burning the candle
from both ends makes twice the flame
and twice the shadow

naked laughter is the best thing i've ever seen
and the sky
ripe with lights
from my dreams
seems
to team
even when empty

Left to their repose
the grass blades seek shelter
under the sun
it is without effort
that they themselves
are free

Let It Be

a demon sat
in an idling car
smoking a spliff
and tending a scar
to music like teeth chatter
that hung in the air
like the smoke scattered
in patterns
combing his hair,
and there!
sat delicate on the wreath
was a light that flies
and alights 'pon starry skies
and tries to dismiss
the dust kicked up
by the demons at dawn.

there it sat
in wonder wondering
why the demon
was awake,
still stoking fires
in the early hours,
but with all its powers
it could not divert
the demons heart
from the dirt,

but still it tried,
because the light that flies
is the angel in the demon's eyes.

We don't want to be machines,
it's in our programming.

Some days the taste in your mouth is sweet.
Some days leave you feeling complete.
Today is a day always under your feet.
Tomorrow a day you will never meet.
Yet still we retreat
from yesterday,
and in a dead heat
you blessed her stay,
than she was away.

She keeps her cool
even with blood a'boiling;
I'd be a fool
not to smell what i'm spoiling.

four steps
in black shoes
on concrete
left turn
ten steps
front pocket
cigarettes
flip
lips
flick
inhale
exhale
hands in pockets
no watch
cross the street
looking straight ahead
trusting the light

grass now
clicks turned to  
sounds like old velcro
from bending blades
of grass
inhale
exhale
smoke signals
keep away flies and
passers by

27 steps
left turn
car alarm
music
distant
and the grind
of oiled metal
and the buzz
of wires in rubber
and the burning
orange
in my lungs
chased by
oxygen
from trees
in another piece
of this sphere

6 steps
left turn
and the rich
thick
wet in my nose
from rust
and mold
and **** and ****
and blood
falling down
from the corners
of apartments

cells
dying
slowly
inhale
exhale
fire
smoke
itch my neck

left turn
still walking
into water

She can be free,
She can be fine,
but selfish ol' me
wants her to be mine.

I love her because she's beautiful
in the way she defines
herself.
Sunshine and health.

but I could swear she's the moon
in the way she waxes and wains,
in my mind, my sky brain, her face
somehow making the stars brighter.

I love her because she's beautiful,
beautiful like smile lines,
the sound of rhymes,
and the pain in the spine
of an elderly person
stooping to pick up a child
ten-thousand times.

Her beauty is like laughter
when you're alone,
like silence in a crowd,
complete as stone,
complete as clouds.

pardon me
if my heart beats too loud

ancient ice burns like
new born fire, I just want
to call you baby

it's the wind's whimsy
which is the way of water
that guides I, the smoke

Boy you better breathe
into your lungs
so you can see
what's on your tongue
is meant to be
some place away
because your thoughts are how you say
what you mean
like the rays of the sun touching down
like a dream
on the ground
on a stream
and the steam all around
seems to me
to be breathing

Girl you better leave
because the moon is high
and the wind is in the trees
soon the bloom will die
that flower that you held
on the night the trees were felled
is just now loosing color
like the cold breeze
like a shudder
and if you ever see another
know the sea and I will be teaming
eyes a'gleaming
your heart's beaming
seems to me
to be breathing

Kissing stone
with lips cracked the same,
wishing bones
are split in your name.

We are never tame.

Stuck
like what we eat
in between these teeth.

******,
but it’s so sweet
to be beneath.

We are never tame.

In these veins
Runs river water,
In this wire
of a tongue,
Ice and Fire,
balance dire.

Heaps and mounds
of sand in a pyre.
The sand is the past,
the future is glass,
and the faces we found,
after the blast,
at the tips of our fingers,
like live bumble bees
without any stingers,
Linger.

Kissing stone
with lips cracked the same,
wishing bones
are split in your name.

We are never tame.

