- Blank page
Blank page
Product of burning anxiety
Panic attacking from all angles
The computer seems to be carrying charge
The screen too bright
The room beginning to constrain and constrict
The music becomes discordant
heartbeat and ragged breath become all consuming
Laptop closed as the user rises
Hands clammy grip the breast
Again the monster of demon dreams returns
Until in painting breath and muttered mantras
It is forced back into the hell from which it emerged
It’s chemical trace still causing a cascade of adrenaline
Its memory too sharp
Its return unpredictable, yet certain
- Peachy Dao
In my soul
The peach blossoms are in bloom
Pink and resplendent in the Dao’s rays
The float away on the wind
Time moving their fragile pedals
Of to bloom another season
And here and now
To ripen into juicy soft fruit
Covered in downy fuzz
- A Dream On The Golden Horizon
A dream on the golden horizon
A gilded porch
To sit and watch the universe unfold and bloom
A substance flowing down over the seats
A sustaining flow
Of liberty and peace
A warmth, submerging the spectators in the Way
Until dusk’s last pastel flourish
Reveals the sparkling resplinance
Of our place in the universe
- Slouching Stillness
A slouching stillness flows from my elbows on up
Memories of a rainy night
Cold and dreary
But warmed by years of distance
And a longing for that city
Perhaps not the city persay
But the moment of life when I called it home
When from the rooftop on warm days
When the sun was setting off to the west and the city spread out before me
I felt the future moving me
Yet I was lost in its way
Pleasantly driftwood
Smiling at the future
And the possibilities in the multitudes
I shared this city with
Spread out in concrete brick and steel
All painted purple by the rays of the fading day
And glowing in the coming night.
- Orange and Verdant
Orange temple roof,
Weathered by centuries of monsoon rains
Amongst verdant jungle growth
The saffron on monks flashed
And the deep gold of Sidhartha
Enthroned though unmoved
Smiling down upon an ancient
Former glorious capital
Of a once hidden kingdom
Now soaked in tears
Crushed by tyrants
Yearning to breathe free
- Streets Named For Writers
In stepping stride
I walk the same streets
My foreign countenance in your native place
My unaccustomed eyes
Blinded by the mercury glow of the streetlights
Your voice echos off canyons of concrete
And your verse winds through balconies
In the cool evening breeze of a waning summer
I follow the fleeting scent of your memory
Through the warrens of life you once inhabited
And whose song
You sang for the world to hear
- Ox/Tiger
Ox becomes Tiger
The trees have shed their purple flowers
A cascade of lavender fragrance
Marking a subtle transition
In the streetlights a single chopstick lies in a gutter
Broken at the top where it was split
A meal had, food consumed
Now disunited and discarded
Half a memory left as memorial
It will weather in the summer sun
Celestial seasons pass
Silent in the violet abyss
Thoughts drift in eddies and currents
Drawn down an emerald river
- Various Salads
Potato salad will go bad if left out too long
Pork salad will too
If that’s even a real thing
Flowers bloom and wilt
So goes nature
In the fleeting pause
Between motion and stillness
Between floating and hovering
In that flash of a moment
The entire universe unfolds
If we catch it
- Heavy Atoms
The pinks of sunset eyes
Blinking in the fading twilight
Heavy atoms of long lost stars
Coagulated and refined
Ordered in shells and valances
Visible to my pilgrim eyes
Beauty borne of the cosmos’ strident efforts
Between the setting of one star
And the glowing resplendence of little bits of millions
I choose the later
And the heavy atoms of me bask in glorious solidarity
- Patagonia Triplet
In silent saunters
And in deep azure glow
The stars drift above the gentle, lapping waves
On the time worn beach neutrons fall
Fired out and well traveled
Upon these sylvan shores
Lost to time, though exalted by man
Guide to our lost wonderings
Guardian of our saccharine dreams
——
Beneath my cone burdened baughs
The water of four thousand snowmelts
Thunder past in their seasonal, ebbing tide
Just beyond the sipping straws of my roots
The water slowly takes its gritty tole upon the granite
With each lick and wash taking the river bed deeper
Away from my verdant needles and cracking bark
To the glory of the sun and the weight of the snow
I have dedicated my patient growth
In the kind company of fungi and lichen
I have passed my millenia
Upon this rock I stand, withered and old
But youthful in my sylvian journey
—-
Glaciers thunder in cascading triumph
An angelic symphony from on high
Sounding froth from the trumpets and horns
Of ice enthroned upon volcanic caldera
From the punishing rays of the sun
Resplinant with gamma rays and heat
The notes of destruction are harmonized and honed
Until in orgasmic harmony melody flows forth
Smashing upon the cymbals of rock
And echoing down the sonorous valley
- Fatigue
Fatigue
Claws around the eyes
Like smile induce wrinkles
Cut by too many peals of laughter
Now a chasm of long blinks and yawns
The spring sunshine a lullaby
Gently suggesting that dawn’s rise be compensated
The dream/reality balance restored
By drifting into the passing clouds of the mind
And letting those heavy lids fall
Productivity be damned
- Blooms and Burns
It’s just a little too much
When the chicken is burned
And still undercooked
The woman is beautiful
And somehow pissed
Maybe it’s the chicken
Perhaps it’s the budding of the flowers
Giving her visage a run for its money
We’re all fucked in our own little ways
Especially the new flowers
Who like all beauty
Flourish and wow
Then fade and fall
After them, the decline
- 250th Post
Oh now we’re really rolling,
Down though the seas of mist
Hearts beating with the wings of ibis
Songs of cetaceans calling us on
Beyond the snows and crags
Far to the other side of the glaciers
Where the dying rays of the sun
Slip away, only to illuminate again
When again the beaks of birds chirp
And dew settles
On freshly bloomed orchids
- Perhaps
Perhaps
Flowers bloom
Bass slowly reverberates
Hearts beat
Tectonic plates shift
Brooms collect dust
Security guards watch the world bored
Smooth flattens wrinkles
Souls transported by gentle melodies
To heavens on Earth
Beyond conflict and pain
- Taiwanese Mountain Peach
In a wooden basket, on the peripheral of a busy sidewalk,
Elevated Train rumbles above and cars thunder past,
A peach, perfect in every way, awaits a hungry mouth.
