November 13, 2007

an absentee banshee

the glistening howl
saturated with opulence
senses voided (vocitus....vacuus)
an ebb....facetious
in lieu of a heart beating hale

retracting cilia
intent on probing the past
too late (laeter...lassus)
the cries....forestalled
for no ears tune to the sufferance

anon to the beckoning
it shall away
to reappear....oh, but do not cast
for you can't not see anyerr

to bound, howl, leap towards abeyance
and joyful sounds erupt
when the glance averts true relation
and neglect engenders trust

Plain vs. Serrated: The Conventional View

you think other people choose the current situation, the one we all have to live in day in and day out, on their deathbeds?

how they feel at the moment of death determines how the rest of us live out our meager existences?

you think our intents are snatched at the moment of release?

used without our consent or even knowledge?

the juggernaut released and harnessed....mankind's contribution to the struggle
tween left and right
on and off
dark and light

I think i can make do with only the 3 dimensions....yes
the first, uninhibited spree
the second, guilty sobriety
the third....

but why can't we live in the third?
i want the choice of a recycled balance
to stand tip-toed on the knife's edge
that saps the strength of our dying breathes
with the resultant wavefront creating the first and second
and a fourth if wedged properly
….hmmm

rubbernecking

yes, i know of the faultless dark
they of the glaz-ed eye
who look upon our dearth of dash
and disembowel our sigh

they gaze
this glaze a smear of cause
and lift the guise as is his due
and yes....I know
I know it well
as surely as do you....

you can not blame hormonal surge
that animalistic fruit
it has no place in suffering
that light is lit and mute

just fade to shade
construe, oh......you knew
you stand aglaze
ablaze....renewed

the sacrifice was neer refused
now hollow be your values queue
oh ye of the glazed eye

Hard Wun Truce


when the One has separated

excrement from mind

learned to leave and recognize

migrators at odd

the ego is allowed its rightful place

in the homage to the theatre of Wun

psyche’s doppelganger


i see the deliberate ones
bereft of a stagnant ego
floundering on the shoals
of insolent sacrifice
taking that unconditional dip
into temperance

why would you deny
your wright of joy
that wonder of rue
the flailing journey
to marrow?

why do we all neglect
the curcuit taken
in ever deepening spirals
out...ever out
beyond our joyless throes

to find the one within
who shouts, yearns, bleeds
for the retribution
of forgiveness

why abandon indulgence
when you can surrender
to extravagance, bounty
grace and cruelty
the Crown of Rout
your everlasting garland....

tell me
....tell me
why

the parabola of affection


you promised
when you lain down
amongst the fiber of my soul's entanglings
to hold with a forgiving regard
neer to cherish the familiar impulses
bled onto these foils of a season spent

you promised
when you clasped my offer
of a loving inconvenience
to turn your heedless eye apparent
not to view the manifestation
of those strokes given to a blessing sink
but to let loose when the flint struck
and connect the brilliance scrapped

you promised
when you made this
appointment with sufferance
to hear that unconditional heartbeat
the one that rushes down galleries
aligned with clueless shivers
intent on a perilous joy
bound

you promised
when controlling whispers burst
upon the countless cascading mottos
of hollowish salvation
an adoration warm with truth and pulse
the obvious deprivaton pre-ordained
bona fide and distinct

you promised
with that haphazard motion thrust
all opportunities to beckon
with a simple lack of reflex
and it's suddenness plummeting
amid endurance of a vacancy grant

you promised
....eternal

caricatura

awakened
with echoes
of a vague recollection
carresses that stroke
a sheath held long and punished
those imprints left behind
a sensation best hid
from the all knowing eyes
of a sun

fallen
through and free
down layers
of buttressed empathy
it's bliss worn and frayed
no longer taking visitors
towards the memory of
sentiment

saddened
by the view
of heals of devotion
wandering afar and astray
the connections
but a dream of withered lust
that curdles the blaze
of sanity

abandoned
all those dreams flee
for none can withstand the
lucent reason and complacency
while shadow runs unrestrained
through the weave of device and desire
gone off course

stranded
'mongst twisted shells
discarded in the throes
of a neglectful rapture
the only tangible evidence
not of god
but of a warp and flushed truth
to bold to contain our paradigm

defeated
this tenement lorn
this ardor bled
this existence recessed....

despair despeir desperare

A reverent sobriety


suspicion equals fear equals denial

Denial of our judgments

Denial of our ever-evolving hypocrisy

Denial to surrender (aww surrender….know it well)

who is it that's supposed to be acceptive of whom?

if you can not accept your own base nature

how can you then accept the fears of others….

but then I'm sorry to say..….your fear is YOUR repression, not mine

I have no qualms….I am satisfied

my truth is no fantasy

and your opinion is irrelevant

why fight fire with fire

when you don't even feed yours properly

at least I've faced down my vile beast within

you……you run from yours

a persistence of vision

to range the very air
through travail's ghastly shaft
this journey's scope
but a surged blur
superior, far and affrayed

your struggles
are yet a memory's pall
i have moved beside
in this route taken
linear to the melee
and they unravel with fret
side and spite
their purpose a care
smitten with a disagreeable ennui

while mine
having been left by their infancy
lush and wet with tears
too soon shed midst misery's terrain
are let loose in jest
on a populace less reflexive

we enroil in a brume
hazed and adjacent to the landscape of my ideals
simply an after-mirage in the rear view
that should have burdened....

was there something to that trepidation?
a psycho physicality
that synthesized into a frequency
i should have taken notice of?
i thought it but a phinomenon of perception
twin brains surmising movement
a flicker fused....
to give
yet another
afterburn
of normality

de facto’s rote


could you travel half-way to reality
on the faith of a written word?

as the whim of others
attempts an unbroken dash
over ruts worn thin by
euphoria and remorse
the question always arises....
why would one want
to rescind and bide
a step away from apathy?