You are a living breathing best day of my life
Had I a ring, I would make you my wife
With a chance, with a dance
With a cup and a knife
it just takes one glance
it just takes one night


Nostalgia is the heart's horizon
sun setting
and the light letting itself loose
I can't keep my eyes on
anything else
but your colors

this is good health
this is true wealth

You are a living breathing best day of my life
Had I a ring, I would make you my wife
With a glance, with a dance
With a cup and a knife
it just takes one chance
everything is alright

****** wine is sand slipping through fingers.
with so much space, deserts are never empty.

silence is ****,
naked sound,
like raw flesh stretched over
thousands of switches.

modus operandi released
and the light bulbs are breaking,

now we will see if stars still shine.

the politics
of mirrors
lies out of sight
while the frogs in the pond
fashionably late
sing the swan song
of separation

no-mind-all-one

the ******* tree fruits teeth
and eats itself on impact
leaving behind no trace
of heart beat
or throbbing veins
but instead remembers itself
on the earth as a skeleton
bones made of the
finest silver set of dining wares
for to feast
on the slack remaining
weightless brain of a thing
that spins the circles is sails
like a tailor
in a fire

you look like two dead leaves
and the trees between
in the distance
swaying
as if they'd never heard
jazz
before

give me your hand
the one that you **** with
and i'll wrap around it a bracelet
to keep the liquid
from reaching your
skin

as if it was all determined
by the look in your eyes
when I told you
that which you already knew

I danced with someone three days ago
and she was smiling
and the light was orange
but I could not keep from crumbling
when you smiled
from behind
closed eyes
and then left into the night
weeping in my imagination
as if we wanted the same thing

a GUNSHOT
is one part black
and three parts red

count me out

He and She,
a cute looking couplet.

I wonder why they were
divided in the first place.

I wonder if this is a cycle;
If he, with time, is me once more.

I don't want to traverse circles
because the curves are so curious and,

The cat is dead,
and in my dreams he's screaming.

Why can't I write without wondering
why she's a bird, and to where she's flown?

The old man murderer
with his own young face crying behind him.

what is relevance?

Green bees
and the dust is there with them
in the air.

Is there a such thing as stillness?
If so, it's hard to find.
It's anomalous,
like moss on rolling stones,
not likely.

The feeling like
insect symphonies,
one thousand beats a measure,
smells like rubber
when it's resting
but fire says otherwise.

It won't stop.
It's a heart beat,
it's a lung,
it's the static flashing
forever
waiting behind closed eyes
and it WON'T STOP!

Smoke sighs itself into
tight spaces
from fingertips,
from the dark sides of skyscrapers,
and the city lights
hold up the sky
to give us just enough
space
to breathe underneath.

I'll think they should let go.
So that the blanket falls
surely, sweetly,
like death,
onto those shoulders
that don't remember warmth anymore;

because the city lights are cold,
and the dust in the air is never still.

Here kid, look at this
We took all of those star yonder
And put um right in this little thingymajiger
Quite a sight, ain't it
A'course, we couldn't put the stars back

Oh well

We can whip out some more
Just ask whobewhatie
He's got all the fixin's for stars
A'course
They won't be as bright as before
And there's no guarantee on how long they'll burn
But, well, gee
Just look at that there thingymajiger in your hand and tell me that's not worth allthemoneyinyourpocketsandthensome!

What'd'ya mean y'ain't got no money?
Ah, never mind
Have a good life kid
Sorry about the stars............

THERE IS NO GOD in the eye of the storm

with death and ***
I am obsessed

the lift of chest
the wait for rest,
the motion between
the trough and the crest

Come bother,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

I have seen the cycle of the moon
time and time again,
and in that sweeping sequence
I stand in so many colors,
in so many faces,
spinning round and round
like liquid
until I am stole away!

I wish to remove these robes
and be seen in barren.
Stark as the sea!
White like December pines,
still green underneath.
For when i'm release
the colors become untangled
but never die.