Bourne on a farmer’s motorbike,
From the verdant mountain orchard which gave it birth
Now it waits in resplendent glory
Nurtured by the sun, sold under the full moon
The arc of its creation manifest in its deliciousness
Sweet ambrosia of loamy soil and gentle sun
And the delicate hands of a loving farmer
When the mountain peach is tasted
The faithless man believes
- The End of the Beginning
Months, years of the same
Uncertainty the traded currency
Doubts in gold and silver
The whispers of the past
Played in easy dances to smooth tunes
On dancefloors a blaze in laser light
Echo out from dreams
And again
The promise of their return is afoot
Perhaps again the night will be sweated out
Again the music will blare
Endorphins with course through eager veins
This torrid devalued currency will be replaced
At a rate of millions of one
With something new
Bank notes inscribed with hope
- Praising Chakrasamvara
Chanting from the depths of life
From the core of humanity
In rising tonal madness
The veil of illusions is lifted
Beneath the Banyan’s weeping boughs
A glimpse of the eternal
The flow of space time
From immemorial to eternal
Thundering in crimson and gold
Rolling down from the abode of snow
- Flute
Vibrations of bamboo
Wounded soul lamenting
–
A note drawn out
The universe pauses
–
Tone hangs in the air
Silence again enthroned
- Technicolor Deity
A dream,
On the cold breeze of dawn
Moving the frost crisp leaves
Stirring the pine down
Leaving my tumbling mind
Departing those tumbling billows
Taking flight from my pillow
Leaving only the ego behind
Yearning for the world
That danced in resplendent technicolor
Illuminating planes of unknown existence
Making an utterly ordinary someone
The creator and destroyer of worlds untold
Dethroned from on high
Returned to the mundane
To the screeching symphony
And harsh cacophony
Of a fucking alarm clock
- Empire’s Ancient Lands
In rolling steppe I found my feet
Brittle grass crunching under my feel
Summer sun low on the horizon
Shadows long in the treeless expanse
A sacred wind blew
Cold, dry, aimless on the plain
I, alone, heard it’s song
Its whispered melody
Bearing down on my like a galloping horseman
Bow drawn, aim steady
Deep into my soul the tune pierced
Its vibrations matched the rhythm of my heart
Throat sung harmony of proud people
Of conquest and empire
Tears and blood
Glory and suffering- bastards alike,
Now unwritten history, sung only on the wind
Fading into the dark of deep winter
Whose specter haunts the vast and empty steppe
- Possum Blues
The slide, glass and smooth
Slides on the strings
Rhythm of a rumbling freight
Southbound with a heavy load
The pain screams out of every note
Heartbreak, sorrow, disappointment
Years of shit vibrate out from the meeting of glass and string
Giving meaning to such sorrow
–
Down where the Mississippi flowed dark and turbid
Between banks of the suffering, oppressed, poor
Sound echoed off the willow and the driftwood
In fields and houses the guitar wailed
And in the midst of such pain
Even the angels on high turned an ear
Man, like his brother Jesus, was transfigured in glory
Redeemed through suffered deprivations immortalized in song
- A Phosphorescent Flash
In the sunshine, the weight pushes down on the city
The moments, fleeting, pass
Unremarked, with a bored disdain
–
In a phosphorescent flash
A plume of magnificent light
Shouldering the downward thrust
–
Doldrums turn to sailing winds
Dreams of another future dawn
Bubbles of hope surface
–
Flights of fancy depart
Bound for unknowable horizons
Far beyond these dreary shores
- The Winter Blues
The moment,
The tingle when happiness vanishes
And it its warm place
A terrible chill settles it
–
In a heartbeat,
In the slow ticking of quartz movements
What was once so resplendent
Becomes an unfathomable memory
–
Optimism settles down to bitter cynicism
Laughter fades to sighs
And the warm light of day
Fades into deep, long night
- Hot Hits of ’97
A sweet guitar melody
A memory of days past
When the sunflowers danced
In long summers
Where the stereo in a station wagon
Played the tunes that would define
Periods of a life yet defined
–
On the winter wind the melody now floats
Where bare branches replaced blooming flowers
The winter’s night cannot contain
The overflowing joy of notes connected to memories
Sweet days of childhood
Expressed in major and minor harmonics
Past, but not forgotten
- Blown Chaff
Universes created in the closing of an eye
Destroyed in the opening of another
Powerful, beautiful songs
Sung in glorious harmony
Melodies forgotten at dawn’s rays
–
Winds of image and memory
Blown chaff floating in neuron sunbeams
A muezzin’s call from the soul
Imagination given infinite form
–
The dancing sufi’s refuge
Landscape of Gautama’s snake sheltered wisdom
In the shade of our duvets banyans
The universe is manifest within
- Москва
A fragment of a tune
Drifts from a distant memory
Rolling over my my consciousness
Taking me back to dreams once imagined
Pine trees and stalinist apartments
Coffee stained subway plans
Cyrillic calligraphy above golden icons
Never actually transmitted by my optic nerve
Created from the ether of my fantasies
Real and unreal
Born of broken leg induced boredom
Numbed, soften by painkillers
Articulated by bass heavy Dub
- Her Apartment, Her Tunes
The dropping of the beat
The wail of the singer
Takes me back to her apartment
Incense stick burning
45 rotating
Music spreading into the evening’s thunderstorm
–