the incurious
clear the blue glow
of a full moon's right
with fog drenched vales
spiked with haunted fingers
of agitation

but I negate your bliss
please leave me torpid
monotoned
tween headlong and even
don't drag me down
to your rapturous twilight
that burns with a sacrilegious wick

lethed melancolie
is it's own reward
for a life blown hard
by the roar of chagrin

reality’s bellow


the focus
hollow and lacerated
the view
inward....vast
what looks to some
a blank hue
is in fact a ludicrous contest
with eternity
that wrest of one last drop of birr
from the embrace of silence

the vessel withered and crushed
as one long lost ship
dredged from millennia's nether
having been chawed and spat out
ad infinitatem
by the sucking maws
of unfathomable gluttons
for audacity

they have hard-won the havoc
leaving the soul divided
eternal charisma shattered
the outcome open ended
universal......calloused

the vacuum’s gnaw

a call
out of the mind
of an abyss gone rampant
while running blessedly through
the fields of remark

on my way
to a moment encircled
by all views
what to you
does my pause accomplish?
i have nothing to offer
such a lambent query of requital

should i halt....for thu
you who have no delineation
no boundary left
or structure of assumption?

you made me pivot my intent
inward
through the core
deeper than that familiar voice
and now I channel the void
that has no tongue

there is nothing to hear
here in the vacuum
why do you answer?

there is nothing sincere
here in the wildness
why do you linger?

there is nothing to volunteer
here in the collective sigh
why do you besiege?

i shudder along with the cryptic child
who flinches from shadowed pulses
that linger long veins
flush with remembered perplexity

those embryonic enigmas
embedded too deep to make my own
is this what you call to
when you surpass this hermetic shard?

bug-a-bears


You know what frightens me the most?
Not monsters, or the lush effects so common now-a-days. Not Death, nor weapons, wild beasts or brutal assaults…..
No….no, my pet fear is madness.

Madness terrifies me, that total mental collapse into spiritual decay.

I have this image in my head from a movie I saw so long ago. Of a woman, from a pre-civil war, well-to-do family, who loses touch with the commoners one day….

She takes to her hands and knees, crawling the house day in, night out, her black taffeta gown dragging the floor, her perspective halved and lacking.

At moments she seems as sane as you or I, just a peculiarity, this viewpoint from the hip so to say. But then eyes turn inward and she sees something that starts the foray……

The moaning and denials, screeches that reach sub sonic frequencies, to be followed by rushed whispers, the dialogue frantic and centered.

This….this is the effigy I fear most.

brittle dichogamy

a healer of appulsed stars

that appear quasied

but genuinely retroglide

through the solstice eve

the psycho-pompo-us mediation

skates tween con and un

a membrane most delicate

if you point the sun

against the universal centre

and heaven's fire

rich with humidity

fecund and deprived of the night's glow

coasts neath the right ascension

small and rare

solstitially arriving

with it's twin barrels of divine stigma

to agressively phase all those

standing agog....

all hail, all hail

circumference

an ever-revolving cast of espousals
the multi-states of mind flicker
out and round this iso-late crater
like an old time projection
cast by the setting sun
through the pulp of decay

words flicker by
on the window of contingency
assigning identities
too fast to hope the reserve

i analyze the repetition
a morsed dream that delves
broader afield with ever incarnate
dialogues scripted yet unique
if only in spectrum

i've heard....what was it i heard
i've seen this....yes, yes
again and amongst the lines....

he....
so fragile
to be inhibitionalistically bound
restrictively foiled
by the ghost of retreat and plunder

she....
too good
at anger, those tears which burn
the birth of verbatimed accusations
that control in the light of reason

we....
resolve in this dance
to an ancient abuse
mis-faith, and the trust wanders
mis-used, even the echo will brood
mis-amity, and affection spits from inheritance
mis-aligned, we will all sabotage the assumption

i....
feel the urge to be caught
in the midst of myself
once again....are you?

the stratum haunt

So I was standing still at 67 miles per hour again the other day, and I came across a tableau that was astonishing in its aftermath, though the moment seemed but a transit stroke. The second the scenes unfolded, each in their sequential pomp, the awe factor ratcheted up notch over notch till I was flabbergasted and wanting so to return to the act of the "crime".

Layer one….Red lights flashing in the distance, not unusual for a busy weekend by-way. Came up on brand new dooley pulled off to the side of the road, big and red with tinted and viewless windows and driver. A muddy brown sedan with hidden lights flashing in the back seat behind. Once you were up on the duo the lights faded in and out with strobic intensity….they are there….they are elsewhere….

Layer two….A man, in civilian clothes, walking from the sedan. Nice clothes, middle age, out of shape. But the odd factor was that if a vehicle is being pulled over by any law enforcement, the officer would be cautiously approaching the offending vehicle, weapon drawn and at the ready. Yet this man was sauntering through the roadside grasses like he was on his way to Sunday church services.

Now if this wasn't enough……on the other side of the road, almost directly opposite of this "crime"….

Layer three….at first glance I thought it was an elemental, a groundling deva type pacing the setting sun, waiting for its proper time. This "man", nut brown, with dirt so ingrained and skin so oakish as to appear black, yet with those piercing light eyes….

His clothing was an odd mish-match of extremely well-worn denim and torn-up, not-oft washed plaids. His boots were at least a half inch thick cowhide, gnarled and twisted to exactly fit his pristine feet. His hat, a twisted heap of fiber, molded by sweat and sun, to only vaguely resemble a sun bonnet. Thick of chest, a man who worked and fed every muscle, not just paid homage in a mirror. But the clincher, the item that made me realize I was not witnessing a modern day man walking along the road as if on an errand, were his chaps.

