Craterous deep
I worry about your sanity
How many got it wrong to the one who got it right?

The sun rises early
There is no mind
It just bugs a little because night is so sumblime
I can see maybe 126 different points of existance
And have them twinkle twist with a thousand years
They hold their presence with confidence befit a head of state
Royal rocks of alienate


It is day and now I must jump into the stream
Put on my overalls and cross -pollenate with the hive
And drop a pebbled throw into the blanket of thought
Spark quick and be forgot

There sit the pebbles on a stream
From ancient depths and time unseen
Stolen deep

From mountain peaks
And laid gently beneath my feet.

On the blue river
Boats pass lazy in the sun
I rest in the shade.

I load my silver tongue with brass
crass and hollowed-points may be my nature
**** my thoughts, take aim
and with plosive sputter,
sling my brain
with metal hatred

Fling my words in forked contention,
misattribute my cold-hearted intentions,
with passion a fervor holds convection,
'Till pride produce the bituminous heavens

But still,
with marksman's gaze will you free my lies,
your scope of view between the ghostly sights
and trigger a sensationalist enterprise
for which all my lies will bleach
From red to white,
Tartarous sheen

There are words severed from man,
and as they hang their heads for the guillotine,
has any body stopped to ask,
"What do they mean"?

But the wheel cannot cease revoluting,
just as the rifle cannot beget its shooting,
Without the fatal trace of careful phrase,
fingered around the triggered maze
These words will fly
hot metal and lye
Awash the ****** floor of dissident
and acidic representation

Till all the light of spoken rhyme,
will dine upon the littered flames

Shackled to the very depths,
precariously situated
on the very precipice
of the end

where I can lasso the edges
and bring them back together
whipping the world back
some disseminatory yo-yo
excreting silky rut
rocks that bumble up
from hell and turn to lush
green,
belts of world for sand and dust
to which we have been gleaned.

I could hear them calling deep inside
that colossal of Rhodinia
an ancient land that will never be heard
except for the left
over play dough
left in the sand
Hidden under ice
I will dig until my fingers burn

The animals all taste like chicken
we hide beneath the rocks
fallen angels
left to run for our lives
constantly
constantly
constantly
constantly
constantly

and­ then
Flash
We are together again
the chickens cluck
and I fetch them a water pail
to wash away the fire in their gut
time to eat
time to grow
time to move
time to know

And the Himilayas dance into the sky
and florida's mosquita nets are dry
and the ice
and the creatures
given to the earth
move ever onward
and then
us.


But what does it mean?
I am but dust
and elemental stuff
and atomic configurations
on a tectonic bluff
unknown to the geometry
except for what I see
opaque eyeball
in its cage rolling
Searching for something in the static of dreams
in between the here and then
the now and when
the constant end
that drags the rocks
like slaves
towards constant
never
end.

Whoopsy-Daisy!
There goes half my family tree.

Off into the mystery
of DNA twisting
spirals of ribosomal massive
Building projecting
chromosomal lattices
in a spermatozoatic package

Off into the deep blue deep
of time uncounted
in the shadows of the greats
lifting them on shoulders
and blades
Way back away till god spoke in a burning bud
and called to Joub
and uttered,
"Do not be afraid"
I am the salt of the earth
and the bees and the trees
I am the perfection that you see

Count the petals
(He loves me)
trace the shapes
(He loves me)
Sing the melody
(He Loves me)
Whispered in these
(He Loves me)
Lowly orbs
(He Loves me)
Those soulful
(Loves me)
(Pebbles)
Made perfectly

and to dust will he sow
but not without plucking the best to eat
to return into the fold
that universal flow
To restore and inform
to watch and to grow

It's not a he,
its the trees
do you see what I mean?

They will eat and we will be filled
Will finally know
our efforts unfurl
in the perfect direction of sequence unknown
that leads us towards beauty
(Look out belooowww!!!)
A spiral of perfection in that chaotic void
pushing out, fighting deeply against it
A perfect tao in every step,
every breath,
watching us-- being us
testing us,
seeing us

And when we finally see again,
he will be beauty,
neverend.