We sat on beanbags
Soaking in rhythm and humidity
Condensation on beer cans
Sweat on foreheads
Whale brand smokes smouldering on a plate
Dishes soaking in the sink
–
Heartbeats thumping in time
With a banging track
From the minds of two boys from liverpool
Echoing out of the speakers
Echoing out of time
Speaking across sonic frontiers
- An Indigo Carp
A peach tree
Blossoming pink, tender
In riotous color beside a stream
–
A puffy cloud
Reflected in the rushing water
Shadow passing over the wet rocks
–
An indigo carp
Swims lazily upstream
Soaking in the beauty
- Insomnia
Insomnia ticks off
The moments of the dark starlight
Where restless eyes
Fight for closure
Fight to dream
In vain, though,
Release is elusive
The hands on the clock continue their relentless march
Towards awaiting dawn
–
Dream deprived thoughts
Marinate in a singular desire
For the rest that will not come
Circles of ideas chase tails
To do lists repeated ad nauseam
Until eyes glow red in the darkness
And the break of dawn
Creations resplinant restart
Is met with frustrated tears
- Desert Flowering
The clouds drift
Patchy in the aird sky
The sands shift amongst shrubs
Berms in perpetual, aching movement
–
Alone on a spiny blade
A pink flower opens to the sky
Its petals and stamen dance in the wind
–
In defiance of the dry air
The flower glistens with its own dew
A colorful contrast in the sea of tan
The axis upon which the desert turns
- Tonal Glacier
The bass line blasted in harmonic frequencies
The spectral soundings
Of immense glaciers of sound
Bearing down upon me with slow, inexorable speed
I, strapped into my headphones, could but brace
Waiting for the inevitable hit
Of sonic ecstasy
Of the perfect resolution
To the cacophony of dissident chords
Into the Omega point of pure tonal enlightenment
- River bank, Sunset
The rustling of dry leaves
The crunch of stone
The lonely call of a magpie
And the solitary whistle of a locomotive
Lost in the evening mist
–
From banks of languid, brown waters
To gentle tided coastal inlets
My heart wanders
–
Far, far above the pollution and grit
Far from the grim progress industry has gifted
Away from the mill of souls and its high hill of human tailings
To a verdant island
And warm cinnamon skin, bathed in pastel sunsets
- Kampoks in the Sun
In spring the kampoks will bloom
Petals opening to the warming sun
Thick drops of rain will wash them
And beauty will abound them
Until wind rustles them from their hold
Down they will fall to a busy sidewalk
Trampled under shuffling feet
–
In their brief, glorious display
Their color will stand above a people weeping
For their dreams blossomed then fell
Trampled under thundering boots
Though the kampok’s blooms will return
When again winter gives way to spring
Will the sacred, beautiful future be dreamt again?
- Saccharine Whispers
A fleeting sensation
The breath of a different time
A hymn of the past
Floating on the breeze
The vague outline eludes focus
Memories of sunny days
Spread wide on tranquil waters
Ballads of naive youth
–
Time in its inexorable line
Glances backwards
Back to halcyon days
Which refused to fade
And haunt memories
With a kiss of their saccharine joy
Sweet nothings of childhood
Whispered into aged ears
- Delight in Blue
A patch of blue in the wall of grey
Steeling across the wide sky
White edge illuminated in the long rays
Of a weak autumnal sun
Around the density of grey abounds
Thick, moist, it lays upon the morning
–
But this Oasis is above me
Opening the heavens to a sea of pure azure
Delight of dawn’s rays
The eye of a mountain storm
–
The trees and sway and dance
In anxious premonition
Foreboding in their leafy harmonies
I sit serene in the well of blue
The future will be, the present is my only possession
-And it is beautiful
- Yudhisthira, Chained
Blowing wind
Golden clouds
In rapid flight
Trees in groaning dance
The heater warm on my feet
If, of all fates written for men
All diligent scribbling in stories
Have destined me to stand
At this spot to gaze
Deep into the morning mist
To see a golden sunrise
Then I am as Yudhisthira
Chained to fate at the gambling table
Though I, in contrast,
Delight in this turn of the cards
- Sonic Moksha
The vibration of sympathetic strings
Disturbing oxygen atoms in the humid night
Below, the cacophony of humanity
Beats a tattoo for the soaring melodies
–
The raga of the metropolis
Articulated with train horns
Lovers spats
And racing ambulances
–
On the gilded musical wings I soar
Far above the airport approach pattern
And the glittering streetlights below
Straight to sonic moksha
- Autumn’s Shrub
Frost nips a green shrub
Wind tousling its stalks
Gone are summer’s warm rays
The dark of winter forebodes
–
Yet on this morning
In the face of rain, wind, and the march of seasons
It stands resolute
Upright in its frosty countenance
–
And should a stray ray fall upon its white tipped leaves
It will be soaked in
But taken with stern reticence
With dignity and pride
–
As if to say “ I am no beggar
This calamity of cold I will endure
I accept your gift
But I expect no more”
- In Distant Verdant Hills
In distant verdant hills
Where morning breaks
After night laid
Uncomfortable in her moonlight bed
Tossed and turned on humid eddies
Dreamless through celestial progressions
–
I see her laying, sleepless
Body kissed by lunar rays
White linen loose about her
Her eyes stare, tired, at the ceiling fan
Equating its futile spins
With her long and lonely past
–
In such tropical esteem
