringing a great work to Patmos, of dividing itself by time when crossing the line of the time, providing the solid One-dimensional Beams of Joshua in Kafersesuh, for the protectorate of the holocaust and sacrifice, to introduce the premises of emancipation and abolition of the subterfuge of marginalized social fields, devoid of the inter-ethnic social guarantee and of the Semitic rooted heel. This natural property is of exception of the race of San Juan Apóstol; son of Zebedeo, consisting of bringing this to the most informative substantiality, to Patmos to protect them organized.

From this dialectical propagation great shadows emerged, interposing opacities that showed many Hebrews falling into concentration camps and at the exact moments of expropriation of their real estate. Naked bodies can be seen only with dark shadows, with small hints of imperturbability on their split faces, remaining in the gloom of the Conviction, with some photos of their children in relative proximity to the deadly impression of last rales and their undermined, perishable pointed expressions , appearing in the rictus of their wives, with narrow condemnatory anguish falling on them from the same Cell of the stormy Éscaton, which transcended under Semitic history; the resurrection of the dead, divine judgment, heaven and eternal happiness with God or damnation and hell. Here a perfect archetypal case of the disconcerting radial wave overturning novelty and satisfaction before the curiosity of the listeners, but it was a "very new Revelation at the same time, being objectivity for the cell of San Juan and for the immanent protectorate", which designates the dimension mundane and temporal opposed to transcendence.   Because many Christians have become unable to conceive of the "other world" as a consistent, real reality, and have transferred to this world the hope of a full and happy life. In this "immanentization" both evangelical prosperity theologies, which see the Christian faith as the means to achieve material well-being, as well as Catholic liberation theologies, for which faith should lead the believer to fight for autonomy and development of the world's indigent populations oppressed by powerful multinationals and their collaborators.
Vernarth pulls a blind when they were already walking on the magnetized sea capering, without feeling how the sea was besieging them,… saying himself: “I keep looking through the hole of my ignorance, and I can see in monochrome the dictators displaying their diffraction placards lights, key to ethnic oppression "in black and white" and the veers going through the gap in the paths of the Hebrews with their suitcases and belongings, lost and surrendering to the laments united to the Messiah. In combined holistic, centered on the measure of a third screen and taking place in alternate light and dark bands, in the Lepanto ship when everyone found out widely about the radial phenomenon in non-transistorized tubes, in a frank romance with the old ways of their customs. .

End Ellipsis Radial Radio Moscow

The phenomenon of interferences of a natural nature continues, making their broken hearts happy, they all sang Christian songs that made them put vertical lines on their faces, between both refined cheeks. Leaving them incidence of light of fasting, to signal like thrones of lighthouses that illuminate the skies of the seas of the Messiah, putting before them to millions of years light by the side that now they could see him.

The angles are scattered, and fall on the light of the Messiah, of the Our Father in twilights, falling on the others like the same conclusive Gethsemane leaf from the Olive Tree Bern. As the light flowed on the matter that protected the ship to Limassol, industrial energy was constituted in all the directions of the surface optics, generating reflections in the weak interferences that oscillated as an immobile remnant of the radio waves still active. This phenomenon made Brisehal appear from the bottom of the sea; the giant of Dasht-e-Lut, who was approaching to protect Vernarth and the Hex Birthright. Generating a dynamic global heterogeneous internal light in the navigation radius of the ship, from a more parsimonious speed to a more frustrated relative, to try to synchronize the flashes of the Xifos sword of Vertnath Hoplite, which allowed it to use it as a sextant, to arrive at the destination Cypriot. In this emptiness of energy by another replaced, an imprint of the same emptiness arises with lengths of movement of submarine waves, caused by the giant Brisehal to displace them in washings of the Adonis in accordance with the Sword of his master Vernarth Ephebo. Dispersing evaporated drops of the Dasth-e-Lut  desert that remained in the sewage areas of his ears, polarizing the defensive crystals of the hyper active and current environment of the flagellated Phalangists in Gaugamela, which still twisted on the diaphanous and immaterial earth that followed in heated conflict, until the coexistence of the oppressor ceases it. The worlds rotated parallel continue to each other not rotated, being disturbed, in another dimension mediated by the warned consciousness, which lacks all neutral rationality. It would only be attempts to pierce through the crystals of Faith ..., dominating salute projectiles of malevolent brotherhood, plunged into a maximum intensity of crystalloid breaking and rupture, which emanates from the lens of the Messiah, in the angles of underwater darkness.

