great to be home

now here
are someone else's tears,
but these are my years to live,
let me cry for my own destruction,
resurrection
is not expected

space

empty space
doesn't really mater
unless there is nothing
where something used to be

know you

November held its share of Fatal facts,
acknowledgement of realities is a cold occupation,
feelings can be seeded so easily,
the unsettling ones, most of all,

if you forget me,
i will forgive you,

you can try and forgive me.
i will just forget.

i'm feeling sort of silly, sort of strange,
i'm so sorry,
i really am
sorry,
though i'm not really sure what for.

its just a feeling,
a strange feeling,
one of the many i seem to
have.

i feel i've been thinking for miles,
but i've been sinking for inches, inside of my head,
and i'm dreaming for hours, perhaps, this time i should actually go to bed.

give me a list of your most unusual ones,
dreams i mean,
dripping wet motions receding into space,
perfect projections of inner rejection,
invite me in,
take me on a journey,
show me the world,
though i'll probably seem out of place.

draw me a diagram of your deepest desires,
an x-marks-the-spot-map of your heart,
give me just a shallow splinter of direction,
some small token to let me know where to start,

let me know you,
let me touch you,
your body as you move,
i want to taste your shadowy spirit,
be able
to
pick out
your echo
among the other bouncing disasters
sounding out down the hall.

i want to know you,
i want to hold you,
want to show you,
really get to know you,

i want to kill you,
because you are
me,
just a part of me,
one that always drags me down.















.

The Unknown Publisher

I am the friend of dog-eared danger,
as it plays out, or rather unfolds,
before the eyes of an adventurous child,
full of wide-eyed wonder
and promises of sweet dreams and tomorrow,

and isn't it peculiar,
to feel the physicality in the subtle grain of  the yellowing pages,
and to find great comfort in the succulent spice of their rich perfume,

thin, soft slices of parchment, crisply turn to the next,
a texture, piles of paper padding,
audible immersion,
open verses glide surely into our arms,
there are no mild minds here.

a story; embrace the warmth within,
for it is never-ending.

Night. pt. II

It seems we often find ourselves,
entering
into animated conversation
at inconvenient hours.

And this is best.

Because there is is a certain energy, that resides in the nighttime,
an unmistakable driving force which compels things to happen.
Night, is when people are most honest,
less willing to put up front or facade,
they let go of their barriers,
and let all of their motives and passions slip through.

The night itself, is a deeply physical thing.
You can feel it.
It has a sensory quality about it.
It moves with you, and swirls around you,
as if it were some kind of fog-like haze.

Night, is captivated
by a thousand embraces of lovers
wrapped in cool, thin, sheets of nocturnal moment.
Night is a time for reflection.
An empty stage, perfect
for pensive soliloquy.
It is a blank canvass,
yearning for marks to be made.

It needs emotion.
It craves, conviction.
It is hungry for hearts both broken and whole.

There are subtle diamonds
woven into the patch-work mystery of the nighttime,
the stitches of which,
we unravel, hour, by hour,
as we delve further
into its dark symphonies.

Night,
is like a velvety nectar,
that drips from the sky,
and into our open mouths that wait below,
in eager anticipation,            
of sedated


excitation.

beautiful bodhisattvas

ascend the forgotten staircase,
into the realm of dreams,
here lies the daughter of the gods,
the gift of all,

a breeze passes through the elysian fields,
the place of blessedness,
ghostly flowers lay in meadows of betrayal,
they glow a sickly grey,

this is the forsaken land,

a sorrowful song is heard faintly,
we sing to unleash the misfortunes of man,
the golden arrows of restless demons fly,
as king midas falls to the ground,

scorned in eden, we cross empty towers to break free from crystal cages,
from where we humbly belong,
welcome, Angel,
come a little closer,
watch me wash away,
for the river of woe flows from the mountains,
and pours into my chalice of bronze,
precious serpentine that crawls into my being,
precious serpentine that slips across the floor,

this force of habit,
not so dynamic,

this stillness moving,
still moving,
still the same.

and could we bring animistic triumph over stillness,
could we force these figurines to move?
can we create perfect conquest over silent inanimation,
no?
still I think maybe,
maybe we could,
maybe we could cause this earth to move,
to turn,
the wheel
is turning.

The Fragile Eye

I see the visage of a man,
He looks at me rather strange,
He is broken.

Broken visage, broken man,
I tell him, "You are invisible."
He tells me, "You are only my reflection.
In this dusty old mirror."

Gentle emotion.
Fearless impulsion.

Let me drink in your slow-moving placebo, so slippery and sweet,
Let me dine upon your gaze,
Until all else seems to fade away into memory.

I will swing from chandelier to chandelier
and maybe the dusty glass will break.

