brisk winds over
lips
dries cold
spit

one
move-
ment
and they
crack
split
tear

rolling on down
my chin
to rest at its peak
a drop

crimson and
ready
to fall
to the hard snow

white
now with
a spot of red
now with
a spot of pink
as it spreads,
  as  it  fades —

a film of tears
frozen to the
pupil
saccading swiftly

crystalline structures
perched on tips of eyelashes

staring at brumal
  skies
picking at cracked and
lifeless
lips

tremors
quakes
       shakes
snapping
convulsing
spines
and bones

chatter
shatter
break


numbing cold
but
there is warmth

in the darkness

it is close
but
it never comes
it  will  never  come

You have your Heaven.
Go to it!

Poetry is not Made Of Thoughts
It is Made From Thoughts
It is Made of Words
It is made of Colors
It is made of Music

in The way trees reach
The way they are growing
To bring life to the skies
The way our veins pump
The way they are flowing
To bring life to these eyes
The way rivers flow
The way they are going
To bring life —
You can see their intention
in their way

I forgive
myself, and you
I love, and give
my self to.

if you love them
Let them go
if you hate them
Let them go
But don't let them go
for them
Let them go
for you
Free them
and Free yourself

Sometimes
I'll drift
into the past
Away from all the light

The dark-
ness swells
around me fast
I can't tell left from right

Alone
I float
in what was real
Convinced that now it is

But all
these things
that I can feel
Are only that which was

Delusions of the insecure
Delusions, nothing more

I awoke, my consciousness
still slowly coalescing from the astral plane.

In a cloud of dissipated thoughts and confusion, I retrieved my mug of icy black water medicine I had prepared for this occasion the night before.

The alluring smell of dark Panamanian roast began to pull the remainder of my consciousness into the waking realm.

Suddenly,
the mug was empty,
and I was fully aware.

we stumbled
in tattered coats
past shattered windows
in bob-bobbing boats
on creaky rotting docks
over sneaky sharp rickety rocks
with throbbing throats
lockets lickety locked and
pockets purposely blocked but your
mouth is a wide open
crock -
a *** of dribbling *******
nonstop drip-drop
dripping droplets devoid of thought
from the chin of your
head -
heavy enough to bring everyone down but inflated enough to keep you floating in the clouds
where the crowds
look like ants with
crushed cans and can'ts
and you can't tell if
I'm alive or dead
but you don't give a ****
and now you're **** out of luck you
tiptoe on egg shells of
glass ' shattered spells

and I can smell a rat from a mile away but apparently I won't know a brat till they're under my skin and I can feel them crawling

The universe is alive
The universe is conscious
and we Are the universe

Every galaxy is a mind
conscious
Every star is an eye
alive and awake
Every eye is a mirror
a light of perception
a window to another reality

We are the universe looking in
The universe is us looking out

Let us contract and expand
Infinitely together
Breathe

Dear Diary,

I woke up today and I was a single point of darkness floating in space. Light is perpetually born from the orifice of my ego and continues to spiral out in all directions as I spin. I am surrounded by an energetic sphere around which light bends, and through which it spirals into me. Inside this sphere is an interesting mixture of outer and inner light, a balance breathing in flux. This is my own space, this is my reality, my world. And it is through this fish eye lens that I see other orbs of light. I see thousands of them! Millions, no billions and billions! And they're all spinning real fast and they're all orbiting each other... and the closer they get the faster they orbit, and the faster they orbit, the higher their vibration. It's a spectacular sight! So, obviously, I was distracted and I wasn't looking where I was floating... and I crashed into another orb of light for the first time. My point of darkness crossed into their field of light just as theirs crossed into mine. I was illuminated by them, and they by me. It was so blindingly bright... I could see myself in their light, and they in mine. But I hadn't meant to do it! I didn't mean to! I had no idea this would happen. It was so scary. It was weird, alien, out of my world! I pulled away and we spiraled off into new directions. It wasn't until their light was a speck in the distance that I realized how beautiful it all was.

Tomorrow, I'll actually look where I'm going. Maybe I'll share my light with another, but this time with intention!

Lady Moonsun,
you showered me in
silky sheets of glowing lovelight
you embraced me with
warm rays of shimmering soulshine

you pushed and pulled my ocean's tides in and out like a lilting melody making love to a perfect harmony

but slowly you
drifted away
into space
to shine on new rocks
leaving me cold my
ocean waves
still

together
we held hands
and in our palms
we held time

and we ran away
from the rising sun
so we could see it
rise forever

but we grew tired
and we slowed down
and the sun sped up
and time was slipping
between our fingers
dripping
from our knuckles

and together we ran
we ran away toward
the setting sun
as fast as we could
but we were too tired

blossoming
magnolia
sunrise

feather
wind
dance

swelling tides
and lilting melodies

I can see the footsteps
on my soul
From where you walked
all over me

And I won't brush
away the dirt left
From the bottom
of your shoes
Because I miss you
and it serves as
A good reminder
of what was

Flowing thoughts wear away
at the mountains on the horizon

Soon they sink into the sea
I can see
past them now
into the beyond

Floating, a journey
through the channels of
watercolor waterways on
a molded clay mind
Formed by the Flow
of many todays
and hopes for tomorrow

The energy that is our life is water.
We are all intelligent, emotional, informational rivers of energy.