All this atmosphere is self-absorbed, leaving  tele-transferred divine rabbi light, in stored energy reaction levels, whose capacity would exceed one billion cubic meters due to the breakdown between the chemical bonds caused in radiant energy, dissociating molecules by the effect of sublime light from grave sounds of immanence, and being redefined as the interaction between one or more mass cells of light against a nomadic target molecule. Also suitable for the extreme radicalization suffered by marine plants, which also sailed expelled from Jaffa's radical disturbed seabed.

Hellenic Existential Hypnosis

Reaching the central memory of the Aegean Sea between the parallels 36-38 of latitude and meridians 24-26 of longitude, belonging to the periphery of the South Aegean, an abduction of the amnesic trace of the Alexandrian magnetic period occurs, which made them realize, how they had deviated from the destination of Limassol-Cyprus, having to turn a few degrees to redirect to Limassol. This was exercised by the subjugated Alexandrian period, which in its immanent chronology sought to remake an existentialist caste, which lowered the chronological limits due to the depressive effect of the aura, after the death of its sister Cleopatra. This whitish and courteous barrier of Zeus, invaded them not auditing to govern the schizophrenic ship, having to retrace the course to retro of the Cyclades. Sovereignly Vernarth takes the helm with great Greek breath, creating shields of redemption in the arts and sciences of the Hetairoi  aristocracy, under meso-urban science-politics, replaced by the Christian religion, making the Hellenic language a potential romance Aramaic, to overcome the existentialism of the hypnotizing dream dream; of a silly banquet served by the hordes on all the slopes that transported them between an enigmatic underworld, of panhellenic language, and with the reculturation of the ephemeral crossed lines that subtracted them from their dramas of troubled consciences, depriving them of the neuromotor of the main return value for the origin of the reconquest of the Tracóntero in Limassol.

This Hypnosis, brought consequences of the Sects called Diádocos ‘successors’, of the old generals of Alexander the Great and the children of the generals (called epigones) that to his unexpected death of Alexander the Great in 323 a. They divided their empire, disputing power and hegemony over their colleagues with various pacts and six wars that lasted twenty years. Then a political system was established that until the beginning of the Roman Empire in the eastern Mediterranean at the beginning of the second century BC. Before this contingency, Vernarth resorts to Hypnos and one of the thousand children he had with Pasitea, who urged them to the cohesion of this Hellenic Hypnosis, making quantitatively the immortality of the image of Alexander the Great, to bring him to each of the former faithful commanders, thus refounding Vernarth his Hellenistic encyclical, for the purpose of escorting them to Limassol, and protecting the families and infants who were in their puberty in sleeping Greece, after great war campaigns and abandoned conventions, as an example of the snowy lineage in their Mother Olimpia, and his Sister Thessalonica and children waiting for him passionately. And also in the Sudpichi Empire - Chile, Luccica with the court of her familiar stoic resistance, ingesting the opiates until her Vernarth takes her in his arms, of her own imaginative swamp lagoon.

The disintegration of Macedonia and Greece into sub regions, catapulted again the appearance of Clovis who says ..., the river Lete in the underworld, dissolve your memories, and clean your mind permanently. That's the branch of a poplar tree from the underworld, from my father Hypnos. "Lethe is not the place you want to go swimming ... but if you change the helm for your proud mind." This achieves that one of the sons, among thousands of Pasitea, committed himself to Clovis, to dispel this existentialist contingency, vindicating the plea, of family reunion and imperishable Hellenic constituent prosapia, under the hypnotic and hegemonic phenomenon that made the banners and panoplies burnish in Greece, Macedonia and Asia Minor. As a subsidiary exception they will satisfy, which was reissued by Ptolemy, one of Alexander's childhood companions, of whom some authors venture to say that he was an illegitimate son of Philip II. With intelligence he quickly seized Egypt and hastened to create an enduring state, declining to imperial ambitions that he considered unrealistic. He was one of the main opponents of the imperial cause, thus becoming one of the founders of the Hellenistic world. Unusually, the commanders of Alexander before his excessive dipsomania of hierarchical power and glory, demystified Hetairoi's harangue, generating in it a Hypnotic counter conception, making these sedative efforts to delegate the religious north Dei ..., which had only known how to redirect itself later in the classical arching Gaugamela, of his great Holplita Commander Vernarth.