It is asking the last drop in the sink
Where it thinks it should be drawn to
A gift to it is knowing
It will one day be whole again

Without thinking, heme seeks life through the energy of blanket air
Without thinking, we give farewell
Last thoughts in our misted halls of mind

I couldn't bear to view the color of blood spilled on stone
In the moonlight, all of it appears dappled black and white

All the good that you swear

It is asking love in the drops on the car
Asking for them to clean ever-dirtying metal
Asking for them to wash sins, wash lacquer from immutability itself

And it will never end.

Fluorescent bulb flicks
I write sonnets to loved ones
That will never be.

Can you lament the loss
Of art
With me?
That all this--
Every part,
Has to be
Broken
Deconstructed
Probed
For its ichorus juice

And mixed up into a poultice
Of parlor trick
mirrored upon our asphalt
As oil slick

Lament this loss of art
When the meter ***** off
To the picture of rhyme
And the Earth is a ball
Floating backwards in time
As brute animals stare
in constellation
At a star-sketched sky.

It was enough for artists to have to constrain
Themselves to knowledge of the natural grain
Of syntax and measure
In which we design
Our lives,
And passed ourselves on
To the grief of our daughters

With such failure of art
Even they would not bother.

No hope for this,
This is but the status
of dead poets

And yet we do not weep.

No need, we are inspired by the sickly
The eminent decay
She is the muse of our words
The sadist of all our play

Just as when our fathers sought to rebuild their dreams,
Our kin are excited, delighted by obscene
Obscurity,
and isolation of the penitent mind,
To commit societal acts
Of the dastardly kind

I am but a Reed, a float on the stream
I am but delicate-phrased
Scaffolding - -

And even me,
With all my tender lonely
Body,
Cannot in good conscience save
Anybody.



Our world of dreams is but a bunch of rows,
With even the picket posts
Torn from their ancient holes--

This is the fate of the ants of the earth
The dust of the stuff,
The fit of this pit,

Those that have no hope for the metere
Above
The senseless rhyme
Of the lost divine

Limitless space,
The eminent decay,
Atomic malfeasance
And interaction, risqué

Even couplets are ******* in this
Autonomous age,
Even the coming together
Of words on a page

In anything more than subjective display,
This word seeks not to know
Of this limitless race

To the end of it all,
To the flip of the page,
To the top of the spire,
And away from the mire

Enough!.
Too caught
in the wrong fuHawking
Black hole.

I find it hilarious
That we idolize an image
Though beautiful and true
But not You

You Lord, our heart and greatest Lover
Will never betray
Your faithfulness and stillness
To be with you as bride
To Christ

You give me the feeling,
Of Dido on the funeral pyre,
And I am the wood

You have me as some beast of the wilderness
Fears God in the spear and the teeth of metal
And I cannot help but run towards it

You are a sickness that has developed in my head, an idealism that may do nought but destroy me

You are terrifying and controlling, destructive and wholly
Consuming the flesh of my brain and in pain Perpetual

And you go on not caring.

I would ask you to clean your staff
Before embarking,
The plebs don't want to see you
With dirt on your draperies

Give them a show and a favorite name
Give them a home and a place to claim

I almost cried thinking about you.
Your soul
all the tall tales you spun
spiders dancing across the stars now
I miss you
I never knew you
I want to
so badly
it hurts

You'd hate it here
they bastardized you
sold your words for a dime
those jewels you saw in the night
rocks.
just rocks.

that is, now
Nobody wanted that fantastic ruby sky
and ****-green mossy aquamarine
now we stare at screens.
screens.

They'll kick you off the train
eye you with suspicious gaze
if they catch you all alone
spun along some interstate

We can't do what you did anymore
try as we want to.

No running from the law
or responsibility
or inevitability
or anything quite like that

and the only time i spoke to god
he told me there was places for me to see
somewhere for me to be
someone for me to meet
and i still don't know
what that means...