When we die
our energy evaporates,
dissipating to return to the source,
an infinite ocean.

When we are born
the droplets of consciousness coalesce
to form a concentrated
pool of life.

Deconstruct that which may not serve many,
and reassemble it so that it may serve more,
and you have creative destruction.

Deconstruct that which may serve many,
and reassemble it do that it may serve only a few,
and you have destructive creation.

Either way, there are resources relocated
to create or destroy something.
To deconstruct something
would be to separate it
into that which can be used to construct it...

Yet,
to construct something
is to reconstruct what which has already existed...
So is there only the illusion of creation and destruction?

Whether something is or is not,
from how we perceive it,
seems to rely on how and whether or not it is organized.

Each day is a gallery of empty canvases
Every new face is an opportunity
You will walk past many of them
Leaving them blank and untouched
a passing possibility
You will approach some, and paint a stroke or two
or a few or some more and
It may not be your best creation
but on some you will create beautiful masterpieces
For the most part, though, you will pass them by
but, why?
You are a canvas, too.
You are a possibility.

you Tug, and Tug these Servile Strings,
you've Sewn inTo my Flesh
i've Sewn a Few on You as Well,
a Tangled Gory Mesh

Ev'ry Tug i Take will Rip
your Skin from Off your Bone, but
You've got Quite a Sim'lar Grip,
tug Rip,
cry Laugh,
and Moan

Two Puppets, Each Other's Masters
Together, Beget **Disasters

Making the decision to hold on
gives that which is held
the ability to hold onto you,
whereby it can then impair
your ability to perceive
the difference between

you making the decision to hold on to something and
you making the decision to let something hold onto you.

In Dante's Inferno,
the unforgiven
sinful souls of lust
are blown about in
restless hurricane force winds.

It is symbolic
of their own lack of self-control
to their lustful passions in earthly life.

They are thrown around in a storm
created by their intense desire
for drugs, money,  food,
fame, power, or ***.

But is this Hell
truly in the afterlife?
Or is it a state of mind?
A state of being?

A hurricane is a rapidly rotating storm system, spiraling in on itself,
laying destruction across where its twisted arms flail.

The storm is an unbalanced, intense concentration of energy.
The eye of the storm is sin.
It is uncontrolled desire.
It's where the Self resides.

Inside the eye, though, everything seems calm.
It's cool and breezy,
the air is clear.

There is no experience
of the destruction of
what lies outside.
The surrounding wall
of the storm
is too thick.

They whose mind is plagued with such a storm is blinded.

The penitent
walks through flames
to purge themselves of
lustful thoughts and feelings.
It is symbolic of the process of God's forgiveness.

But is it after we have died?
Or is God's forgiveness
the forgiveness we receive
from those we have hurt
in our lack of self control?

To apologize and accept forgiveness can be a complicated process.
Like the flame, it's painful. But it is cleansing.

Can what is perceived or hypothesized
as conscious finality be conceived or experienced
in the present consciousness?
If not, then is conscious finality an illusion?

Can what is perceived or hypothesized
as the beginning of consciousness
be conceived or experienced in the present?
If not, is the beginning of consciousness an illusion?

Is there such a thing as conscious finality
at the cessation of perception?
Or instead of a cessation, is it a shift,
or a dissipation of consciousness
that we presently perceive
as a cessation of perception?

Is there such a thing as a beginning
at the start of perception?
Or is it a coalescence of consciousness
that we presently perceive as a beginning?

At which point,
wouldn't all beginnings and endings
be an illusion?

Or are they shifts in states of existence
outside the event horizon of our perception?

It's further than the tip of my tongue,
closer than my fingertips,
deeper than my breath.
It's there,
I can feel it.

What I feel are rivers filled
with droplets made of life.

Like water, life rushes
over stone, yet wears
through mountains
over many years.

Lakes are memories
met by many rivers.

States of mind
are crossroads,
cross rivers.

Which channel
will I flow through?
How many times?

How deep will
I let it go, before
it becomes so dark
that I cannot see
the bottom?

—

Along the river are trees,
wooden waterways.
They grow with the
flow of the river.

Each new branch, growing,
shedding old leaves, casting
new shade, reaching new light.

New life.

