two sided things
are lines,
and the ones on your face
have been crossed
again and again
by my fingers;
by your tears.

i'm still so sorry.

Movement;
and the lines are loose
no longer lines,
instead defined by shades
and the ways you move
in the light.
together we saw the day
and closed our eyes at night.

embracing the shadows
is another way to release.
my vehicle doesn't run;
anymore;
any less.

the Incorporeal weight
of the world on your shoulders.
the gate-less gate
seen by blind beholders.

it smolders
as it sinks into your flesh,
becoming your bones,
filling your chest,
with green and pink;
you're puking blue!
the world never knew
what happened to you.

and when it dropped off from the tips of your shoulders,
because you had fallen, head first, into boulders,
we found that neither of you were the holder.
not you nor the world,
whose form you had hurled.
it keeps getting brighter.
it keeps getting colder.
we never get younger,
nor do we grow older.

Realizations
like pathways walked over with
moccasins and sandals  
and ungulate feet.

the trail blazed by a tribe
is followed many times.
a line between
the time that seems
to snake through sand.

so fine,
i just want to *******,
on the sand,
so fine,

we've been here before...

We're making maps out of landscapes

Experiential, Experimental. feeling, being, heart and mental

In summation
I am a tribute.
A sacrifice to the all-beast.
the great vibrational being
with a fractal face,
and fingers,
and feet.
with a frayed tongue
it eats me;
completely.

We are examples
of the persistence
of existence.
All of us flickering like fire,
than rising like smoke,
higher and higher,
breath from the stoke.

No joke, but still funny.
Like bees making honey.
I like my yolks runny,
liquid and lovely,
like motions in space.

It's no race to beat
the all-beast,
feasting its face with its own fingers.
nothing left to waste,
nothing left to linger.

We all have a place,
As the song and the singer.
Haven't you heard?
YOU are the word!

All that you have
give it away
all that you know
thrown into the flay
all that you've been
has been today
all of your silence
has something to say
give it away

We are gifts
to the all-beast
and all of our love,
and all our attention,
is its.
in summation,
it's all we truly have to give.
In summation,
it's all we are.

Ensnared.
suspended asleep in a spider's web.
how do you fare?  
floating in air

Repaired.
looking like new,
you don't seem to care,
do you?

The way we shape the space between,
making things into how they seem
out of this dream.

Released
from the endless reflection.
you've finally ceased
to increase.

At Peace
with the manifold of gems.
two demons apiece,
the seams turned to hems.

The way we shape the space between,
making things into how they seem
out of this dream.

Looking at looking
the fish started hooking
at the rate of the great vibration
1,1,2,3,5,8,13

On and off,
it never stops,
and it has yet to start.

the drip of drops.
what use are clocks?
it is in your heart.
it is your heart.

The way we shape the space between,
making things into how they seem
out of this dream.

Left the ponder his mortality,
the butterfly flutters by,
and lights upon a weary flower,
wilted, waning, less than dapper,
(she must be depressed)
and starts sipping nectar,
to drown his sorrows (no doubt),
concerning the doom that is surely close at hand.

The flower,
feeling rather used,
sinks lower, looking at the earth,
and checking her stem, says
"Oh my! my stem is so wide!"
She begins to cry,
and the butterfly dies,
with five thousand lights in his eyes.

Passing by,
an Elderly Woman
stoops in silence,
collecting the wind shuddered wings,
snapping the too fat stem,
and smiling
from the sweetness of these breathless
reminders
of whatever it is that makes
Elderly Women smile.

The Sun is a fiend,
and the wind may scream,
but there is no sadness to be seen in dreams.