Gravity holding my feet I fall flat on the blacktop toppling over in a dream,
Sunken in a place of mindlessness
Forgetting the past opening up my arms to a new beginning in the glaring
gait,
The golden view,
Of fire,
The few desires i have left...
The young the youth in me has dried,
Shriveled, lied to and spit on
By the many,
Ages ago I would've given up
Today I extend a hand to the big blue sky and I say hold me
Take me to the clouds

Sewing the spiral depth
The halogram projected
Lapse time
Turning
Pixels to
Pixie
Dust
Into diamond

The Dogon
Gamble's away his
sand
In hopes of
Sound the sun rays
Of Saturn singing

Serpents tongue
Circulates the circumference
Of the circus
Sung circles
Sunken fertile land
Herbs in hand
The earth purges
Again
Again
And again
I am nervous
Hit with nerfs
Of the world
Shooting
Me down
I laugh
I dismay the smuck
And smog
Smuggled by singularity
Stiffened by ambiguity
Banging my head on the mirror
Of the river
I bleed red
In blue
Streams

Giant
Futile, no
Forever, yet
Few,
Find the feather
I flew over mind and
Let loose

My severed spine
has broken down into
bread and wine

No more drugs please
They only make me feel,
Mysterious or mummified,
I've confided in you,
And you told my secrets to the world,
My emotions were dimmed
And I was silenced,
By your ambiguity,
Giants who only crushed
My tiny soul,
And now,
I regret,
I ever met
You

Towering abode,
bottomless abyss,
remodeling the mode,
consolidate the mess...
Round about midnight,
the makers guild gathers it's
gizmos, and assemble
to discuss sound,
sweeping the soul of dormant dust

These are my favorite things,
taken to the pawn shop,
These are my favorite movies, books, and trinkets,
thrown in the dump,
and my favorite memories,
framed in plaques of wood and plastic,
Mary goes round merrily, making its way
round to take me to the moon,
and a Monday no longer mundane,
and the imperfections of my reflections,
worn around my mane
bejeweled

She, is my muse...
and the pretty portrait
of every morning rising sun,
My mind is filled with the thought of her,
Hiding away i try,
to avoid the noise,
bustling in the busy bloom.

Blue, is her name
nights rovings revolve around her hair,
In distress and joy,
the ploy,
is her mouth,
and the ceaseless meanderings,
makes me tranquil,
yet apprehensive
She, is my vice,
She is my muse

Playing the waiting game,
one fiddles with his feet,
or twiddles with his thumbs,
As he fancies of a beach,
pressing his teeth against his gums,

Of the worlds he could explore,
he finds himself indoors,
and forms clouds of distant lands,
In the wait of kingdom's come

In the blink of an eye
things can go from Disney to dismal,
and the mood dim,
and diamonds rugged edges
cuts the pupil with its sharp gleam,
and what you believed to be precious
like rose,
reminds you, the dangers
trusting beauty to remain.

I didnt think i would expose a poem,
or even,
conjour the courage to knit a cape out of my addiction...
This is me settling my habits with cigarettes to rest.

I ditch the nicotine and tobacco and cigarette paper,
and although the thought of this triumph is enriching,
Right now my spirit is pale, and stale of vigor,
The livliehood of a single puff,
could heal all pain of the moment,
until yet again,
time takes its toll,
Frozen I feel,
stuck and bewildered having my crutches
swept from the vice grips of my hands,
and now,
I am to stand on my own two,
with the will of my own my mind and my own heart.
Gravity is heavier here,
as if landing on planet Jupiter
Alien! Indeed is the feeling I feel, feeling, I fall...

Rugged and ruined under rain,
daggered with bows
and blind groping over braille,
Who knew victory could feel so grave, ill?
so grim and muggy and moody and mundane.
The greatest dynasties fell to dust,
and yet God doesnt even show a face familiar to man,
but is felt with the grace of a feather,
behold a blooming forever,
Clandestine, a boon worthwhile...

When everyday becomes anomalous,
Amporphic, and figments mangle along,
longing for a belonging in the King's Castle,
Those of Night, tales of the unseen
mends the sublime of Day,
Myth,
thoughts no longer thoughts,
But colors, decoded into
             glyhps of gold.

When does the window shut?
when the wind ceaces to weigh?
or when it gets too cold?

here i am a catylst
of a console in creation
in the mind of minds of the mindless

in the seas of self i find the solemn soul
swimming to a coral reef
in rage of remeberance.

Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.

Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
unconsciously?
Or is the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we where it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?

Under the midnight melodic blue
heavy hues hail over my head,
the night is tranquil,
and the prodigious lots now vacant,
silence beds the barns

Polish your pails,
push on your pens,
began to paint your promising evenings,
pick out your underpants
Prepare for your sails for sea,

Gather your gaieties
and songs for a silent day,
take your time for sweet remedies,
prayers, and mantras without shame,
rather than toil with the shambles,
and pains of the day

Duty calls a silent whistle,
I can hear in mornings wind,
through the woe of every window,
blow a sweet heaven scent.

