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

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

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?

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