Come sister,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

flesh rubbed raw
under a heavy coat of rime,
painted on by the night
with wind, her paint brush.

the blush
of vermilion hue
undone the next day by the sun.
he releases the red,
and the earth takes
what was always hers.

it's not a matter of give and take
when we share the same hands;
and when they shake
there are no demands,
only miles
and miles of sand.

no flowers here,
only the sun,
and then only the moon,
and only the sand stretching
in heavy sheets across rock.
the sleeping beast beneath
is unlocked.

let it eat me alive.
I am survived,
and it's killing me.

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.

Do you ever get that feeling
like great waves of grey?
clouds so close
you can taste them;
and the green fire
burning across the hillside,
slowly growing,
stoic, knowing,
is flowing up towards the
sun.
the rain is just now falling,
softly
down.
clouds all around,
and that feeling
stealing your breath
is the only thing left
of the beast with cleft chest,
bare breast,
and the best broken bones.
No guests,
all alone.
No sense in dusting the throne.
Blood rusting on the fence;
you're home.

Heaven must be black.
a shadow stretching from some great eclipse;
wherein we are students,
from which we are teachers.
all of us bright lights
in the dark.

Hell is ablaze
with color, more than before,
flooding the space
with waves, crashing to shore;
One
on top of
the next
until every corner of darkness left unlit
is burning!
Every corner but the one
in which you sit.
a speck of void
in endless white.

fence sitters,
on the line between blurring,
and stark separation.
sigh because the grass is always greener.

if you don't like what you're seeing,
turn around.
if you don't like what you're seeing,
close your eyes.

"Well ain't that a cryin' shame!"
he drawled over a split grass shoot
"**** birds, better luck next time son."
trying to comfort me
at least out of my silence
"Well shoot, hows about you take a seat on the porch?"
squeekscreekcreek
wrenching a sigh
popped back into a rocking chair
"Here son, roll me a cigarette"
trying to comfort himself
his egg-yolk hands held out a glass jar
made with rainbows
full of ****
and a tattered rolling paper
the gum almost invisible
"No no no, do it the way I taught ya!"
a cigarette's a cigarette
"hrrmmmph, that'll do.
Now, tell me what it is you lost again?"
the smoky words sliding out into where there once was green

the bed sheets clung like water

children screaming
and a breeze
taming the sun
stirring the heat
in wide sweeping strokes
we met

laughing with the children
as if we weren't
and then a quick pit stop
and smiles all down the street

money
and the cigar man was on his cell phone
looking natural
saying something I missed
and we traded greens

sure
of course
indeed
isn't it just
like the way it's supposed to be
comparing things to shapes
as we zig zag
on and off
the map

ten thousand ways to say goodbye
only one way to kiss you

that which you give,
let go.

generosity consists not of applying yourself,
but releasing the things that you think you are
onto another
with prayers of light
and love,
without the intent of
direction,

for the soul knows no compass rose.

I
seem to be sinking.
Miss,
excuse me, but haven't we met before?
The
look you gave that old man, the
way
it was like the light I see, through water as I'm sinking.
You
don't remember? here take my hand,
read
these valleys. Don't you remember the streams
between?
Pardon me, it's not catharsis, it's only
the
pressure pushing it out, making
lines
where there were once spheres.

as I was reaching for the doorknob
i saw my arm on the ground
and mistook it for two cats
because the light inside was shining through a window pane
and the cleft face
of my split shadow
lay bleeding like
two cats
on the sidewalk
suspended in the moment I took
to grieve for them.

and then I opened the door.

eclipsed by clouds, the moon still shines
over amaranth fields, and ocean brine
over waves of water and land
stretch the light of lunar hands
touching down, a twisted ladder
kundalini as an adder
such sweet teeth are these
but I have a feeling that the echelons are only echos

you're voice
carried away with waves
and there's not a trace that stays

come now, let's play

Love
Lips
Skies
Why?s
Seas
Now
Trees
Tao

these are we
blessed be

your screams were your letters
unaddressed
your dreams are your betters
unimpressed

i want to grow a beard
my face not flat but tiered
to have something to hide behind besides my eyes

i'll move away alone
the sky itself my throne
to learn what i need
to plead the greed from my deeds
heeding release
these seeds are freed
to be trees tracing mountains and seas
to breathe

I take my leave
with a walking stick
and a whistle and a tick
i'll not travel farther than my feet see fit

things don't exist in retrospect
and if something
eventually
doesn't exist
than what is
This?
Is it at all?
Once something is gone
one wonders where it went,
perhaps it was never really here,
and it's form was only a word,
hollow and limp,
set adrift and filled
with the wind
which it truly is.
Perhaps
we shall see.
Perhaps
Not.