On those sleepless nights
I wonder if her thoughts drift to me
And through the stratosphere and Van Allen belts
Find my dreams to join
Hemispheres and oceans away
- Loons, Boughs
A breath
Ripples on the rim of an amber bowl
Water still, reflecting swaying azaleas
–
On the cusp of the breeze a loon calls
Lonely for its mate
Mournful in its low lamentations
–
The curtains rustle
Coffee grows cold
Open windows at a crisp, cool dawn
–
The suns reticent rays
Banishing the stealing rearguard of night
Orange against the green of the pines
- Hot Purity
Small paper squares
Colorful and patterned
Flicker and turn to ash
Dissolved into the flame’s purity
–
Fresh pine boards
Char in the intense heat
Mixing their sweet carbonized smell
With the cool fall breeze
–
The sizzle of butter on a fire licked pan
A riot of bubbles and rendered fat
The moment but a tendril of flame
Radiant, vivid, brief
- And More Shit
The internet isn’t working properly
And
There’s something stuck in my teeth
Amd
It won’t come out
And
Something is squeaking
And
Some fucking dog is barking
And
It’s Wednesday
And
The need for the Dollar keeps me inside
On a beautiful, sunny Fall day
When nature’s call is a resounding
“Fuck this shit”
- Swaying Pines
Sing to me sweet glacial winds
Echoing down from your lofty abode
In your sweet movements
Pick the sylvian melodies
And thump with gentle waves’ beats
Wash me away in your tune
–
Beyond my humble valley
Sing down the arid steppe
To where cacti cling to dunes
Rattle their percussive spines
Vestigial since the megafauna needn’t scratch
Dry air thirsting for symphonies
–
And beyond to the ocean
Harmonize with the singing cetaceans
Let them eco your song in their icewater auditorium
Let chasms quake and mangroves absorb
Every note of your sweet mountain tune
Resolved in every crack of creation
- Cruel
Hanging from a thin thread
Tides of fate
Whims of a mecural universe
Set our life adrift
From largest to the streets
The valiant fall
–
In their tumult
Down tumbling through the throngs
Of the fellows of their species
Forgotten -worse- cursed
Left to fate
Knowing just what might be in store
- Nova Veluti Aurora
Singing down fresh snow
Blustering in gasps
The sweet rustling of pine needles
Calls me forth
–
From the teeming banks
Of tepid river’s flow
To sluggish lapping
Glacial lakes’ waves
–
In cold dawn’s spectral glow
The valley opens before me
Revealing edonic beauty
Rarely seen this side of moksha
- Rhythm’s Ravine
The unrelenting rhythm
Bades me on
Deep into the ravine
Beyond the longest rays of autumn sun
Into the vast, undulating forest
–
Beyond the concrete of my feet
Soft, downy loam cushions my stride
Birds in chorus
Chatter and bullshit in their tongue
Foreign to my uneducated ears
–
Neon fades to shadows
Dancing in glacial cooled breeze
And still the drum beats
Hand on taught hide
Pushing me deeper
- To All the Lovely Dictators
In palaces
Laps of luxury
The fester
Putrefying while still alive
They, the flotsam of humanities waves
Cast aside by our communal will
Yet
Remain they do
Spreading their stench in every act
Destroying freedom
Crushing resistance
Thinking they are supreme
Assuming victory, forcing the world to bow
Instead
They are merely marking the minutes
In ever more horrendous acts
Until their own downfall
For no matter the man
Our own humanity will rear its head
And demand its due
One way or another
- Drops of Saline Stars
Her eyes
Still, deep pools of brown
Awash in warm tears
Drops of saline stars
–
Hidden within the calm reflection
A tempest brews
Of a thousand laughs
Balanced on a scale of hurt
–
When beheld by such countenance
To see myself in such calm lagoons
Is to be lost to myself
Awash in her love
- Triangulated Beauty
The glint on the water heater
Shining in the afternoon sun
Reflected at the perfect angle
Triangulated by the autumnal afternoon sun
–
Strange such coincidence happened
Nothing planned
No architect nor engineer took the rays into account
Yet such a sublime alignment exists
–
Nothing was tried
Nothing attempted
Some accident was created
And beauty abounded
- Logic Gates
The folders on my computer
And the files contained within
Stand as a digital testament
To all my failures
–
Projects left half done
Some barely off the ground
Others within sight of completion
Left to wallow in binary purgatory
–
There they all sit
The illogical bound by logic gates
The same story
Told different ways
- Ashen Applause
I wonder if
Behind the smiles
Pleasantries and whatnot
It’s all just an act
Their love is just words
Ash swirling on the wind
A strong color
Faded in the harsh sunlight
–
Ease will not be coming
Only an embrace of reality
A real hard pill to swallow
But a panacea when ingested
One’s own applause the only to be heard
One’s one care the only to be had
The rest is just background static
Playing on an unwatched tv
In a waiting room somewhere boring
- Gainsbourg et Al.
I’m told 1969 was the most erotic year
That’s what Gainsbourg claimed at least
Today, in consumerism’s dizzying era
I sit with a headache
–
Gone is the age of aquarius and its free love
Now it’s free parking and free samples
Nothing erotic unless it sells
The hot girls gyrate to hawk shit
–
Such a shame the hippies lost
Or gave up I should say
Surrendered their ideas
To push their stocks up a fraction of a point
–
Maybe I missed that erotic year
Maybe I just missed some fake bullshit
Or just different fake bullshit
A different ocean of bullshit from the one I wallow in every day.