I am a single point
I am a hole between
the threads of a quilt
these strings amongst me
are my thoughts intertwined
with the words of others wound
around countless other spaces,
little voids filled with warmth of
fuzzy yarn spun from the
tongues of old
days past
Oh, how this fabric
so filled with holes
keeps me from trembling

There is a silence
in the mist, hidden
between the little
droplets, whispering
rivers of soft words from
past lovers evaporated

a lady lights a cigarette
glowing red cherry
lips, puffing without
regret
a cigarette, burning
smoking, grey breathing
choking and
tap tap the
falling ashes

it is over with
a definitive flick —
a lady lights a cigarette
she can see her spirit
dancing in the smoke

Tension and release
Apprehension and peace
Harmonic motion
Flowing emotion
Transient tonicization
we are constantly gravitating towards something new
Spiraling in new directions
A journey of resolution
Such is music, such is life

My perception of you
is a reflection of me
of all I once knew
and all that I see

Your reception of me
is a reflection of you
of all that you see
and all you once knew

Nothing we see
Is entirely true
If both you and me
Set our mirrors askew

Eye to eye
Heart to Heart
We realize we
Are all a part

Heart to heart
Eye to eye
We realize love
Will never die

See into
each other's minds
With all our mirrors
now aligned

Through each other
We can see
We reflect forever
to infinity

Each day is a gallery of empty canvases
Every new face is an opportunity
You will walk past many of them
Leaving them blank and untouched
a passing possibility
You will approach some, and paint a stroke or two
or a few or some more and
It may not be your best creation
but on some you will create beautiful masterpieces
For the most part, though, you will pass them by.
But why?

hotcoldyesno

mindfulness
is an ever present kiss
a passionate flow of energy
between the source and me

I'm trying so hard
I don't know what to do
My heart is aching
Thinking of you

A small square of paper
Sits on my tongue
With razor sharp edges
and tasting of dung

It takes me to spaces
Deep in my mind
Where there's too many places
and not enough time

I've been drowned in guilt
and I'm suspended in shame
Repeatedly killed
like in a video game

Written upon
the sharp paper square
are words for destruction
and guilt and despair

It's a trip like no other
you won't even feel high
you'll feel like a bother
and just want to cry

'...You're wrong, you're wrong,
you're wrong, you're wrong
How could you do this
How could you
do this to me...'

I'm floating in place with
no lover to face
trembling, trembling
trembling heart space

I'm spinning in circles
looking for miracles
and it's proving to be
horribly difficult

Trying to fly
with no wings to spread
I crumble and cry
a song for what's dead

the sound of alarms
ring in my head
Take me
cradle me in your arms

Drifting in place
dead in deep space
You left me here with
tears on my face

Crystalline droplets
scintillating pearls
spinning in circles,
spirals, and swirls

Why did you think
to leave me alone
at the cold ugly brink
a frost to the bone

the cold hard shoulder
feels far colder
than a lifeless boulder
I'm cold, I'm
cold

I speak with my music
and these notes are my words
My harp is my voice
and these strings are the cords

I try hard to play
But you've cut them all off
My harp is left bare
naked, unstrung

I'll move all the pedals
But unto what end?
I can't speak my heart
I can no longer pretend

It's time to stand up
and take a great bow
Walk off the stage
The end is

points of light
poke holes in the
fabric of the universe
connect the dots
an intricate lace

I'm floating in place with
no lover to face
trembling, trembling
trembling heart space
I'm spinning in circles
looking for miracles
and it's proving to be
horribly difficult
Trying to fly
with no wings to spread
I crumble and cry
a song for what's dead
the sound of alarms
ring in my head
Take me
cradle me in your arms

Phone rings.
Who is it?
Caller ID:
Unavailable.
Well, so am I.

What if,
instead of shooting
people into space,
we grew our way there?
What if,
we built tree forts in trees,
so that we could plant trees
in the tree forts,
and when they grow,
build more forts
in those trees and
continue that process
while adding gardens
all along the way
along with more tree forts
for everyone to live in
and everything would be connected
to form a living structure
that continually grew around us
as we continually grew within it
and our atmosphere would
expand
to encompass an amount of space
that we could have never imagined,
and we would grow with the trees
stronger, sturdier, and healthier
rather than continually
contract
and thin by thickening the pollution
in the space within our atmosphere
as we die with the trees
weak, withered, and dis-eased?

my pages are shaking like
timid dry leaves on
a brisk Autumn morning
I am a book heavy
with unspoken words
piled beneath countless others
a couple stains and a weak spine
it's hard to hold all the stories together
sometimes I'll find a page out of order
that someone's ripped out and
rearranged
The stories are getting shorter and shorter
losing pages throughout and

Our eyes are near
and my heart is hot
but your stare is cold
a thousand miles away
Your words are clear
and time has stopped
there's nowhere to go
my thoughts are broken and blurred
Sweet lips, your sweet lips
Carry such a bitter sound

In Time,
there is Death, but
In Death,
there's no Time
In Time,
there is Death, but
Out of Time,
there is Life

It's closer than my fingertips,
Deeper than my Breath,
Shadow on the Sun, Eclipse
Light and Dark, Life and Death

We are all God
We are All
We Are
We

crows* and vultures
pecking at the dead
cash-in-hand cultures
chewing on lead

scintillating cynosures
adorning your face
blossoming warmth
emanating infinity