We know
the old adage:
he who plans, He who laughs.
Pray the laugh's not too bitter and
mocking.

we have each lost a child

in our own way,
some by irreversible mortality,
some by the sea rocks wreckage
of finality of mental disease, disbarment

I have no grave to visit,
if only! a palace to mourn
and celebrate the memories,
might it grant a sorted, seminal healing?

my memories are double bitter real,
still sweet, but biter dark chocolate
encasing bitter almonds casted my
aging doubling regret, my chiefest failure

send an email to someone today,
who refuses my existence, triggered,
heard a U2 song, him, ago, he was an
early discoverer, sharer, of their music

the song provocation was shaking, words,
ripping, words, rent, refreshing, scars uncovered,
decades long, I’m whipped sawed
by ragged teeth deepest cutting irony:

”And you give yourself away
And you give yourself away
And you give
And you give
And you give yourself away
With or without you
With or without you, oh
I can't live
With or without you
Oh, oh
Oh, oh
With or without you
With or without you, oh
I can't live
With or without you
With or without you”

2:39 PM Sun Feb 29

It's the strangest
thing.
All my senses are
alive, ablaze with
ultra keenness.
My brain is
sweetly burned,
and my eyes are
on fire.

I can taste the
cotton candy clouds,
snd the cab that
I'm riding in smells
of coconut and
honeysuckle.

Those ravens have
mustaches like Poe,
and those raccoons
look just like
Bukowski.
I hear an Opera by
Wagner in the wind,
and my footsteps sound
like the very
pulse of life

pain loves the present tense
it loves gravity so that the clouds
are turned into geological strata
sometimes I use my hands like an anaesthetic
between right and wrong the pain dillema:
to feel or not to feel (the unknown)
we discover clever remedies or illusions
quiet cannery in the storehouse of flesh

it comes in circles mixtures all kind of names
it has rythm texture electric blackness
each unshed tear an orb of contraction
compulsive excavation of the void inside
sometimes I feel I have canyons of salt in my heart
on the edges of safety so much to learn about terror

this pain is a blind Robinson on Hope island
(with his bare hands he sets pyres in his heart)
was it pain that invented this language, these holy wars?
love you, hate you, nonsense, can't stand it anymore
I know my father lied to me that he doesn't feel pain

bodies in pain can't dream the water slide of life
that might take us further away into the night of day
time to say thank you, say farewell,
love everything that simply is
it is time to

Curious clever beings us
blessed with the gift of reason
an ability to sit and think
and that is what has brought us
to the very brink
our talent for deduction
and logical construction
may ultimately sow
the seeds of our destruction

obscure the radiography of the sky
night clouds and vertigoes in my feet
the waters of pain just mirrors for enlivened souls
this spark is roaming adrift without the north star
what is love what is pain
these charming games this chasing of a mirage something deeper
beauty is the warmest colour
you are beautiful you don't know it
day after night night after day
we repeat each other's name devoid of time
of mind of touching hands and of and of
this skin that contains us when we awake in a dream
betwen regression and progression **** meanings
I hold on to breathing you deeply wildly
as deep as an uninvited sea at midnight