What allegory is there to give a mirror
when, in a fit of clarity,
one wishes to be seen?

In my meticulous counting of
escape routes
am I undoubtedly bound.

It's ridiculous this shouting
and fake mouth
can spout such powerful sounds.

If we are made round
by this playground ride,
if we remain found
(pressure applied on every side)
I might drown or die
or more likely hide away,
fly, explore, and stay,
get gone
get lost
and pray
till dawn and day
when frost and spray
on the lawn displayed make waves in grey,
break the dew-sparks and make way for
sunrise hues
(no dark, light blues)
for you
to run right through.
All bright, brand new.
Right on cue, as if you knew.

You know,
I've heard that birds go
over the rainbow,

I can too.

You know?
You knew.
It's not just one shot you got,
not one flow to go with,

you can choose.

We're no longer circular,
shining like a herkimer,
opening my heart
and finding what it's worth to her.

Undefined by size,
by shape, by time.
I am more than mind,
motion and lines.
I am the ocean and brine,
the fruit and the rind.
I leave nothing behind.

I see but I have no eyes,
I grasp but my hands are tied,
and still I try
because that's the name of the game,
whether it's love
or money
or fame,
we're not above change,
we're not beside staying the same.

a man's need for space
is ironic given the
symbol of a
woman

The release of pressure
from the compression of air.
Crack the can,
((hisssssss))
move my hair
in front of my eyes,
kiss the lip and tip
back.

My God!
I despise
soda..

The "one-door-leading-to-another" philosophy.
Thru endless halls
will I ever see the sky?

I watch water
stain the walls
and know suddenly of rain.

I claw and kick
the mortar,
brick,
I break my fist
and bite
and spit
the blood and bits
of teeth.

I sigh, I sit,
Grow soft and watch
and the water with no bone,
no blood, no foot, no fist,
just motion, mist,
become the wall and crumble it.

The sky beyond the wall is black.
I cannot see.
Still, looking upward
I smile at the wet on my face
and die
just as lightning strikes.

May my art be
the gates of the Underworld,
and the guiding lights of the
return journey.

Vibration~
What is this  
OM  
?
And how has it come to me
to be so familiar ?
Are internal vistas more remembered
than discovered?

I feel I am:
softer than skin,
subtler still than flesh,
than bone,
a  resonance expanded ultimately
into the great gaps
of lightless expanse,
drifting.
Brought back so thick,
so sharp
to this body
by the pain of my blood
passed ancestral along
the lines of systems
gross and apparent.

Yet still
the thin mists about my heart
are whispering phosphorescent secrets
through the breathing of my most dark

they say
"absence makes the heart grow fonder"

that sad, beautiful music,
that thrumming in my chest
can only be played
when the heart strings
are taut
and strummed
by the long fingers
of memory

That sad, beautiful music
is heard
somewhere
by an audience
all sick with anticipation
.
.
.
unsoothed by the sound

I hear that music
when you are away
and my only consulations
are the poems that stay
the poems that come
unburdened to my mind

I, audience
holding my breath
gleaming
and the poem goes
and i'm left without enough words
to gum the grips
slack the strings
so the music plays on

I left the world.

Out beyond the stars
are no brighter lights,
only what's left
from the beginning.
Further still i went into the black,
the hard lack of heat,
soaring.

No solace,
no sign of any path,
led me here,
to where i am,
unheard and unmade in space.

The drums my heart,
and lungs, the melody maker,
is left with remembering
when all the burnt out bulbs are left deep in the basement.

Cleaning house
to become again like
open air,
twisting free,
the smoke.

Brought into body,
mind work wrought of
so light a plastic bending
truth.
Feel, fell out again.

Made of making.
Fireplace breaking spills light
out over the burn.
Floor is ash, Earth
for growing more building beams
to dance on.

Over again, great wheels eating
SUNS! I look and am blinded.

Sipping nights through my teeth,
speaking to a screen,
recording my dreams well after waking,
made solid sinking base-layer bedrock.

sting citrus sing to me
sweet ******* salt
something in the wind sour
mouth an open book

I'm here, after all this emptying,
not hollow but larger than where I am sitting in this chair,
in the kitchen,
in my drink, my eyes, thinking bigger than
the room, the house, the hill
and away on mountains,
not topped,
I am a foundation for this
spring over the thirsty *****
and yellowing trees.
I breathe
and am released.

Autumn,
birth in the center
dying, the seed
in the wind.

I will continue to gold the slopes
from the apex ****** to open spreading valley
soil budding miracle flowers, months to come.

Now,
I am aging, follow my father
into time.
A river stops,
not at the sea.

Mother, let us comfort
each other.
For the part of you is me seeks healing,
leaking self in the dust,
mixing mud to shape a new face,
a new arm, a hand uncut and able
to give all that is a human.

Am I able?
Yes, I've known the way vines are living upward,
and my seed has again and again
hit the Earth bleeding,
but all I want is a silent cave to watch the birds.

No children spring from me.
No eating, no holding hands like I have done.
I've made no mistakes but one.
To live is a great doubt,
bring my head above water.

Banished, fear in moving any way.
Strange in our doing, we keep up the rhythm,
drive the beasts away until
we're hungry again.

Plant the breakfast,
I'm just now out of bed and in the mood to wait.

Coffee vein lexicon.
Too much
need
percolating
up in my
throat.

Go into money!
there you will find
light,
blinding you to sleep.

Go into death.
There find rest.

Go
away,
away and find nothing
but the going
and the goings on
outside.

Stay with me and love the dawn
breaking so that we may mend it again.