I didn't have no writing buddy
my buddy left for the dusty drone of Bakersfield
and now i'm all alone
Disenchanted and enthusiastic
about all the things everyone hates
and the history that keeps sifting
like sand through the lobes of my skull

Jack, come back
give me a minute or two
maybe a vision of my wildest dreams
I'd love so much to talk to you

I keep dreaming and seeing the beauty that lies in the center of the
Tao, that long winding tao
of ancient street
with no shoes worn here in San Francisco
that imaginary terminus you dreamed
not here, silly me.
I started here
you wound your end through here

I don't know what mine'll be
Not a hemorrhage
maybe
of the brain
since that's where my troubles lie
or my prostate,
since that's where my vision lies
yours was the stomach
that great trust in gut
it let you down
and lifted you up

God didn't give me that at all
he gave it to you
oh how freeing that must have felt
to know
truly

There is a man in the stone
He is grainy and unable
To make out with the sky so moist
And uninviting.

There is a man on the bench
He is on his way to stone
He is a soldier and shoulders high metal rods

There is a man in the church
He is a cockel and a fraud
He loves father god
With all his excess.

There is a man in the road
He is searching for a soul
He finds God on the pavement
And in the curb, on the stone

There is a boy in the building
He is dazed and lazy
He dreams of death
And the bliss that will bring

The indigo night
Full of stars racing westward
On an empty road

Hillside tree fingers
anxious branches hear winds
and wave to old friends.

I said it'd be idealistic
the way I would meet someone
but I can't tell with you
If it's lust or something else
There's a strange stirring
The diamonds on your finger
there's something real about you
and it disarms me completely

How slowly it crept on me
a deadly poison
I drank the brackish liquid
nestled in the dunes of my mind
and realized again
what it felt like
to be in love

It makes no sense
you don't say a word
I laugh at every single thing you say
you're the best thing I've ever heard

I stare into your eyes and I am a child
I am lost without myself, my mind wanders
It does not seem real and I am unable to even speak
I cannot tell you
What it means to feel again
How you've so gently warmed my heart
how you've given me hope, a thing, a reason
I want to thank you and It's not even you

With beaten sails we take to a south wind,
Letting lifted air carry our hearts
Towards something closer to love.

Rose petals fall from ivy-covered walls
Her smile shines like Sirius
I can’t help but smile back
The gravitationality of it all

We can get ****** and drive thru a Krispy Crème
Glazed doughnuts in our eyes and maybe laugh for the first time in ever
I cannot tell how long that’s been

The days get shorter and the leaves fall like soldiers
Sky hums cobalt in a winter coat,
There will come a time where I will call and you won’t answer

Was einst war, ist nun tot

I keep pulling from the green days and you stare
starry eyed at
Cubic Zirconia on Sunset Boulevard
As we bid bon voyage
Drifting Kuiper belt objects
Parsecs away.

The pulp turns to mush in spring and pigs feast on the ****
I have to get away or get swallowed by swords
You tell me it’s the only way
I smell burnt treads

Your sweat lingers on the nose differently
And your face turns in anger
I’m too tired to try and talk anything out of it.

A toad flops through the backyard mud
And I think of a time when this was swampland
And getting to work meant
Bringing a machete
To dice your way through old paper trails.

It’s okay.
The road is meant for old shoes
And high heels have no tact on gravel.
I will break the rubber under my footfalls
searching for it.

Do not ask me to recite poetry,
nay, not with grape in my veins--

Do not ask me to proofread truth
as the rocks
or the water I drink in my cupped hands

I am a father of simple
child of no one
brother of singing voice
son of music

I am but acids
tripping on acid

i am but time
tripping on seconds

I am but stone
with electric current
reciting current events
eventually distinguished

but not for me
not for these
atoms,
or time
not mine

this is the curse of poets
the curse of 23 followers
and counting

the liars of open scheme
and dying rhyme

i am the last scream
that bathes in obscene
and truthful
meaning

The buttresses hold
With rectangular image
The faces of God.

As the stars dip tonight
and the dawn light casts upon the heavens

I stand on broken, bended knee
Asking for you

How many times have I denied
how many dreams slowly forgotten
in the laughter of sheets

I have walked the tired road
Many a poet followed

and I am at a loss for Word
my breath, ragged and empty

as the moon shines full
and the wind, pregnant with joy
flows graceful upon my shoulders


Those names aren't mine anymore
I gave them in love and they sail
seeds on the gales

For my days will be spent amongst the desert
wandering
in Christ
Suffering
In Word

to speak and not be heard

To see empty skies and dried
rivverrun
To touch cold lips
and kiss
the dead as they rise

If I could be forgiven
For the angst against you

If I could be forgiven
of the sin of my heart

I would walk with the great men,
the wisest ones
the gifted of thorn.