They were not the common full-leg, up-to-the waist kind. No, these went only up as far as the knee – thick unbending leather bells. Snake charmer chaps we call them here. Now, we have our share of local rodeo groups, but this was no sideshow-rodeo-cowboy-clown. This was a throwback to those days gone by of the cross-world cattle drives. And where would this creature, if "cowboy" he truly was, be coming from? We were on the side of the road, no ranches or developments or homes anywhere for at least a mile either way……

He was directly across from the officer and his offender. He looked at the scene as if to say "yea, I see it, I seen it before, it's just a late evening heat mirage. It will disappear as always when the sun sets down. But in the meantime I'm gonna take notes".

Highway 130 is cutting across old highways and back roads that were once trails between ranches and markets, auction and slaughter houses, and railroads and big cities up north and east. I think things other than the dust are being disturbed. And I truly think this is why my perspective is being so distorted….one of these days I won't just be driving by one of those portals, I'm going to drive 'through'……

lusus naturae


a deformance of soul
the gnarl and kink
unable to wreathe our
obliquity

a barrage and butt
against our pitch
demanding indemnific entrance

a lamentable ado
when understanding eclipsed
these simple flurries reviled and latent

any appeals
blown down and neglected
all percusses reciprocated
the claws descended and razor dark

it's instinctive
this knotty tread can't be helped
can't you see....
the strength is a shield
not a weapon

this yearning for consent
the dip into the cusp
is exactly what marks their aura suspect
for the quarry can sense the courser....

yet not one of you will allow
....that even monsters
need a kindness now and again

September 2, 2007

bruised pearls

the tears fall like chafe
cleansing and riding
the grit of deceit
from the bruised soul

it runs wild
looping
determinedly
....aimless
under the blue-black skies
with that umbered pearl
hanging pendulous and throbbed
a witness to
cherished resignation

its own gravel aghast
in untold and infant-decimal agonies
that pale in response
to a bairnish heartbreak

the trick is to layer thinly
like that orb
awash in blood and endearment
refract those sensations
let cope after weather
ever-ending contention
slip and slope off the contours

ahhh, to be the observation
instead of the casualty

chain shift


it's amazing how we all deceive ourselves, the mirror
and of course, each other
one word, one little utterance
can make you ask that all-important question......
who the hell was that i just opened my soul up to?

listen to the chatter, the filler
not what a person is trying to convey
oh no
listen to what's being said off the cuff

one flippant remark....
can open a crack you can see straight through
and give inadvertant passage to a psyche

facades are to be worn, yes, i agree
and some of them can be darn good
deceive even the donner at times
but one little phrase...

if someone doesn't even know themself....
then why the need to be someone you aren't
or someone you don't remember

i am so fucking tired of the game....

novennalia

during the sacred hush
the genius of the ninth hour gathers
grewsome trails abound
and obedience is stimulated beyond human endurance
only then may the initiator dodge through the ego
to walk the cycle descended
and then, then
the onliest can engage the finger of saturn
with silver on the left-hand path, invisible

the black of unpowered possibility
layered with the white of impure austerity
binds with the scat of humility
to allow the martyr free rein

take up that threefold thread
the furies' sting will not slough away
dread the fear that clutches
and take the time to adjust your karmic secret

do not allow another man's faith to follow you
and preserve yourself against the false lights
of irrational belief
know....dare....come full circle
....and be silent

ghost leather

as i was standing still the other day at 67 mph

(yes, it's still happening...)
it occured to me that we don't actually know when we are going
at any given minute, second, moment, nano-instance
can you give an accounting?
can you with a straight face say....

i am on my way to 10:02 am
is that in your set of variables?
would you like to meet for an atom splittage or two?

or, i'm backing up to 6:03 on friday evening,
the second of march '07
i didn't like how that panned out
thought i'd re-warp the synapsii and queue up again

hmmm, somehow i don't think any of this
is crossing our expanditure....ever
yea, we make 'appointments'
a general reference to a future
where we fractures of varying speed limits
attempt to dock and exchange abstract flashes

and we have 'memories'
a fond (or scarred) reminder
those little bookmarks of a story line
seemingly implanted, natural....shared
deep into our organic data mine

but these exercises are extremely futile
our vibrations never synch....never
what we think is another person
someone we are exchanging thoughts, hopes
spit filled air with
is simply an illusion
a shadow puppet on our cell wall
rubbed there by a passing mote
on it's over-eager shot
to the center of infinity

widdershin’s pronation

i think i had a dream last night
or maybe it was yesterwhen
it's hard to tell particulars
in dreamtime

of a circling, ever coiling
hidden ardor all encrouching
furtive darkness, luscious gnarling
that blendt itself to shade

it crept closer, ever closer
with incremental gain
whilst i was looking else
and obscured

and i felt it....hmm, well let's say
i felt an unsubdued pollute
for it takes a special lense
to view a pestilated taint

but this landscape it was spotty
know those spots now don't you well
that rub the other way
when walking through the trance

these spots, they traveled
with me
a longside me
counter to me....
ever onward, down and forward and between

till my armor lulled
the limes unmanned
a thought distracts
i glance awry
and straight into my heart
it finds it's course

it took the wright
the devil's twirl
it fled the canopy's unfurl
oh, straight to
my echoed heart it clasped

and once it met
all fear was gone
twas like a longing
gone to ground
one i never even knew
i couldn't miss

and now it nurtures
guards and strokes
there for me everwhen and cloaked
my nobbin where were you about
before you came?

the crown tips

my eyes....
deceptively buffered by prose and lull
they squeeze out a semblance of emotion that tears at

my heart....
stutteringly aghast at prurient interest
it's beating rampant with combative charity crawling will-nill cross

my skin....
crushingly seared at seams of isolation
the necessity for hullish aversion infinite and unabridged via

my soul....
inviolate and unchaste in it's essential dispense of grace
where the whole does not dissect the one....transcendence

libelous adoration

the heart gasped
lurching in utter shocked stutters
drip dropping it's love down
the drainage clogged with mindless
fucking
refuse
that was scraped off in the numbing silence
of this mind rubbed raw by discourse

the intent, to leave it's smear on all and sundry
anything
anyone
but we....
totaled and forgotten
in the mad dash for disobliging infatuation
should we applaud?
exalt?
self congratulate?

