Fish, reptile, human embryo
Take your pick of what we are
The romance of god
The sterility of science-
A match not made in heaven
He made something out of nothing-
Sun, the light-bearer
But also blow-your-mind light
And plural heavens
As he hovered upon the face of the deep
And caused immense vibrations
You’re either here by mistake
Or here with a purpose
You’re either higher than monkeys
Or lower than angels

Don't listen
to any words
that anyone says:
not mine
not theirs
we all lie,
it's a human ailment,
non-truth-telling
and you know what?
We're all diseased
sick with the thing
not wanting to be seen
for what we really are:
afraid
boring
unoriginal
maybe even
down right ugly
so don't listen
my dear
when they say a word
because it's not what you'll hear that matters,
it's inconsequential
it's what you see
what really happens
when lights go out
the curtains close
and the masks come off
it's then
when lines aren't being rehearsed
and the reality of the beast of the heart
seeps through
that you'll know.
You'll know
that I'm unworthy,
that everyone is
that we all ****
and blow
and show off
for no good reason other than selfishness
and I can only hope
that at the end of the day
the performances
when you see all that is
what it really is
you can accept
what I am
and be at peace with a world
that isn't perfect,
not good enough for you
but one that you're patient enough
to continue gracing
with your directions

I think people often forget
the big picture and think that everything is coming
to an end
or that they’ve ruined so much in their lives already.
Something really overwhelming happens to them for a few months
and they think all hope and possible
healing is lost.
All they want to do is wallow and wish it were all
different, never accepting
what’s really going on.
It’s that kind of self-absorption that stunts
the quality time in life.
It’s an obsession that stunts our means
of enjoyment.

Red plum blossoms.
A ball of air
Leaves a box.

We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold:
No clock counts this.
When kisses are repeated and the arms hold
There is no telling where time is.

It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still:
Behind the eye a star,
Under the silk of the wrist a sea, tell
Time is nowhere.

We stand; leaves have not timed the summer.
No clock now needs
Tell we have only what we remember:
Minutes uproaring with our heads

Like an unfortunate King's and his Queen's
When the senseless mob rules;
And quietly the trees casting their crowns
Into the pools.

It's kind of disappointing how so many people have never experienced euphoria when listening to a truly powerful song. No I'm not a hipster who thinks I'm better than someone who listens to the radio. I simply wish that others got the chance to listen to music that plays for your soul, not for your ego. In order to establish how good of a song is, think of it in this sense. When you listen, and I mean really listen. The music should carry you, and take you to an unknown land, that unfolds with each sound combining into a melody or beat. If this happens without any sort of drug stimulation then, my god, you have found beautiful music.