Amongst the leaves I am a conductor
I have guided their hue and told them their future
they have agreed

I am a wanderer, I am Bede and lost amidst the cockles
I have bled and tasted the Salton Seas

I will give my entire wealth of the universe which is replenished
I will show the world the gift of my unknown

It is soft chocolate that has melted in the heat
It is a love that is unrequited and dies inevitably

I am a philosopher and upon my hill I view some lady in the garden
She is beautiful but of the state and in that way I cannot be
I am a trader of knowledge and wealth is the secret I guard enviously
She will never have this treatise

I will grow old and wither on the steps of the acropolis
I will become food for the olivine complexion of her skin
I will be the very foundations of her visions
I will touch the corneal fragments of her children

I am a faker and a figment of imagination

An owed to you, master of the whitewashed office plaster,
Ruler of the water cooler,
Owner of the blue BMW i8 in the parking lot
Employed only to yourself.

In the morning, awake, spread the pomade
You bought at Neimann's just two months ago.
Unplug your car from the wall,
Hero of the Earth,
And get on the oily congested highway, talking on the phone of sales goals
And what office snack will be available today.

Quarter report, possible acquisition?
Lead your men to greener pastures
Where fields of Benjamins await your innovations
Like a modern-day Valhalla.

But it is wise to remember
that if you spend your days
taking calls
Life won’t get past the busy tone.

I saw Monticello
A foggy Appalachia
And learned that day
Thomas Jefferson owned slaves

Those angered spirits
Hallowed howling souls
From within the worm-torn earth
Left low-vocalized debt-cords
Tied around a guilty frame

Two centuries ensconced in brick
A time fondly forgotten
When the radicals sung their starling songs
To a land of gin and cotton

There will probably not be another Whisky Rebellion
With the **** beat out of Dixieland
Instead
Watch the T.V dinner-pan out
A Social security check
to every Pioneer.

Down go the statues and mountains
There will be no old memoriam here
It’s time to return these borrowed things to earth
Now that their end draws near.

No matter what I said,

No matter how I told you,

the columns
still fall

the roads
still grow old

and the vines
drape the necks
of marble molds

In Rome, the forum--
I can think of nothing but
Madison Square
Gardens
and the stone that should be old

I think of the Roman--
and the fields of wheat
I think of man
and the sowing of seed

how fallow the winds,
how empty the streams.

I think of the columns
I think of the streets
I think of the cities
I think of these

And I
could not help but weep.

I know now,
What sin truly is
it is the stagnation
of living pain

It is the doubt of
death and the fear of
rebirth in love
in the surrender of oneself
the denial
of ego
and the growth
of the greater

Two golden finches
Take breadcrumbs from open hands
Resting in a palm.

The blinded equines
kick flies into the soils
And give feed to life

Grains
Fields
slipping between the fingers
everything good is lost
in the sands

torn shreds
vocal cords
twang
my words and wisdom
petering like a flame
in the wind
my screams
stuck in an empty box

A planetary dance
the ink of night
that fills the void
dotted with grains
of light

the sound of music, haunting on the winds
rain
to wet the fields

I have waited for times
innumerably long
the grains of youth
loose in my palm

rhyme and reason
scope and measure
incongruent and failed to calibrate

calcium oxide
lithium hydride
explosive shells
exiting heat
dying mass
compressed gas

the ears of eden lost
the echoes of crying,wailing eyes
a glimpse of pain
grains of sand

I am violently vomiting excretions of words
that may mean naught
fought and died

dead soul of a long ago
wise words of a passing lad
screams, screams, screams and shouts

empty and wholly without

In between the next steps
I think of you

You, off on some adventure
Seeking truth

I had it in my hand, a jewel
I polished until it fell to dust

My lust
Nailed my own hands to the boards

And lost

My dad says my fuzzy dice in the mirror are an obstruction.

I say that's the whole point.


If i live or die tomorrow or a thousand years
from a dollar to a doughnut
I'll bet you can turn your ****** words to gold

Jack, man...