- Instant
In the moment between heartbeats
In the silent orbits of moons
Existence stands on tiptoe
Breath anxiously paused
–
Hairs on my head choose a direction to grow
Oblivious of solar winds
Ambient radiation that bombards
Growing in steadfast silence
–
Atoms divide and combine
Evolution works its slow wonder
Volcanos wait
It is all but an instant
- Open Road Yearning
A year of abbreviated distance
The wide world reduced
To walking distance
In a hipster neighborhood
The streets have been walked
And rewalked for good measure
The only variable is the other walkers
And the mercurial storms of the Rio de la Plata
–
A year only on foot
Nature only that this is prim and clipped
For urban beautification
Ecosystems represented
In lone tree embassies
A thirst for the open road
With no open avenues to whet
–
As one cycle ends
The blossoms again open
The open road calls
The passes have been cleared
One year spent yearning
Perhaps the next will be in motion
The path ahead is unknown
But its possibilities are as open
As the endless vault of the Austral skies
- Faux Nostalgia
I am nostalgic for a time I never had
Sitting in my friends house that I visited once
Though feeling like it was my own
Happy to start winter break
At a college I didn’t attend
Watching the snow fall outside in a place where it doesn’t snow
–
I am warm in my hoodie
On a brown leather couch
Cold when I sat down
Warming up now though
–
I’m wearing socks without shoes,
though I don’t like that
I’m euphoric about my finals
Ones I didn’t really take
A 4.0 I never received
–
I’m maybe 21 or 22
Senior year I’d guess
Same year I visited that house for real
Though in the summer sunshine
A profound happiness spread from socked toes to mohawk tip
–
The nostalgia is strange
Without reason or real purpose
I have real memories to yearn for
Yet I feel pain for these moment that never were
That, perhaps, is what I find most painful
The life that never was
The happiness that never found me
The comfy socks and plush couch
That my ass never found
On a cold, snowy day.
- Volcanic Starscape
In a verdant and saffron atmosphere
I found myself awash
In inky sludge
And black volcanic sand
Lost in oranges and turquoise
Expanded and made hideous
Beautiful for my humanity
Islands rising from the sea bottom
Into glorious sunshine
My feet upon their virgin shores
Bathed in soft cloth
Warm and cleansing upon my skin
The stars shown in silent glory
Awash in the milk of the sky
And the imaginations below
- Casting off
Casting off
Into futures unwritten
Trepidation in the heart
Soul buoyed
–
The nights will be long
The odds rough
–
But the road calls
The future is inexorable
Its bend, though, negotiable
And we the tillerman of its course
- Strand
The tide rolls in
Upon the strand of my soul
I feel its warm motion
Its sweet foam
–
The quest to be perfect
To make the most of every moment
Lights fires upon the beach
Turning sand to glass
–
In the steaming cool
Waves wash away the fear
The beach grows dark and quiet
Under the warm milk of the cosmos
- Dues
It washed upon me
A giant toxic wave
Dark, churning, tempest born mass
Thick liquid, dragging me down
Deep beneath its thundering billows
–
Gears grind
Scratching screeching metal
Alive yet in a dream
Struggling to float
Struggling to think
–
In movement nor rest is respite found
Only time, incessant and overbearing
Shall free the awashed from the depths
Precious seconds, then, tick forward
Dare not be abated
- Glorious Sunshine on a Guilded Balcony
A gentle breeze
The rustling of verdant leaves
Heralds
The parting of clouds
Departures of grey sky cloaks
Sunshine
Deprived from we below all day
Its absence acute
Resplendent
Warming humans and awaking minds
Glorious radiation, greeted with smiles
Sighs
Cloudy blues blown away
Again the city awakens
Joy
- Dreams of Past Pain
Dreams of past pain
Bullets and guns silent
In fields and jungles
Screaming, deafening in dreams
–
The scars heal,
Save the deepest ones
Invisible without
Ripped deep within
–
The soul’s torment
Is the price of survival
Better than the alternative
If only just
–
A silent battle waged
A horrific dreamscape
A nocturnal fight
A constant reminder
- Years Later
Everyone wants to be cool until you’re in too deep
Lying about experiences is easier
No scars, no cravings, no nightmares
Just the glory, just the pussy
–
Free drinks aside, consider the broken man
Alone with his tears
Awash in horror years after the fact
Stories too real to be cool
–
He thought it’d get him attention
Coolest guy in the room
But there is no room to be in
When your mind will never leave ‘then’
- When You’re Able
And they find you when you’re able
Or so they will say
Able now, supposedly
–
It’s all on your ass
Stand to and deliver
Accept your fate, it cannot be changed
–
Into the meat grinder you go
Their bravado legendary
Your sacrifice forgotten
–
It is the fate of man to suffer
In ditches and on killing fields
History always forgetting before the next time
- Tubed Caviar
I wonder if the bauxite miner
And the sturgeon know
That their respective contributions to the economy
In salty eggs and the base ingredients of aluminium
Will be combined in tube form
And spread on toast in Norway
–
Does the existence of such tubes have meaning
Does their design
Which I like for some reason
Speak to a great truth
About me
About the caviar Norwegians like
–
If it does
It it speaks to some profound truth
Tubes being meaningful that is
Should I be worried
Would it worry the bauxite miner to know
I’m sure the sturgeon is nonplussed either way
- to be born was some bullshit
The burnt out house next door,
Is the only neighbor he’s know
The gang colors on his jacket
The only fashion he wants
–
Life is a five mile radius
The Persian Gulf and Siberia might as well be mars
Life is here, life is now
A career is a perverse hope
–
To be born was some bullshit
And it’s gonna be more shit while you’re here
But another day above ground is something
Especially if it’s the only thing you’ve known.