This grayish super mass of uncontrolled winds and increased rays, spat out idolatrous proto forms in the same Hellenistic family, whose postulate was to multiply the family over its geopolitical dominations in other nations, unifying them as a family geo clan, rather than in the seas, in which they do not the waters-lands are divided, rather they unite the hydro-parental ethical and cultural resources of the world that are a concomitant part with "The devouring cyclone of mythological dignitary entities, and other lines that flee from the proper chronogram of historicity and its reconstructive past-present ”. Square meters of great Cyclops slaps that were floating in the air, inspired Vernarth to revive the green grass of the sea, like plankton that made a compulsive propensity to exalt Chloe’s presence; that being an Epi Phantom, it always sparkled among the nebulosity as a reservoir of Universal Consciousness, gaining the Hellenic consciousness with a black bandage over its eyes, so as not to stain more outbreaks of the chlorophyll and photochemical green mass of the phenomenon, accumulating only the electrogenic beasts of Cyclops that they had to burn on the rays and unbridled embers of dissident light, to leave in some memorable way, or beg some Sanctus, to do his will prowling in the acquisition of the square meters of the tiny, almost unidentifiable beasts, that appeared simulating to the slimy green water of the River Lethe in the contracted underworld.

The existential holistic in the ship produced depressive lags, lack of self-esteem and factors of ego loss, therefore each one who pointed with his index, relaxed from some silos in the hands of opiates, which would denigrate the dream in those who tried to flee of his own collective weeds ..., shying away from himself, stagnating and freezing in stretches of dreams of great loneliness and permanent fantasy ..., and what the extravagant hypnosis sought to occupy in them with its decrees of mortality, in an adulterated afterlife, in some signs of benevolent and reactive psychic alertness. When the soft glow of the same flash was shown on the faces of Alexander the Great and Vernarth, in the six wars that took place with the Diádocos without sparkles, for twenty years ..., just in twenty seconds, would Alexander the Great appear, on the deck of the ship of Lepanto, dressed in a crimson red garb, covering his Hellenic silhouette, down to his figurative half torso. From here, he urged them to culminate their hypnosis in a deep world in an unbreathable statue of colloquial rhapsody ..., watch out for this ..., everything continues normally, and Vernarth leaves the helm to honor him with a hoplite Khaire and as a fellow Christian Shvil, as philanthropic and deferential as Ptolemy was, and Vernarth himself in Tel Gomel and Bumodos, herding the green glosses to open them towards the new magnus theological empire. Beyond the profile of the wise dervish, Limassol appeared, like a sapphire rosary entangling in the physiognomies of rises of hope, in the average Gen, when approaching the latent peninsula of the Eurydice's Gold medallion.

Judah was suspended in the Gigas Camels ruminating the bags of herbs that thickened in their Palestinian snouts, the sphinxes of the birds continued to grow with their wings to shelter the blasphemies of their prophets, and Judah wailing in the intrabony of those who traveled leaving of Judah, but never departing from the aramaic cells of Gethsemane, lost from Hellenic Existential Hypnosis. Investigating lost rings that would unite the dissolute stretch of the Cyclades, recomposing itself from expelled dramatic thicket and loss, in the foliage of the rocky jungle coastlines, where the Mariano gold medallion rests in the darkness of a moldy circular massif.

I am alive when you touch me, for I touch you

As you know me, I know you

Watch me as I lean into or away from

One element, open to another; who in turn leans into

Or veers from my earthy scent and rough caress



We all are seeking

Yearning to explore, be explored

To understand, to be understood

To penetrate, root into and connect with life

Stretching limbs and roots into the unknown

To touch and to know we are alive


There is roughness

That is part of truth

A toughness that comes with survival

Traces are left behind when we expand into each other's worlds

We are affected by all who come to give, who come to take

Bent branches, faded foliage, scarred skin

Do these markings make us less or more