I see the soft light that slowly swings,
Incandescent freedom hangs perilously on a bare metal wire,
Flickering as it sighs,
Those who have lived, have not seen,
 Save for those who've dared look through the fragile eye.

The eye is a strange thing indeed,
For to peer inwards is to peer outwards,
And outwards, to bring in,
Only to find yourself much akin to the shadows thrown across the room
by the warm, glowing filaments of the swinging lamp,
Bloodied and bruised, up against the wall,

It is born from the thoughts you've tried so hard to hide from,
It is thy very breath,

The Trembling Memoirs,
Cemetery Stone Towers,
And Splintered Wooden Frames.

Called away by a Frozen Choir,
Their lost voices echoing in Cathedrals of Ice.
They whisper, "we belong,"
And sing of beautiful casualties,
We will listen,
For we must.

We shall put our heads to the cold, damp walls,
Press our fleshy ears to the slippery stones,
And force them to hand over their tiny screams.
"Stand and deliver!" we shall shriek.

We shall seek solace in wicked slumber,
And awake in a foreign world.

What is this place?
A dream?
Something seems strange,
Dare I breathe?
Perhaps just this once, and then never again,
For the air seems to run like water and flow around my body as I move,
What is this place 
and where is my world?
I had not intentionally left.
And yet the taste was not fully upon my lips.

Here in the water, I cannot see.
Here in the water, I-

Strange-

I feel the urge
to emerge to the surface and breathe,
Once again I ask you, Dare I breathe?
                        ______________

I long to kiss the moist, parted lips of the Black Mantle,
Where is Her sweet laughter?
Her tender touch that falls as rain?

Does she sleep soundly as her silky stars stare dreamily down,
with their tired eyes
glazed over with just a touch of haze,

I wish I could hear the low moaning of the constellation-lit sky,
as it wheels overhead, and christens the earth
with its cold silvery nectar, in the form of little drops of dew.

                        ______________

But now Her starry chain has become has become tangled around Her neck,

And the Soulstress has awoken.

This circle is all that protects us now.

The Night is closing in.

It is tired and heavy all around us.

It is now fully upon us.

It shall soon devour us.

What shall we do?

Ghosts howl in the bathroom sink,

The water left running,

The steady flow streaming out against the smooth metal,

chiming,     ringing out,     sing,      oh, sing,

It is beautiful.

                      ______________

There is blood at the bottom of the ocean,

I have seen it while collecting rings to give to my Love.

There is blood at the bottom of the ocean,

I have seen it.
          While collecting rings to give to my Love.

Gold and Silver at the bottom of the ocean,

Golden Rings and Pretty Little Silver Things are good
                  for giving to my Love.

I am sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

I am-

       Sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

I am-

                      ______________

I see the visage of a man,

He looks at me rather strange,
He is broken.

Broken visage, broken man,
I tell him, "You are invisible."
He tells me, "You are only my reflection.
In this dusty old mirror."

I see the soft light that slowly swings,
Incandescent freedom hangs perilously on a bare metal wire,
Flickering as it sighs,
Those who have lived, have not seen,
 Save for those who've dared look through the fragile eye.
                      ______________

It seems we often find ourselves entering into animated conversation at inconvenient hours.

I am Dogma.
I am Poison.

I am Many.
I am Few.
I am "Please, Someone, tell me what to do!"

I am Newly Turned Earth.
I am Fossilized Skulls.
I am a Lost Little Boy.

I am the Antithesis of Anticipation.
I am Untapped Beauty.

I am the Shagbarked Hickory,
A Stone Warrior upon the hill,
On the Ledge,
In the Hall,
I am no one at all.

We are Golden

If only we knew the shaded secrets dripping from the murky faucet of future being,

Forget me not,
Nor the look of eyes
That wander, lost in the open wind of some strange window pane

That frames the hallowed stage.
From within this cage,
We take a bow.

All of the people are running towards this man,
He stands in a New Garden of Eden,
        We are in a New Garden of Eden,
        We are in the Earth,

We are Sons of the Elder Race of Man,

        We are not the only Ones,

        We are illuminated Minds,

We are souls.
We are one.
We are home.
We are washed away.

Often I have seen

Give me this moment
and no other,
nothing else can compare.

Slender golden instants of splendid earth's living,
I shall return,

Not to take the mystery out of loving,
nor the mastery of perfection,

But to bask in their splendor.

Give me a genuine experience,
pure, unhindered, and unsubdued,

a sincere second of sweet solace,
to wrap my bony fingers around and pull close,

Give me a simple remembrance of past truths,
that now seem to escape me
in the rebirth and destruction of my frenzied re-telling
of sub-aquatic eruption.

Dragging me down.