- B and B
They prance about in flighted merriment
All but ashen gusts
Carried ever lofier on digital thermals
We are supposed to gaze
Unblinkingly
Enthralled
Until we blink our dry eyes
In refreshed liquid vision
See
The absurd manifest
In fake laughter
In a potemkin world
- Falling Pages
Rustling of leaves
A symphony of friction
Bending and gently colliding
In warm, lazy winds
Calendar pages fall
Denoting new
Lamenting old
Floating down through a crowd of dust motes
Resting on a wooden floor
Light dancing upon them
Directed by swaying branches
- A Lone Piper
And a lone piper,
In uniform and kilted regalia stood
Upon a cement parade ground
In driving rain
–
The drones wailed a lament
As the melody soared in sonorous derge
Good, nostalgic tidings
Drowned in celestial tears
–
Eras end amongst promises of better days
Lies abound in hearts drunk with power
Today, years later, tears fall in deluges
Torrential as on that dignified piper
- Eclipse
In the glorious afternoon,
When azure blankets the city
Soft muslin of ozone and air
Hung impossibly high far above
–
The moon passes in irregular form
Between our home and our power
Crescented, then, becomes
That steadiest of lights
–
We below watch
With all our technology, mystified
Stunned at the simple ballet
Our antecedents worshiped
–
Rare, beautiful, resplinant
How lucky are we, creatures of this world,
To live on a planet whose moon and star
Fit so well together
- Lost on Me
My fingers run along the fake wood
Too smooth and cool in the early night
–
The phone sits notificationless
Seemingly without purpose
–
The beat thumps
The crescendo rises
–
Saxophones rift on chords
A voice, melancholy, intones melodies
–
My feelings gassify
Same for the bubbles in the sparkling water bottle
–
I feel the singer is saying something important
But it’s lost on me
–
The evening fades and stars alight
But it’s lost on me
- Chime
And bells chimes above the warren of streets
Clear and sonorous above cacophony
The pure tone ringing true
Through all us within
–
From the depths of our filth
On a planet once so magnificent
Turquoise, verdant, lush
Sunk in the landfill we’ve hewn from its crust
–
The clarion call sounds
The hearts of man resound in its beauty
Raising us up from our mistakes
Uniting us in beauty.
- Atacama
The cerulean oasis
Mirroring the sky
Saline in composition
Solitary in character
–
The Vicuna herd
Lost amongst the sands
Tantalized by the waters
Disappointed in thirst
–
The desert takes its toll
Amongst the thin air
And rolling dunes
Skulls bleach in the sun.
- Night, 10:37 pm
In the heart of history
Beating thunderously in the cavern of my soul
The grains of hope slipping through my fingers
Grasping madly I cry out
–
From my placid abode my call echos
To the cold the hungry the oppressed the imprisoned
Together we watch the last rays of the sun
Set beyond the horizon of our futures
–
Without hope the night continues long
The sunrise seems ever so distant
The stars so cold in the frozen river of their firmament
We below, alone
–
It was a good run they will say
Those for whom history is read in the papers
With disinterested hurruphs
And wonders of stock changes
–
For we who turn our faces to the wind
Feeling its chapping gusts on ruddy cheeks
We are not allowed such distances
Languid cetaceans we are not
–
Dawn will come, and with it the future
The trees roots are too deep to truly parish
But grim tidings come with the night
And we who must live in the dark.
- The Cusp of History
Strange to think sometimes
When the clock strikes and calendars days fall
That the turning of the world
And the dance of the stars
Has alighted us upon the shores of history
–
In some sense, every day is history
For some the best day of their lives
Others pure tragedy
Some nations will mark it will joy
Others immeasurable sorrow
–
Strange to know
Well in advance
That the next day will bring something
Something spoken about, triumph or failure
Which, though, completely unknown
- Folding
Folding in glorious trumpet strains
Grass grows unconcerned
Neon lights glow, illuminating police brutality
–
Our loyalty is demanded
The cacti are worried about drowning
Harmonies play to empty opera houses
A viking helmet wonders why it’s doing in this century
–
Evaporation continues, screaming fuck you to condensation
A reactor comes online and pulses blue
Balloons make teenagers sound weird
–
A field is burned
Vexing an uptight person across the straits
In sighs humanity’s metronome finds is rhythm
- The Beat/Uncertanity
The beat drops
And uncertainty looms
Futures predicted
Ridiculous in their polyester getups
–
Sleuths will pursue the annals of this time
Lost for meaning and reason
A species wandering aimless
With nuclear weapons and edible panties
–
The bass resonates
And we still fuck up
We’ve perfected napalm
Rocket launched and on sale!