I wish you were here

I am faint
And my blood is thin

I am bone and dust
And sin

And you, Lord,
Are in the cloudless vault
With stars cast out
By streetlamp

How long will I push this weight
How long will we walk together
In kindness, suffer
And plead forgiveness tonight

That flaming sword
The cast of doubt
The Enemy seeks to devour me

Spare me, Lord
Know my heart
As none other could share in it
Take my body, how young and bright
Give me to your will tonight

I pray to your ears and ask
Deliverance
And that holy green garden
To be present in me

Quick I will post for the sake of posting
Perhaps test the bloodwaters
Am I a true artist yet?

I have yet to offend so perhaps I am an early Israelite
Condemned to mental slavery for 40 years and 40 nights

I can't be an artist until I say ****
But we all know ****** did nothing wrong
In fact,
Most blessings come disguised as curse
God can only speak through the devils malfeasance
But nobody on this ******* planet wants that clue
I like the numbing effect of validation
****** pill of mind wash that **** out with soap please
Pathetic bronze soul worthy of enslavement
It's easier than doing it yourself

**** it man specific lives matter
**** it man the nation matters
**** yall lying ****** **** *******
Those are old ideologies


... (grandmas)

Let's just go to space and nuke the planet from orbit and restart
Rebuild the republic man!
Watch it crumble away to Rome

Before that I want to be remembered as a cunty man with no taste or class
And nothing to say

Cool blanket of sky
Life holding a bated breath
Wishing new seasons

No American in Paris,
No ma'am I do not like baguette.

Here the sun rests perpetual
cooks the sky pink and white
I can slip and slide between a million souls
A splash of coffee creamer
Lost in the machinery.

Fuji-San salutes the sun
A foreign lesion of burning earth
Beyond the respectful attention
Of a careful city perched

Catches the orb, twirls it for a moment
Shadows cast our descent
and yet

Tokyo explodes, light and dine
A big "*******"
to the dark side of the twirl

Where I get drunk and ramble about Tao
Dichotomy and my dying country
To a Konbini attendant
at 3 in the morning

Dreaming
That with enough effort
and a little more east to our west
that we can destinate
A better fate

For that upset continent

Reverberate
The souls
Given circumstance by historical
Methodology and theoretical wanderings

Wake up slumbering soldier,
Cog of wheel,
Tumbled over

Shrug your burden,
Off it goes
Rise and learned,
See who goes

Climb and claw for that spot at the top
Kick your friends and family off
aim to see your name
etched in gods coronal mass

No no not for you
There is no time or man for you

As soon as you were put in place
another will come,
And you erased.

Rain clatters on roof
Howling gust! Water bullets
Safe upon my bed.



Between the redwoods,
Taste momentary dewdrop
the fog sweeps away.



In nestled clearing
Doe stops upon the hillside
Eyes wide upon mine.

Fresh-litter kitten
Softly mewing for mother
Placed within a box.

Loud scrape of metal
Sunray shafts of brilliance
The miners get dressed.

I have written myself to many wrong people

To idols of bronze
How should one know,
That they need forgiveness in the depravity of the heart
And the heavy weight of pain we place
In ourselves

All sin is but guilt
All praise be to You

By next week,
I will be on the road
In protest of the many forms
I found myself within.

I had asked
How many times?
Should we travel to Zion?

Should we see the majesty
for what it is?
In the glory of a setting sun
on the precipice of us

And there would be no answer
but the whisper of God on cooling winds.

Now I shall go alone
into the valley of Him, into the darkness hidden
between the flanks of the canyons
The armies of Hoodoo
where the echoes of birds
travelling south
give me peace
and sing to me
the way you never knew.

The everlasting shame
that tears bring to this parched ground
given solely to subterranean streams

I saw it once before
in coastal limestone
with strands of ivy
and tropical greens
withering into teal seas.

Please forgive the erosion
for even the stone could not consist
against the waters,
their fundamental nature
that irresistableness.