A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,

Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ******,   in the shambles of the moon,  
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in  favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
    behaved haughty and in disdain,  
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
                 to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
   roving like noble patrolsmen.

Traveleres and trainees at sea
   humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
           volatile and toiling,
           tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
     hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.

Hence the heroes heed
   to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
 seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
      in the murky shadows of doubt.

Blue is a prevalent color
you can find it almost anywhere
at any and every turn
you can spot the color blue almost
immediately, within 3ft feet of you.

Is this the product of mans moodiness?
Are we that trapped and burdened with strife
that we paint the color blue incessantly,
unconsciously?
Or is it the appeal?
Are we that attracted to our own madness?
To the point we wear it on our heads
on our arms and on our legs.
Screaming with sirens of societies ennui .
The mind of many meld with angst and warfare
in self,
bombs away with blues.
Does the blues find man or does man find,
the blues?

Bygones will be Bygones
and their baggage shall beg
to plow again.

Between the gains and confines
of the wrestled soul,
resinous,
behind his silver buttons
and navy knitted nylon
beneath it grey,
cunningly,
breathes the pain
of his flourishing.

Love is the greatest force of all mankind...
of all cosmos, of all movement
of all that is wild and deranged
held safe in a locket, clandestine,
casually singing reigning from clouds of rain
sonnets of seismic sound sway trees
encouraging sodded fields grow greener than yesterday
yet sprightly and anew
soon
nudging the node
of the naysayers neighing,
bulging out their blue button ups
cramping, beastly belly's brooding to feast
on the blooming young,
the callow of a courageous continuum
trooping along gaily with gallantry
on trails, heralding gnarled roots

but this is rhythm
and rhythm is rhyme
and rhyme reconciles reasoning
"i love you for no other reason
but i love you"
says the tales of two
seeking singularity,
soaking in the sauna of one,
sovereign sun.

Coupling wind and fire
an terrific, tumultuous, take
Time waits for no man but of him
his fate,
the fellow frets and is frightened by fame,
Son of Father Time,
cannot merely hide inside its vase,
Blooming, what a fellow
hath he grown noble and sublime
soon to love and learn
the great burden of his time.

Gliding in air
was an eerie delightful hue
hanging high above violet and blue,
for eons no one had knew,
the peon pest probing around
the howling zoo,
rhyming and roaming
hiding and hoping
flighty the ronin
ran,
groping every moment he could come to
as a token to his gallantry
the guidance to his apathy
decided to devise his only strife
to live happily

There is a rhythm to these fleeting emotions,
they come and flee in harmony,
to and fro

My heart reeks of rotten rose,
In the rumination of my numbing loom
once luminous
I cease to remain lush
as dust sought to settle
in my petaled palace
A place i thought to remain unscathed
trampled by trotting disdain
Doomed by uncertainty

There used to be be trails
of incense, twirling,
with the aroma
of serenity
Now,
silence rules over sound
and solitude swamps
my field of joy
my path muddled with mourning.
Mornings are dim
Nights,
now blazing
and brazen with a relentless hopelessness
sweltering under sounds of desire,
A ghostly, eerie, rummaging rage
to be heard.

An Urge
to purge the mind in glorious fashion
pestering upon moments to mimick
and mourn days after

My back is bent
favoring the very branch sobbing
just outside my window.

The wind seems to be frightened by the storm or
exhausted by the sun
anyway,
the air    is still.

Still, i am
struggling to keep still
coping with the coupling of my mind
on days mundane
dim
dampening my mood.

This place is amazing
nothing like anything
Ha! This place is gorgeous!
This place is a palace of some sorts
A mothership,
This place is full of delight and adventure and rainbows
I wouldn't give it up for the world this
Honor, this Creed
clambering continually in calamitous Abyss
Who is it there behind the rainbow curtain,
calling upon my name?

The many martyrs of boredom
make haste to their next death,

They nestle in their noodles
Over bowls of ramen
Ramming their frontal lobes in their palms,
In hazy rooms, staring in the hearts of tinted corridors
Dim lit lamps stand courageous,
Smoking kettles,
alarms the listener to lunge merrily
to,
his lazy lagoon

I can smell jealousy moons away now
For I have been a fool too long...

Longing for meaning and acceptance
In a brutal battle between
Body and mind
Bruising one or the other or both
On the brinks of breaking
all of one could possibly insist,
insane

Internally elaborate, full of tales robust in beauty
bountifully flawed

From whom are you wanderer?
The road on which you unravel,
Basking,
and on the brim of infinity
the body becomes nest for neighboring
critters
Ineffable, microscopic, macroscopic
And in the (in) between
on the peak of no where the whole widens,
the well wanes a wish deeper,
All the while
diamonds crest beneath aim
Gold, my galore...
of whom, are you