–
If we survive, the starships will coast
Planet to moon to asteroid
Trying to forget, like awkward teen years,
We their dumbass forbearers
- Silver Tides
Upon the slipping shores of my dreams
You float in whips of technicolor fabric
Ensconced in patterns of paisley and hieroglif
Smoke wafts in your wake
–
An incense burner sits lonely
Under a mandala of unestimitable color
The fabric flows you forward
Suspended in a harmony of chants
–
I follow, reaching forward
You forever out of my grasp
Slip from any reach
And roll away in undulating beauty
- Dulcis est cunnus Letona
The wave broken,
Over the copper bow of lunar light
The sweet, warm waters gathering me
In its saccharine bosom
Floating me down the gentle crest
Of retreating thought
–
The stars, hidden by flashes of lightning
Call to me in soaring melodies
Harmonized with the beat of my heart
Blasted through amplifiers
Glorious strains of soul fuck rock
In myriad spectral frequencies
–
The wave churns and I with it
The sweetness of peach lays upon my tongue
Music grows discordant
Chords and spectra break apart
Leaving only chunks upon the floor
Until at long last they resolve into glorious harmony
- Lost Thought
A fragment of a thought
A memory
A glimpse
Floats on the flotsam of my mind
–
Blurry around the edges
amorphous in shape
Obnoxiously undefined
Tickling the ‘What am I missing’ hairs
–
The daily, mild torment
Soothed by the forgetfulness of time
- Holiday Afternoon
Streets roll into puffy clouds
Glowing in the sunlight
beers, cold in the hand
Fresh air, filtered through masks
–
The feeling of shoes on feet
And soles on pavement
Free from the four walls
So monochromatic and restricting
–
The heart sings
In glorious hair metal wails
The pulse, a swelling guitar
From a ‘70’s hard rock solo
–
The afternoon will roll on forever
Our sauntering, aimless in such luxury
Without reason, only to be
Free as freedom is free
- 桃園
Memories rest
In the sweet peach garden of the soul
Unmolested nor ravaged
By the currents of life
–
Flowing in turbid eddies
The fortunes of selves
Oaths taken and forgotten
Leaves crushed beneath feet
–
The sweet boughs of towering pine
Tender at spring’s dawn
Refresh eager senses
Lost in life’s unrequited desires
- Tonight, Tomorrow
The moon, full, hangs
Languid with Crux
Silent above the dark city
–
I am filled with a restlessness
My soul churning
My blood alive
–
The pressure of tomorrow
With its demands and requirements
Bare down with each passing moment
–
I, though, rage with life
Unable to rest my mind
Unwilling to quiet my thoughts
–
Under the lunar light
My soul is alive
Tomorrow be damned.
- Contrast
Such a strange contrast
Spring and winter
Quarantine and openness
–
Stores change policies
Relationships grow distant
Yet society soldiers on
–
The heart is weary
Though the soul is defiant
Endure, endure beats the heart
–
Though the billowing clouds of uncertainty
Thunder at day break on a near horizon
Today is a gentle movement of a leaf in the spring breeze
–
Ignorance of the storm
Just like before
Continuity in contrast
- And, but
Something feels weird in my wrist and
There was a flyer that was creepy and
It talked about dictatorships and
I don’t think the creator studied history
–
The wrist thing is fucking with me and
I’m weirdly tired at 10:21 and
I took a fucking nap and
It didn’t do the trick
–
I have too much bullshit to deal with and
I don’t want to do it and
It’s all I really have to do and
It’s all that gives my day meaning
–
That fact pisses me off and
I’m going to do exactly nothing about it and
That’s sucks but
What is there to be done?
- Vernal Equinox
The sill of the afternoon floats on
Under the still, azure sky
Gentle breath keep tempo
Of stretch commenced naps
–
The tentative leaves sway
The breeze gentle
The last exhale
Of winter’s chill
–
A light wisp of cloud
Passes over the mellow metropolis
A tuesday we all decided
Was just not worth the effort
–
The Austral Spring sprung
And no one seems to care
Apathy gallops around
Bikers weaving on the roads
–
Just to sit outside
In the shortening rays
Coffee steam rising
Warming all around
–
I sit watching the sun
Trace patterns on neighboring buildings
The refrigerator hums
Both absentmindedly
–
The equinox is upon us
Sighed out with indifference
A winter of solitude past
A spring of uncertainty commenced
- Citrullus Lanatus
The mop moves
Soapy water
Across the wooden floor
Warm against the late winter chill
–
Her memory
Our bodies entwined
Sweet nectar of love
Mixed with sweat
–
The bucket sloshes
Dirty suds spill
Squeegeed up
Floral scented
–
Our breath, shared
Our voices rising
A reflexive, mutual addiction
Waves breaking upon shores
–
Quotidian afternoon
Her, alive in memory
Boring mundanity without
Passion searing within
–
Wash me away
Down the drain into you
Scrub away every trace
Dissolve me in your love
- It, Cactus
My balcony cactus sits
Alone on a wooden table
Far from its natural biome
The sand washed dunes
Of distant deserts
–
Instead four stories up
And slightly inland
Upon the humid, temperate shores
Of the muddy Rio de la Plata
–
I wonder if it feels lonely
Out of place
Cupped in gaudy orange plastic
Stared down upon
By austral birch trees
–
If when the cool wind nips
Or the skys unleash torrents
It doesn’t long
For dusty, dry winds
- Barber Shop
Highlighted in neon
Decorated in the bumping pseudo hop
Now slow R sans B
To hip for its own good
Here, where the beautiful are quaffed
–
Coffee machine
Buttons for bougie drinks
Whites flat
Espressos not expressos
Embrace the faux class
–
You share this edifice
Roomates of sorts
Same structure
Same industrial chic
Different vibe
–
I’m not sure the soundtracks
Of fancy women’s boutiques
Where models shop
With oohs and aahs
This place has the same tunes
–
A fake plant
Caged in a fancy glass lamp
A spot of green amongst the hip white
Plastic, though
Fake all around
- In Unfathomable Beauty
The notes
The harmonies
Roll off her back
Down the sheets
Across the comforter
Into a beam of warm sunlight
–
She lays supine
Golden in the mass of cloth
A still life
Only undulating
With her steady breath
–
The glory of creation
Made manifest
In the quotidian joy
Of waking, only to find
My soul awash
In unfathomable beauty
- A Pomelo Sits
A pomelo sits,
Cold, forgotten
Alone in the recesses
Of a dark fridge
–
Bought on a whim
Forgotten with an exotic cheese
Left to slowly over ripen
Never considered otherwise
–
Its sour juices
Shall pique no taste buds
Nor will its pulp
Gather on a glass rim
–
Light flashes and doors open
Darkened after closure
Forgotten
Wasted
–
It’s only consultation
The lousy company
And shared fate
Of a drole cheese wedge.
