Poetry

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

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 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

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 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

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 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 

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

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 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 

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

Vibrations of bamboo

Wounded soul lamenting

–

A note drawn out

The universe pauses

–

Tone hangs in the air

Silence again enthroned

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

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 

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

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 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

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 

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

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 

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

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 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

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

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

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

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?

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 

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 

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

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 

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

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 

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

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 

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”

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

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

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 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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. 

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

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

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 

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 

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

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

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’

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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 

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.

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.

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. 

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 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 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 

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 

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 

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

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 

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

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. 

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 

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?

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 

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

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

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 

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, 

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.

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

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 

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

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

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

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 

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

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 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 

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