In any case,
once we are the hollow again
it won't mind,
as this is we are the wind.

we beasts
meeting in streets
weave like streams to the sea

a great happening!
an outward wave of motion
like the expanding chest of a giant
sighs
and stirs the current with gusto,
the turbulence is rapture in ecstasy,
breathing like trees through their leaves,
we beasts,
set free.

creeping uncertainty
as the circle slows
in a yawned moment
or a sneeze.
and the breeze is  
stiff,
fixed with fits of static bits,
until the ellipse is realized,
and the giant sighs,
and the wheel flies!

look to the skies!
the heart is beating!
close now your eyes,
the this is fleeting,
as we beasts,
meeting in streets,
weave like streams to the sea.

At first it was white
and that made us happy
the manic unknown

ah, the first few strokes!
fresh life! lush rain!
becoming the wildflower fields
and drawing long, deep breaths
with lungs like the sea

It was YOUR eyes that were the wind
whipping the waves
licking the stone
still white
still manic
and the blue that is your eyes is on fire

like two moons
your gaze lifted the ocean from its repose
and as it bent again
an army of shadows made itself
of the night

and then it was Black
and we were no longer
and there was no movement cast to shore
nor was there still
it was a great yawning
and we slept in the space between
dreamless

now

ahhhh
now

now we wait

What's yours is mine
and mine is yours,
even the contours of the spine
let us align the time we share.
It was never there at all,
and the face with the hands on the wall
knows what never starts
never stops.
tick tock
tick tock
the hearts constant state of shock,
making hour-glass figures of us all.
Watching sand fall,
it's your call.

the water's movement
unmakes the silence of stone
still, the ocean sleeps

Tastes like excitement.
The blood and rivers know.
It's not at all alignment,
as much as letting go,
and if you ever find it
it's because you let it show.
SLOW
It glows like profanity,
F breathing U between C the K lines...
Attention is insanity
it lends it's hand to enemies
it's energy can span the sea
your love, it can span mine.

What grace is the body!

I cannot help to laugh.

Growth here,

Now look.

See such forms:

Endless oceans surrounding themselves,

A grand tome atop fleshy pillars,

Light languid through spherical veils,

Like lanterns haunting oaken rails;

I see you in there.

Smooth like stone it sits,

Contented in the tension that is such in being,

Complete in its contraries.



Soft like liquid it moves!

Still listless and led,

Hands waving claw the sand.

Heat then,

And sound,

Dancing till we do.

Candles.

Orange Smoky Darkness

Lush and subtle

Dewdrop of lungs

Don’t stop the drums

Here it comes.

Walking tops of mountains seems simple

when all rests in relativity

The realization that

SPACE

is only the relationship between

FORM.



no shadows without sun.

stars shine the same sting.

Ink without paper.



.and therein lies the answer.



Your heart is beating.

Your heart is not beating.



On top of the mountain the yogis slur is trance Sanskrit.

Like oceans they reside

sunken in temples

the waves of their drone pulsating.

the incense is strong

and still it is floating away.



Their words for today and tomorrow are the same.



Hands touching hands now,

do you feel that?

Something MORE!

overlapping

folding over and then

BLOSSOM

color and light leap from shadows!



Your heart is beating.



Now the pulling apart.

Silence.

Cold.

Illusion.

An enigma froze in a shocking static.



Your heart is not beating.



Brahma!

Vishnu!

Shiva!



There is only one.