- Absentminded Cacti
A cactus drank absentmindedly
Water pooled on the wooden table
Slowly surrendering to evaporation
The late afternoon sun
Cast long shadows
Shadow puppets of trees
Buildings a canvas
Dancing in the gentle breeze
Clouds, once voluminous and threatening
Emptied, pass out over the river
To repeat the process elsewhere
The cactus, full, sighed
- Century Club
Milestones come
Highway signs
A blur passing by
Some large, others small
All passed
Remarked in passing
–
Those that don’t escape our view
That seem to lag
Almost dancing in our gaze
Mark our memories
Indelibly and temporarily
Markers on the mental map
–
Round numbers are remembered
For convenience’s sake if nothing else
Enjoyed, however, the same
Hearts joyed, souls enriched
In the vast dark ocean of life
A lighthouse beacon
- Calle, Noche
The cobble stones speak
Of a past age
When trams rumbled past
Grinding iron rails
Carrying people
Rich and poor
Bringing life to a city
Teeming with promise
–
A century of moons
Cast their mournful light
Upon abandoned iron
And worn stone
All that remains
Of teeming promise
The future that once was
Ages slowly on the ground
- In Zeros and Ones
It sometimes strikes me as strange
Than in my hard drive
In zeros and ones
In digital form
–
I have the likeness and movements
Of people and places
Than no longer exist
–
Strange that in that form
Of mere zeros and ones
They are reproduced
Though not for real
–
For my eyes to see
My tears to fall
And my heart to ache
–
Real to my eyes
As they once were
But merely a facsimile
Of what once was
Of who once was
–
Now but mere memories
Encoded
In zeros and ones
- We, Invincible
There was an era
When everything seemed so rich
So beautiful, so possible
A wonderful ignorance
To us, the invincible
All adversity was to be met
And opposition that was daring
Was to be bent to our will
–
And the world
Though riling in imperfection
Was to be made right
Through our inerable hand
For we could do all
See all
Be all
–
Ours was the world
And everything in it
Just waiting for our mark
To change in indelibly
- Flashback
If life were to flash
I wish it were to be but a pause
Forget the long shot
Or things in retrospect
–
Let it just be me
Laying languid in your arms
Peaceful repose
Immersed in your beauty
–
Let that flashback be
But you
The comfort of your love
The radiance of your beauty
–
Magnified, transfigured
Resplendent in glory
- The Belt Above
Upon windblown shores
Floating on the tears
Of orphaned whales
I find my bed
Adrift
Sea foam below
Spinning cosmos above
Dark, yet comforting
The feeling of gentle repose
Even given the inhospitality
Under the guarding belt
Of galactic arms
Dust suspended in thousands of points of light
Distant to the waves
Beyond, truely
And I below
Gently spin in edies
Borne ever forth
Upon apathetic and amoral tides
- Instead Soaked In
My feet stood
Paired upon the floor
Cool to touch
Damp in fall
–
My eyes watched
The afternoon pass
Unrequited and unremarkable
Time floating by
–
Trees in wind
Sway and shake
Leaves fall down
Covering parked cars
–
My breath fogs
Circles on windows
My mind fogged
Numbed, placid, free
–
The world outside
The world within
Fill my cup
To the brim
–
Overflowing glorious beauty
Songs, rhythm, rhyme
Colors, tone, shape
Oh glorious universe
–
Not forgotten today
Quotedianest of dates
Not left alone
Marinated in mundanity
–
Instead soaked in
Down to marrow
Your beauty imparted
My soul enriched
- Dust, Crumbs
Dust gathers on the floor
Damp from the winter’s chill
Crumbs too
Remnants from crusty bread
–
I sit watching the arc
Long, reaching around the world
Move slowly across the floor
Rotational momentum observed
–
The temporary glint
Prismatic off the bottle
Shows the liquid level
Below half
–
Soon to be empty
Save a desert’s annual rainfall
Left as backwash and dregs
To evaporate in the recycling
–
The puffy clouds of the afternoon
Continue their lazy stroll
Passing spots of grey
Giving variety to the city
–
I below debate a nap
Sighing at a book oversold in review
An album playing
Offers no rhythm for page turning
–
Outside a forbidden world
Masked and contained
Passing with the season
Unremarked and shallow breathed
- Fellow Traveler
Reality seems to slip,
The mask moves
Just ever so slightly
The bottle cap in my fingers
Hyper- and -not real
–
In the moments
Plastic reflects light blue
Giving my uncomprehending eyes
A color to behold
More form to the un, hyper reality
–
Strange how a moment can hold fast
Against the immense gravity of the universe
Against the march of time
And for a second be held
In a single breath
–
And in that held respiration
As alveoli absorb oxygen
The cap rotates off the bottle
With the force of my hand
Opening the bottle to the atmosphere
–
I look at it, examining it
A fellow traveler, made of the same elements
Stardust beholding stardust
I feel it in my hand
Or perhaps it and my hand are one