....rescind?

the fag in god’s eye

ab initio….

from the beginning

the beginning of caprice, ache….kindness

devoured of the earth, held in a hollow full

with No Trespass admit….defeat

and surely no grimace witnessed

though ashes to ashes crest and pique

neer to quench the catalyst

it's throb cross those shadows bent

and surging with disregard

while slick with cunning….meet

woeful euphoria

please someone, tell me
why would one run
ever non-preservationally onward
towards an emotional wreck?
is it the heartless thrashing that absorbs?
the carnage without remorse?

i see it time and time again
the signs are all there, warning
yeild....stop....no....don't....
yet ever onward they toss their senses
out that proverbial door

is it a morbid obtusity that drives?
a "let me see how much pain i can endure" mentality?
this time?
that person?
today?

i am in perpetual awe
the emotionally ignorant lemmings
running ever and over that cliff to their bliss
for you can't tell me they don't love it....
for some, it's the only affection expected
in a life full to the brim of excessive crum

the twinkle in a moth’s eye

Today was another odd one……

Not for anything concrete that happened, but for the signettes that were left in my path. And an eminent dislocation, a launch if you would, for the senses.

It began at 3 am-ish. A knock on the door. Now, most of you may not think this odd, but I live in the middle of 2 1/2 wooded acres, in a community of like properties, out in a bumpkinfied sketch frequented by deer, cow and coyote. My property is wrapped in wire, fence locked, animals on the alert 24/7 (well, except when they're asleep, but that's another story, hehe). Yet a knocking awoke. Not a loud banging, but one that ended with a shuddering scratch. It took a minute to remember that one of my adopted dogs, one that spent his time haphazardly faithful between me and his previous home, had failed to come in last night. I have tried in vain to plug up every available hole in the fencing with chicken wire (he is a Houdini, able to squeeze through the standard 4x6 ranch fence square, and he's not a small dog….gawd!!), but I look away for a flash, or come home from a trip, and he is outside the property….again.

Well, he decided 3 am-ish was time for bed I guess, and was demanding entrance to his nightly cookie and soft bed. Cheeky devil. Ordinarily I would be in a foul mood after having been woken in such a demanding fashion, but this morning the disconnection I spoke of made itself known from this first crack of the mindlid.

Routines were met, coffee was drunk, departure was planned and executed. I walked outside, high intensity flashlight trained on the driveway I had to walk up each morning. I'm not too worried about being ravished and what-not on this dark jaunt up the gauntlet (shadowy recesses flickering and writhing with the wind, disembodied sounds, spider webs) five days out of the week, not with the pack on the prowl and alert. So when something the size of an orange is seemingly tossed across the light's arc, to travel just outside its boundary, I was taken aback and slowly pondered to a stop.

I crept up, swinging the light's beam from left to right. There, on the ground up ahead about 3 feet. What the heck? It appeared to be moths in coitus, ha. Never seen that one, and here I thought I was a nature lover. Hehe. I started to walk around, when something caught my eye. A small light, in the vicinity of said moths. Oh good lord, I need to investigate. I edged closer, closer still, till I was standing right above them, a hazy apparition behind a light from up on high, like some mythical being. And there it was again. A twinkle. Perhaps from one of the moth's eye? Then they both swung their hairy little heads forward, and I spied two sets of feral beams……odd. Had I taken a step into Don Juan's nonordinary reality? I can remember another episode with the moths, a dance to the parabola, but that I'll leave for another eve's review. In any event, the remainder of the day would be the telling.

I continued on to work, the rest of the journey uneventful. I felt odd (there's that word again, but I know no other adjective that comes close) throughout the morning. I would be in the company of co-workers and friends, standing or sitting in usual proximity, camaraderie and connection disjointed. And all through-out the morning, I would get these little orgasmic rushes, the duration but of 15 to 20 seconds. I don't know how else to describe them. It was a heightened hyper sense, euphoric and at times embarrassing. Did they, my fellow bees, guess the guilty secret behind my blanked façade? God, I hope not, haha.

At any rate, I attempted many remedies to alleviate the sensations – a lap around the building, a trip to the outdoors, a meeting with friends that should have been animated, but which fell flat due to my non-participation and other-where-ness. The ever deadening routine of numbers and e-mails. I even tried a soda, thinking it was some type of ordinary-like gaseous episode, hehe. I finally admitted defeat and let the boss know I was out for the day. Maybe a trip around the city to run errands would succeed where nothing else could.

Now, I spend a fair amount of time riding the concrete ribbons around my corner of 'paradise'. Monotonous times, broken up by the seasonal flora, squashed and prayed at critters, wrecks and the ever present rape of the landscape by construction crews. In my part of the tri-county a new highway is being lain across the mural, snaking its way through the by-ways and forgotten lanes of which I roam, with the anticipatory compounds of useless enterprise that popup when there is a glee in the imaginary consumer's eye encroaching on my corner. But most times my eyes are drawn to the grasses fluttering in the breeze of passing vehicles by the sides of the rode. It can be hypnotic, and many a time choreographed by whatever music I happen to be listening to.

But today, something odd….yes, there, I said it again…..Odd. In most cases, when you are flying down the road at ungodly speeds, the real estate rushes TOWARDS you. In other words, you are traveling THROUGH it. A matter of perspective I know, but one which we humans cherish, if only for the semblance of normality. But today, the landscape traveled along WITH me. I thought perhaps I was sleep driving. I'm on the roads so often as I've said, I've seen some strange things through my numbed eyes. But no, this happened numerous times throughout the circuit. The ground, grasses, the ever present advertising billboards and rottage on the side of the road were traveling in the same direction as I. Is it only a matter of perspective? Or had I slipped beneath, around, behind the view held by the general populace?