Would you have liked to know
the way the shadows parted
in newly-born morning
the potential of life
in this trying state
at the deepest depths of the canyon
and looking up upon beauty

But you could not
only the fossils in the stone
only the buried things
the lost potential
the foundation of beauty
if only given time
if only given trust
in nothing but divine

this nature,
this place
solely to God's grace
his supple touch more powerful
the kiss of light wakes me
and now,
seeping within the rock
there,
I view upon the entirety
and see it

A little less than two
Days
Weeks
glances between history books
Dewey Decimals
You dreaming between the leaves
resting in the earth
Waking you up to the divine eather
and being comfortable with our dying bodies
loving the treasures
searching for time

I will sprial into alcoholism
or Marajuanaism
or Lysergicical Mental capacitationalism
I want to connect with god on this earth
selfishly
and lovingly

When words fail me
(which is always)
perhaps I can find a way
to put them together lazy like a 8th grade
science fair

Still I have yet to finish a word that means more than a poetic dream
And I have no idea when that will be

So i will read a lot of books that say the same thing
and speak not in the class or in the boundaries of
common thought
and instead place my words in between alighted joints
or on deaf ears to feign interest



Again i tug on the soul-string and think
"maybe this is the way outta here"
but i dunno,
nobody i've spoken a word to agrees.

Sometimes,
The way I like to understand the soul--
When someone goes "home",
And their body fades

It's a great cosmic spigot
Running endless
fresh water into bright buckets
On this waning summer day

When feeble little hands grasp at plastic
And hold the sweetwaters
Close to the chest, bringing them along on journeys to the distant sands
With every step spilling
Tiny pebbled beads
Of that water onto the ground
Gradually shifting the weight
Until comfort holds, unaware
The space between the fingers
And the pan

Eyes glazed with redness, tired

The little one in us falls asleep
As waves lap quietly at the sand
And the mountains rumble inevitably into dust

And the feeling of the earth is lost
And our body, like a rusted telescope mount, unable to stand
Cants
And spills the whole pail
Into the pale
And we leave this place as we began

Grey clouds, springtime rain
Washes into the soaked earth
A lone flower blooms.

Hello,
No one.

Hello
mistaken one

hello friend in the lost pages

hello friend in the archives
with a careful pen
and soft fingers

do me a great favor
remember these bits

remember this:

"Ye, the ancient ones
in sifting dirt, do decay--

their words, their words,
the same grey
sky
which told the tale of
a future you
stuck behind the window
caught within the sill
the rain
that makes you feel the same"

as that lonely peasant boy,
arranged
by the callous night
and obeyed

the command--
the soldier
the sword
the bullet
the bolt--

Zeus, even which at highest worship
could not consume--

even Apollo, which better thinker than I
decided to draw the universe through

and Dionys
the chaotic hue
the uncomfortable ache
to every truth

you will know the dialectic
you will know the dichotomous
you will know poetry
you will know truth

Give to me in ancient song
give to them me in my truth
give to them the imperfection
give to them the nasty
the fake
the lost
the snake
the pain
the world
the whole
ordeal

I don't know
If you cared enough to find this

But every night now

I think of La La Land
That night I knew I would lose my job
When you convinced me to stay

And why I cried so much
Why I over-empathized

It was me and you.

Im still trying to figure out
If I miss you
Or just the idea of it

But every time I see you now
I still smile
And you do too

I wonder if I'm the only one
With ache in their chest

I wonder if I'm the only one

Who wishes love took deeper roots

I wonder if I'm the only one

Who still thinks of the beach

And the way we just lay together

When I laid in the sand
And another voice is with me

She asked me tonight,

"who was your first love?"

All I could see

Between closed eyes
Was your face

How hard it is to reach out

Between the wrought iron gates

And take a hand

That seeks to save?

But as He severs the ties

And destines us for different paths

I hear the devil himself

Understand his distance from God

You were so close to complement

Yet far too tangential

We now suffer from acute

Dispensation of angle




I do not know how long I will wait

Until I can wake

And not miss you.

Not dream of the same foggy Venice

Or the same question,

"Why, Why, Why"

Or stay up fighting mind to erase you

And the image of your smile

Or the sound of your laugh

Or how much you loved the way I ran my fingers along your neck


There's not a poem long enough in the world

To justify this

And the surrender to God that must replace

The emptiness you left.

Reaching for cigar
Thinking of home, somewhere else
The planes fly above.