Story of Water

Well after midnight having walked the pathway 

deep into the forest I noticed when the steam began 

hanging low to the ground the chirruping crickets 

faded into the distance interlaced with odd susurrations

 in the mist occasional caws of crows from the horizon 

approached every now and again sometimes they could

 be heard flaking apart further off in the darkness. 

Other times the leaves were heard to be whispering 

low when the winds died down secrets too faint 

to discern lost on cascades of fading laughter left 

behind in the wake of a passing babbling brook. 

The river tells all in its myriad language of forking 

tongues every little stream wending and winding 

its way into the mainland the latest filament 

to reach out for a long drawn out taste of the sea. 

Revenant Salamander

 

     This iteration of an old favorite watercolor on glossy photopaper analog fashioned image clarified by having the photograph taken of it uploaded as a .jpeg with its pixels illuminated through the light of a computer screen really speaks to me in its miniature captured multiple isolated pockets of squid tentacled tidal pools of curled up into tight bunches of fractal coral iconographies merging into the intertwined tubular arteries flowing into one another, now hi-lit and streamlined into new and surprising pareidoliac configurations tracing a subliminal echo of living organs packed beneath tissue and pressing their foetal faces against the glowing albumen of a new dawn curling inside us deep within the molecular level long buried under the stratum of the never ending chimerical evolution of the flesh.  Long live the new flesh in all its twisted tapestry invoking the hieroglyphic story of the development of our long engendered process of life. 

Another Lost Dream

 

 Could it supersede another circuit gone much easier

evade another lashing bite from the electrostatic amperage 

exploding from the whiptail snapback lashing from the advantage

of the enemy encroaching on a death dance to the end with the rhythm

in the extra section starting to pretend its set the beat into motion 

of a night that never ends well after another dawning brings relief 

in the curving wave's edges sinking into foaming sand greedily

lapped up by the darkened tongue of time flashing in the light 

at the bottom of the well before settling in the petrified throat.

A thrillion pounding mallets on a cushion of particles softens 

And shapes the exterior of the falling meteorite having flashed

it's mirror coda reflex once into the monocle of a story teller's eye

to be winked and absorbed by the knowledge of the time 

tworqued into its knobular shape by forces coinciding 

Retwixed and trained into a helical braid notwithstanding 

Reflecting the integral hexagrammatic equation at the foundation 

of the ever developing long fall into fruition after we play our part 

we all collapse into the compost heap of dream history the past that never was. 

  

The Blasted Dust

When you follow the moment and movement of the current
situation you're not moving away from the same place
you've stayed in during the entire course of your life
and that's the curled up and unfurling
continuum you continue being trapped
within some call it a life some call it fate
whereas some just refer to it as the world
or the date of a universe and even while
it's all those things and more or less
a thrust in head plunged cold inside
this crystal bowl inverted from
the farthest shore instead of
being turned inside out
its just another way
of looking at the phenomenon
without having to sacrifice
yourself at all the point of
misidentifying our own selves
comes with the shifting territory
so never mind the blasted dust
of the scouring winds if any of us
hope to find enough trust among
our friends to do what it takes so
the fun never ends then so be it
and welcome as our personal guest
I'm willing to bet that you didn't pass
the test well neither did I because
we're all just the same which becomes
in the end a similar reason to not have to
pretend for the countering mindset to attack
and destroy all we hold dear to our hearts
that annoy the resistance built up all our lives
waiting alongside us for coffee in long Starbucks lines
where most of us may just wait on forever in hopes
of receiving our steaming hot drinks while the rest
have just vanished like steam from the sink
and the leaves in the trees are all waving goodbye
and its dawning on everyone they'd been doing that since
the beginning of time just waving us all away
one at a time whether we walked on by
or gave their branches a climb
it never mattered a hair nor measure
of worth regardless of how much lumber
we felled or how dark the skies churned
while the charred wood smelled of October
with bloody rust bucket skies and poisoned sunsets
from reactors stationed less than three miles nearby
miniature cellular gravity wells warping the magnetic
electronic fields of spacetime out side in to us
so how do you think we happened to arrive
after stumbling out into the street late at night
after our parents have long fallen asleep
we'll sneak on up to the bar and ask to be served
so long as we have some coin of the realm
someone will get up the nerve to drink
with us and get high as the stars that appear
overhead will allow until we're good and ready to then go to bed.

Orbital Resonance

We fall into crevices

yawning open within

folds of our inner

convolutions and then


we drift beneath

the slipstream of

our memories

down river fading

in the silver moonlight




canted from our star whose

radiance keeps hid behind

the face of this world grimacing

alone in the dark along

the mad spiral dance

of its extensive solo


pirouette performance

to a stunning climax before

an absent crowd something of

the barren gets transferred to

the stage and back thoroughly

recycled for the maintenance

of a perpetual continuity




the show must go on

for the satisfaction of

no one but the ghosts

auditioning in the aisle

Circus Act 334

scaving like a carvy rat
sleeting in the byway
careening in a critter
curve skittled skywise
gerfenherders on the
rampaging textes keys
slendered along the
crevices of locksmiths

with enterprises relocating
precious gems and stones
aboundless ascertaining when
their accrued polarity emerges
adjustant to a proleotariat
tip toed on the tight rope

skippy skipping tea
hee haw mistress
one for the knuckle
and two for the show
eight to get married
in a sudden disaster
four to go to court
for a divorce
in the snow five
to hold against them
for the rest of their lives
six to stand ahead of them
while looking for new wives
seven on the circumstance
upon which this condition drives
and all ten watched the nine
see it happen all over again

the carousel's turning not
clockwise nor sound
may keep up with its singular
advancement starbound
toward a pathway carved
next to all the rest left behind
as fossilized tracers lit up

the echoes of everything
 else pick it up
on the sonar so to
speak and its traveling
now all over the course
 of the rocks laid
along the river way
babbling over stones

DEAD SPEECH RESURRECTION

   

    How does the abandoning of an ideal impact the human being going through this?
Consider the impact that nothing has on absolutely everything in the known universe.
This is tantamount to the impact ideals have on human beings absolute zero its not measured.
To begin with, there's no such thing as everything. That's all a made up lie. 

You can see it in reverse at the end of the telescope if you flip the image and magnify it 

back to normal size. There's no denying its no longer the same image but at least it extrapolates 

from the imprint. So do ideals serve as guidelines to shepherd us into a corral, so to speak, 

where we remain more or less in the right neighborhood. What if we feared the freedom

 to speak and advised wisely to all coming into this place that the less one says the better 

overall (for reasons themselves which are best left unstated)?

     It's hard to say, or that is, to refrain from saying, as the case may very well should have been.
If freedom of speech goes without saying then its becoming necessary to justify putting limitations 

on speech. It's this very justification that in fact should be preserved at all costs with the individual 

in order for that entity's rights to be safeguarded. In other words freedom of speech really means 

having the freedom of knowing when not to speak at all, and having that freedom defended at all cost. 

    When everything is A-OK, there really doesn't remain anything of that much importance to say. 

It's when things aren't fine that we need the guaranteed freedom to say what the situation demands 

us to, and no limitation should be imposed nor any presuppositions in whatever guise they may present themselves should inhibit our right to remain silent.  People deserve the right to default back to the 5th in order to preserve their inherent innocence. Speech isn't dead when there's nothing left to be said. Speech is dead when you and I are not allowed to say nothing.  Just as it's most alive when you and I are allowed to say anything we please.