I decided to look closely at this screen door held open for my perusal instead of flinching aside in shock. I would be brave and SEE that which I would normally flee from in fear, that fear of the unknown we as a species have grown old with. So I attended. I saw the terrain, hard and focused. Every blade of grass, its warpage and weft, the rise and fall of each stone. The contour of a setting that was unorthodoxically stationary. The feeling was of being escorted, path smoothed, the ride but a sit for an instant. But escorted to where? I went with the flow, let myself twist with the distortion. A lapse then occurred, one of miles, across arenas often viewed, through vistas wearily traversed. A lapse of a seeming wink….but of when did I go? The truck on auto-pilot, I tripped the light of the moth's eye, arriving home in one whole, albeit stuttered piece.

That little trip bares repeating.....

Eva’s anguis

infinite drops
roiling cross bodies of oiled phlegm
hissed through the ark of force

catch them if you can
for when they harden
the snake's glass ring of stone
will prosper all ventures

the egg envelopes, glain encircles
and those thick lunettes of green, blue and white
lain out in all their deceptive splendor
shall be dug from the Hakpen ave

while the Pedra del Cobra
must be torn from sleeping serpent's mount
lest it dissolve like death with a whimper

but that daemon Pádraig
banished the femi-nine to the lindworm's leap
by pitting the fire in the dragon's mouth
the frothed hood extinguished by frenzied moths
bent on processional pomp
oh woe be
unto the Gliding King and his ochim
oh woe....

afar corner

smothered in desiccate
feelings submerged
unable to think
or grasp myself out of this seal

is this not what i wanted?
to be cocooned
removed
un-violate?

a babble crossed this recent vacuum
like ants eating at the crust
insanity
the touch of the hatter
but could it have been real?

..they are far
....they are away
......they don't exist

honey-combed in a corner
my spirit
fed and nurtured by phantoms
of my inspirations
i can just barely meet....
a care

..she's gone
....she has died
......she is dead

no, i would have sensed something
i always endure too great
how could i not have touched this loss?
this necessary twine of my being
snapped of existence?

brain off-center
feelings aloof or suffocate
i completely missed the forecast
while bent into that nook

but how....
could i not have suffered the gap?

on the throne of the wing-ed son

when brightness is able to produce it's shadow

and man's moral and spiritual monster is maid

Two must interlace to allow the One

since One produced Two as an impression of matter

Two must be the soul of One

for Two is the radiance of One piercing chaos

and though Two sits in the portal to guide all pertained

it's healing touch shelters from scars caste by law

the equilibrated force of the profane on the sun

causes the rebirth of sacred and mysterious heart

on the throne of the wing-ed son

faren wel

for one moment yesterday
a flash
scintillated between unrelated thunderheads
from the source
to a love of a friend
to hover round the fogged senses of it's target
a seemingly random rendezvous in the infinity
but one that gained significance
as the path was regressed

when lightning is about to strike
does everyone in the vicinity feel the urge?
the tingling and numbness
of energy gone awry?
are some forewarned?
some given the chance to dart?

are then some others
incapacitated
shoved aside
by what?
fate?
whim?
by those who choose their own time?

it seems to be a family trait
the ability to choose one's own time......
the mold from which i was poured
ceased to exist yesterday

a tiny little warrior woman
who was fierce with her humor
who fought with unconventional weapons
of imagination and shadow
who could manufacture realities
as needed to backup her dictates
she was well-versed in universal languages
you could not beat her on right and wrong
she was the scale from which your intentions were weighed
one look from her soul....judgement sealed and executed

this woman feared no one
certainly no man
neither society nor death
and having faced it down a time or two
she knew life was for the taking

she fed and nurtured my 12th house soul
taught it to call chants and open the doors
all without having to be in her presence
for our energy combined....
a celestial event no mere mortal could withstand
when we inhabitat the same dimension
lo and behold you minions of the dirge
bow down, pay homage
or get out of the fucking way

but now....now
i feel no tug of annihilation
why would the doppelganger linger
and not the author?
it seems the clone would be made of weaker material
unless the archetype pushed and stood my place....

safe journey amita
your resonance will be missed....

mercury in the glass

does your mind haunt you?
what would it be like to let someone in
to give a guided tour of the hidden paths
to admire anew the un-balance

the tree splits with what could have been a mighty roar
but if there are no obstacles in it's way
the moment passes without making a sound

solitude is like that
if I'm not there to witness your struggle
did you actually suffer?
Did those flames of emotion even lick your heels?
Or was that too an illusion?

Alas, by my very existence in your flight
I've altered the differential
Your delusion has become ours
My observation has become yours
Clearly….the distortion is mutual
But this would only apply
If I even believed you existed at all….

false advertising

someone asked me the other day
after a comment i made about life
if what i was feeling was truly boredom
or a dissatisfaction that failed to distract
a fine distinction that
yet my response was negative to both
no....my ennui has more to do with disappointment
i seem to be walking alone again in my mirage
i probe and rummage
but there are no chimeras to be found
lacking....this playbill is lacking
and it was listed as an exciting diversion
from the run-of-the-mill universe
in that advert I received in the half-life
what the hell happened?

July 14, 2007

out through the other door

the preconceived perceptions
slough off in sheets of ever-anxious waves
from this animated golem

the hard edge of belief wavers
and fixations begin to crumble
the eye is focusing within
....examining

what did i think?
why did i believe?
who are you anyway?
where is my faithful absurdity?

i have found that if you stand still too long
at those crossroads 'tween lief and breath
you forget your underpinning

what was once beheld as reassuring bulwarks
of fervor and remorse
will have flown with the moment
out the mind's door

you forget why you paused
questioned
feared

and so where to from here?
to be honest, i miss the profundity
my life has become dull of late
agenda....i need an agenda!

idioma profana

naked but for their savagery
crushed and subdued
the antipodeans
cast a circular shadow in all directions
with hollows to wallow in
and horizons that dip into appraisal

these natives marched west from the crescent
blessed and blasted from despair's grasp
breathing and lungeful with eminent desire
their power of choice but a whisper
that insinuates deep within the non-seeing fossa
there to burr and scratch out a niche
whether welcome or not

this teasel, this seed with teeth and fur
it leaves all occupants shrouded and skived
abandoned, vacant, aloof and sole
the wane of elan routine and assured
the schedule settled, even the intent sealed

forcing an onliest onto a sea of cessation
awash in a progress that decays as they stood

a brief e-videns of breath

back and yonder, forward and aft
the swing eternal, lush and vicious
no prisoners taken, for there be no quarter for time
it's tentacles scythed to the ground
nature gives a grinding lurch with the contact
the scream, internally hollow
broadcast through bone and sinew
leaves the recipient's aura twanged and raw
though never knowing the source of their consequence
the itch and crawl of vibrations neither seen nor heard
can make for a finely filigreed sunopsis
ahhh, naivete
such a lame excuse for clueless manners

cathetus perpetua

conceding the symmetry, taught and oiled
he carresses the vertice that measures light and space
the violence is implicit in that march to the son
as it sets on the arm of matter and time
the dos-ambit scalene, a quasi tsunami of tedium
is ground into anal-ysis by the mensonge of desire
but why then worry about a bleared absolute
when the truth itself is polluted

broiled rhubarb

the body, paused and squat under the shade tree
how long it has been immobile is anyone's guess
it seethes and shifts
the contours ill-defined
a clear picture of shape is not possible
for the many see out of those eyes....

HE rises from the focal point
purpose in every line
the course set, intentions clear

SHE bends from the heart
upright, supple
a pause to review, then to journey

IT roars, creaks from the marrow
a shudder with cognizance
which agenda to follow?
a turn then shamble, and aft is sought

the radiance perpetual
all prefaced at the seat
that nave of periphery
just another aspirated itch of the divine

what is left when all have fled the hub
are uncounted bones strewn across that charred lea
each arising a scar on the trough
each journey a whimsical contrivance

chronic hope
incessant sorrow
persistant oblivion
what else is there really?
you can sit under that tree
ruminating forever if you are so inclined
me, I prefer infinity's strut

I think

the ego screams?
for what?
recognition, release?
or a deeper taint?

it is afraid?
of what?
light, experience?
an escape from the vision?

one would hope the veneer of civilization
is thick enough to let the beast within
see into the hearts of those less worthy
without coming away sharpened and fueled
by the sun's contemplative rays
which dance across the mind's blind eye,
the one that hunkers down between
sanity and ferality

contamination cannot be avoided
I am sorry to agree with you on this point,
those parasitic dreams have indeed leaked
into your personal qualia

but please don't ignore the glances
swim in them
the quarks are arranged ego-wise
and you have simply disappeared
into your of own voluntary transparency

after all,
you were only following your tuathic habit
of leaving your sacrifices at the crossroad altar
no harm done……

sentimental carnage

I love my dogs, I really do. But sometimes, sometimes it is driven home how close to the feral they are. How much they are not really our 'pets' but just primitive creatures that share our space no matter how vicariously, and that any second they can revert back to their god-given state. When they hit the darkness their eyes glow red and I have no control….it's like a film comes down over their souls, the humanity's touch is sloughed, the hunt is on.

These dogs, I love them, but ….A story

Last night after I had let them out for their bedtime jaunt, I got to sit and read the paper for a few minutes of quiet before the growling and screaming began. Well, being the pack mama I am my first impression was that one of my 'babies' was in trouble. I jumped up and ran for the door and the inky mid night shadows to rescue. I get out on the back porch and see nothing, but the night air is filled with what? Battle, horror, pain, commands…..

The storm is in the woods, right on the edge, right at the edge of the light thrown by the porch and service pole, the edge of tamed and insanity. There is a frenzy somewhere on the periphery and I am helpless. So I run back into the house for my flood light and heavy walking staff.

The porch is encased by spider webs – it's weird these spiders. They build their humongous webs each night (I've had one build a web as broad as my driveway and 12 feet high – driving through it was unreal) and then tear them down each morning just as the sun comes up, leaving no evidence of their existence. But if you happen to venture out after dark……

Well, after clearing the webs to get off the porch, I aim the thick beam into the woods. All I see are reflections, glittering eyes which show no sentience, only the recoil of light and reason. I start counting, one, two, three, one of the dogs, the puppy Ott comes darting out of the woods, then four……four? Oh god, what do they have? I see legs, bodies shifting and shielding……they know, they know I do not approve.

I yell at them to stop….this seems to be a cue to come into the light. To allow me the pack leader to join in perhaps? Or to show off, who the fuck knows. Sometimes there is no explanation….no human explanation. It can take many hours of reflection to plumb those murky depths that are the berserker's mind.

Something, a piece of fur, dark and shadowed, is being tossed about. No wait that is wrong, there is never a time that it is not in the clutches of one of the dogs' jaws. They are tugging vehemently from three different directions. Like one of their pull toys. Is it dead? Oh please, let it be dead….

The staff comes down hard on the back of the alpha male – he releases. The alpha wanna-be is next – god I hope I leave bruises. I am so mad, or perhaps I have joined in the frenzy, the blood lust, and just need to administer pain. At any rate, the staff comes down a third time…..

It is a raccoon, a youngster not even a year old, come to the bird feeders and watering stations in the cool of the night to browse. It hits the ground and staggers – oh jeez. I can't believe it's alive after all that! It tries to get upright but is clearly in shock. Wounds and fur torn, blood covering every surface, limbs obviously broken or torn out of socket. It is like a marionette that has no master. It tries again and again to rise and run….

In that moment the tableau halts to a grudging pause….I have a decision to make.

Do I grab the wounded animal to save it? Oh you can be sure it will rip me a new one, out of pain, fear, and belief that I am part of the pack here to end its life.

And what is there to save really? It's 1 am, no vet within 100 miles of me, especially not one versed in wild critters. Maybe it would better to die in a flash than to suffer and linger for hours, maybe days.

….perhaps it would be merciful to let nature take its course.

I look the creature in the eye and ask forgiveness, but it already knows. This is its world after all, it knows what is expected.

So I fade back into the light, the tide of teeth and raving flowing effortlessly back into the space I leave behind.

….I ask the dogs to be quick about it

statu quo ante.....

my own view seems to tilt at an ott angle
whereas most of the crowd look for,
no long and call for,
love
family
the status
the quo

i've never followed that ribbon
oh, i may peered after it a time or two
just to see what the hulla-balloo was all about

hope, i guess that's what you call it
hope
oh yea
most people are full of it

had me a life coach once
"you deserve happiness" she wailed
"reach for it with both hands,
grasp, claw, dig after it!"
like any other fool i tried
why should they get it all?

well you know what?
never fails
the times i open myself up to let that weasel hope in
are the times i get ripped a new one
fuckin hope
why don't you go fuck yourself
you fucking #*&!@

anyways....sorry for the outburst
we were talking tilts?

sonic mirages

"he" who hates 'himself' more than all else
is so very close to loving 'himself' above all others
the difference is but a tilt of the head
when viewed facing the mirage of life
go ahead love....adjust the angle
no one else can see from your vantage point
and if they could?
they would surely agree with me
the wind itself makes not a sound in it's travails
it's the screaming and forged laughter
of fool's intent on "living"
that fouls up the air
no need to add to the babel
keep a little pocket of breath for yourself
live as you meant to
silent
carnivorous
snug
and I will see you when next the circuit met
riding that razor's frame to the zephyr's shore

man-made ambrosia

perceptions....
dependent on the muffled feelers of fractured senses
it's a wonder any of us ever come close....
the world and it's vo-ices
a loud din of greed and belching appetites
but some 'where' in that caco-phony
are surely lone notes....of reason?
hardly
but perhaps soothed scores
that leave a thrilling trail
on the splashed walls of sublime urgency
....it's all right
you are not alone....
....we see you

May 25, 2007

shushing the din

oh hush now....let it mellow
we need those ripples
chaos serves the purpose
else life would be forever placid
conditioned
and vastly reflective

and touch?
though heated at first
must cool
a pot left to boil overlong
is left dry and carbonized
a mummified rendition
of a once lively bubble
warned, expected....then departed

and yes,
the loss is perpetual
ever echoing
in our unconditional pursuit
of the shedding of our reptilian skin
when the temperature is just right
we all do it
on that slippery path to shelter

a dip in the pool

you claim not to care
that nothing nor anyone can touch your inner core
that you are inviolate, shuttered, hard as ice

yet with four simple words....
the ripples shred your demeanor

for you see....
you transcend understanding
you defend the sacrifices
you comprehend forgiveness

with just four simple words
spoken softly, almost unnoticed
as they slip into the waters

......but i loved her

curious eddies

the dance of the flies
that necessary movement
in the enneagramic rhythm
of soul-less dogs

your "I" has called
dwelling first on grins
stretched wide over bone
then the graves, look down
....simultaneous

the moon
she has eaten her fill
they are forgotten now
As it should be
As it will be
Blessed be

in that spotlight called 'Alive'….
there is no shade from intent
attention will always be given
to those in-different

the hypnotist, on an egotistical high
decides to play 'god/dog' one fine day
"You are dead" he says
to the willing, smiling sycophant
"you no longer exist......cease"

wouldn't this be a fine show to watch?
the beauteous thrashing
of a bewildered, self-loathing spirit?

an accidental enjoyment out of nowhere
is a prize worth relishing
do not feel guilt for being caught
it is never foolish to halt and view
do not systemically silence the wound

Idiots are there for the world's
dis-illusioned

we flinch
respond
are reminded….

we shriek
comfort
are defiant…

we are but feral-bytes
for the thousand mouths
that devour luck
round every deep eddy
of emotion

confidence won't help
neither will awe
simply accept and triangulate
the mending comes with it's own
inevitable price....
a curious odor of trust

blistered errands

tiptoe across that blistered field
do not disturb said occupants
the waves generated
when you trip the sand's withered hairs
will evacuate into a tsunamic
blast of loathing
i do not care for you
i don't even acknowledge your
resistance
most would ponder your
reasons for space
some would question even your right
i on the other hand
refuse to give you one micronic itch
of satisfaction
why should i?
i've come back across that field
littered with the disposable carcasses
of novices on fool's errands
can you say the same?

fade out....

....fade in

slowly, there is focus

my....eyes
....open?

where am i
who am i
what am....wait

one minute
there is nothing
the next....

the surroundings are always the same
but how do i know this?
a wall floats up out of....
and shapes
round....clock?
square....how do i KNOW this?
ugliness, those colors....wha....what is color?

a pause
an....exhalation
what else can one do?
one? ONE?! what is....one?.
should i/who/what panic?

then it slowly floods back
a room
bed
staticus
....numb

but for one second there
i could have been....what?
if something else,
different set of datum had received my focus
would i have still faded into me?

April 20, 2007

the wallow met


the flow and ebb of apprehension
with dies that bleed into eternity
this is the pattern of life
give, take
want, wait
remember....too late
we are but vessels that empty into the river
that roaring creeklette that passes through in momentary lapses
tossed, then left to beach at odd conjunctions
floundering through the quicksand of concern

when the flow is strongest it channels us to a seeming design
but it can dry up in an instance, no residue of it's wash left to glimpse
but this too is in the diagram
to repeatedly rush forward
and snag on hidden agendas
which surface like leviathans intent on consummation
one moment we resonate with our character
the next there is no reflection to gage
it seems the blind rule in this arena
for those who take the time to muse
will always, always deceive

a cordless destiny


whyever would one sprint towards divinity?
dash ever onwards to the embrace of a probable madness?
were death a habit, stroking the ego
leaving it shaking and stunted
where then are the clues, how does one arrive in that shallow cleft?

oh don't you realize children?
it is but a shriveled wanderlust of perceptions run athirst
a little heeded germ tossed into the winds of time
that rarely encounters humus to root
and then to actually burst into deity?
huh
you might as well expect conscious decision from a stone
but wait....doesn't the mantle itself exhibit compromise?
this fragmented search ever forward
up, out and within
and for what?
fate has no use for the frantic twistings of a phantom cord
lie easy....abandon that quarry....accept

roaring dogma


The hermit shines his chaotic beacon
Lending a path that would be viable even to the soul-blind
Though he himself is visionless to wonder
Having traveled these coincidental routes vanward

One can only awe with innocence you know
and these repetitious viaducts inure one to illusion
but if one barricades against provocation, it negates the deception

those truly chaste, those born a cleansed slate
will inevitably wage grievance through analysis
though decadence and decomp will surely thrill the way to dogma

the blitz of aeons can erode a crown
a crown born with impropriety, too lax to plait
and the dichomotous language of paradox
well, this leaves little room to scratch
the itch, absorbed as truth, lies and prowls....

crooked paths are infinitely more endearing
for round every bend, stupefaction roars
the possibility for scent, fate, and yes wreckage
is inherent at the junction of every gnarled crosshatch
and if the math is done correctly
the multiplicity of delusion is boundless

recess

slash and rip, tear a'blunder
I hug your essence to me
your thrashing seems to soothe
your violent tremors, so luscious deep
but what is this?
I attack and you radiate benignness?
even god-for-fucking-bid......love?!
this is so wrong....
didn't you get the manual?
the one with instructions for victims?
that one, you know....
that outlines your required reactions?
where you're supposed to suffer
and wail at your misfortune?
why then do you rejoice?
this is so disturbing
let me try again....

DAMN YOU!
nono, nono
don't you dare laugh at me!
FUCK YOU!

look!
Look!
At!
You!
there you are relishing
my contamination....
there is something fundamentally
wrong with this picture
hmmm, and I must admit
I seem to like that in a person
ok ok, I give in
let's play!

shallow fractures

the core, bejeweled and infinitely multi-faceted
should remember a time when pardon was unnecessary
saged hermits may have rant and waged useless circuits
but the outcome will always be the same
thought, when offered, is but a transient gift
and thus divinity....shallow

conundrums have been known to shine when lit from within
but their separate entireties seldom abut
it's the nature of the beast, to fracture and search
over cliffs that distend furrows carved by brutish whelps
but never let the feral steal ownership of clarity, power
their path to absolution lies in the violent contrivance
and yours......a balmed coercion

deeth's semaphore

a mood, rancid and foul
flecked with the
sickly-sweet scent of death
mortality oozes
into pores left open
to detract from pain,
pain that lingers
maligns, realigns
senses that are in stasis
due to an overload of life

those little nips and tears
in the fabric of spring's
tossed smorgasborg
are there to vent the light,
light necessary for expansion....

but sister is about again
she lurks and walzes
through the herded souls

go on with you now vixen
we gave at the office
thrice too many times
you've got your quota
leave off, take a holiday
linger elsewhere why don't ya
maybe on some road
where you can spin your cape
over shells and shards
of neglected rubble

they should have traffic lights
in the afterlife for the like of you,
ones that are always on red......

April 5, 2007

vis major

little nimbus, where are you drifting?
a devoid of light, hearth and felt
no roads to midst
not even acknowledgement from fellow ods

each their own lone ignorance
a seemingly bland progress at a glance....
but if you could pierce those chiffon shells
insert a glass vein, gander the seeming flimsy marrow
be prepared....

that gist would burn and rend the strongest substance known
amazing that something as fragile as a soul's pith
could contain such a hazardous peace
maybe it's just as well we hug the reserve
otherwise the world would have faced an ebullient mishap 'fore now

April 4, 2007

cherub stomp

a glance aside
gives view of a solar blare
of impoverished yearning
the heat of deficiency,
it's bankrupt embrace
all but smothering
any recognition of eulogy

stop grasping please....
the claws need to be rescinded
there is no help from this quarter
for those who can't sight
their innocence
the drain sucks all hounded waders
into waves thick with the
bend and wrack of
errant swimmers lost
on boulders of wonderlust and demand

sorry mate, you're on your own
ravenous cherubs haunt these shoals
and all those on a narrow course
must suffer themselves jested

April 3, 2007

pneuma rent

look into the mirror
what do you see?
is that a reflection
of yourself?
a love?
foe?
or all three......

listen through the receiver
who is that you get?
is that an echo of amor?
converse with yourself?
or did a ghostly apparition answer by?

stare at that flat screen
what is the first glance?
an avenue to elan?
ruptured lapse thru sane?
or just a multi-pseudo link to the non?

scooped up and hanging
those who tread the lines too close
be leery of those met
where they repercuss themselves

March 28, 2007

le chemin étripé

show a little kindness to that dog of war
give it shelter, warm and feed
wrap it's scars in your loving prayers
for your reward will far exceed

for what this 'beast' has seen and felt
what it has imagined that has sadly become real
what it can transcend through effort of will
we have already been blessed to be spared,
oh yes....he's dealt

we need this guide to show the way
the way through the scuzz,
disease and fire
the way through the mind,
the bowels, the arts
the way to our childhood's
joys and mire
and let's not forget acceptance......our hearts

so follow it blindly, it knows the way
knows it well old friend is he
it can lead us out, away and beyond
behind the troops and far,
oh....away

don't look or veer, don't stray from him,
do not lose sight, don't fail the key
for it is immune, it has seen it all
once and again
twice over times three

....for the chien de Guerre