We could bathe
In physical truth
                                    Perhaps we do
Neat or distilled
Drip fed
              Like water
In its any forms
Placeless on periodic table

Truth softened
                          In our fragility
        Hardened
                          By others resilience

Worn by the face of a manikin
        At peace within the world
        If that’s what you wish it to be

When there is no thought
                                For tomorrow today
When yesterday fails to exist  
It’s like being breathless
The relative moment is now    
            And you gasp
Grip life hold it close
                                            Close enough
To accept every nail
Driven deep in your body  
                                   By life
             Becomes no more
Than a point of reference
Upon which to hang clothes

When in the moment
                                          Your presence
Fills a bandstand
                   A park
A promise made to yourself as a child
                               When I grow up......

Hold yourself close to each minute
                                      Be breathless

I ask
You say
                                                     “I’m not sure”
Like the moment
Before it snows

Or nights spent
Searching for Venus
Without clarity
Through naked eyes

You knew she's secluded
In a room unused
But still said
                                                     "I’m not sure”

There she wore a pendant
Engraved   “keep out” in braille
I didn’t feel it
We never touched
Venus dims
You won’t speak
Words from within
I ask
You say
                                                    “Are you sure”

Each balloon in my room
Carries a captive thought
The type of which remain
                                         Dominant
                                         Predatory
Paced
Head below shoulder
Eased only by a need
To sway
                    On un-retracted claw

Each anxiety  
A cord of attachment
Each balloon
Led to an open window
                                   One by one
Released to navigate the planet

Lest they stay
To circle the world
                    Inside my head

The tattooist’s lines
Soften
Turn to blue
                          Faiths have
An anchor
And forget me knot
                          Marks time
Within a beachfront kiosk
                                              Mattress in rear
Note on shutters
                         Saying  
                         Back in 15 minutes

Older than her waist size
Younger than the priced
Sunday Sport tabloid
Talking of *******
And WW2 bomber on the moon
                                           That she’d folded
                        As though sleeves rolled up

Her name imprinted
Each stick of rock
                       On the seafront
When anyone talked of Faith
                                                   Pink words
                                    Always turned blue

We connect to our
Own singular truth
Inexpressible by word
                           Relayed by the heart
                           The space where
Solitary reflection
                             Tightens my throat
Mixes emotions
                             Until colours run

Leaving nothing
Bar mottled visions
Held back
                    By their own significance

Twenty-four elders ,
seven chakra spirits ,
four beasts , now
the origins of carnal desire
and the Lake , of Glass .
☆
The Key of David ,
controlled by spirit ,
is in the temple
of the pineal gland
and in union with holy
secret .
☆
Subordinate to God's will ,
for thyne is the kingdom ,
thyroid and throat chakra --
the flaming sacred heart ,
triumphant in time and
tribulation .
☆
The Witness and his
golden sword of fire ,
the Seat of the Soul
attacked and defended
from evil .
To Virtue , the final victory
is delivered ,
true love and the Seeds of
the Cosmos .

demon in the bathroom mirror
last rock of crystal went missing
bulging eyes in my reflection
I didn’t like that
i couldn’t find crystal but i don’t ask
those guys actually saved my life.
two hours to billings, montana and the
prairie grass glistened in the
last minute Sunday morning sunlight
thanksgiving day drive.

designer machete and the wineberries
broken shabbat demarcation line
and i tried yet again to perform a task
to completion without getting distracted
screaming from the bathroom

‘i can’t hit a vein! I can’t hit a vein!’
water in the rig
miss crystal swimming in mine
Christ in the Cosmos
two plantains on the kitchen island in
a town house on west orange.
no man is an island
but I pretended that i was so
i could finally climb the double helix home.

i  can’t be creative if i’m always in
a mad rush.
‘Prove to me your value! Justify your being here,
can you see me? Why can’t anyone see me?
how about now?’
tongue caught in a snare
pestilence in the mason jar
smoked paprika in the finish
water in the rig
‘Jordan? Was there even anything in here?’

i used to lay prostrate on the
couch
ad infinitum.
one thing they don’t tell you is that when
you’re dope sick you have to take
a giant **** about every five minutes.
the free cable in the apartment complex
actually saved my life.
furniture - mid century modern -
had to let it go.
hadn’t really listened to music in 18 months
besides pop country radio stations
‘i got that summertime, summertime sadness’
ad infinitum.
somehow I had decent pair of headphones and
a small, black verizon smartphone circa July 2013.
‘do what you want, what you want with my body…’
Lady Gaga actually saved my life that day.

demon in the ikea medicine cabinet mirror
giant rock of crystal
missing
water in the rig
‘was there even anything in there?!?!?!’
the mirror reflected back to me a stranger’s eyes
mirror is another name for a stranger's eyes.
i tabernacled in the high desert plains,
Sheridan, Wyoming - powder river country.

i felt the God-force emerge yesterday
up and outward from deep within my belly.
but today i’m fussing over straw-men
in plaster-of-paris suits
and i ate tortured beef at a
diner in Leesport, PA
and I can’t turn back into the man I was
no matter how hard I try.

so now I sit before
the most holy apostle St. Jude
located at Our Lady of Fatima Grotto
across the street from Kings College, Wilkes-Barre, PA.
‘The quickest way to Hell are the temptations of the flesh, exclamation point.’
i came here to reclaim my value but
i can’t seem to find it anywhere.

i keep getting flashbacks of the water in the rig
and the screaming from the bathroom and
if i didn’t tell somebody about this i was probably
going to *****.

3 cheers for the Black Madonna and
the big surrender.
i’ve swallowed so many shadows by now
that i don’t recognize myself in the mirror
or in your eyes.
but my body is a christmas tree and
from the branches i hang
plastic tinsel and
crystals and
broken timing chains
and a cedar wood mala.

I see that Christ is always pointing to
his sacred heart
but no one ever told me that
the anahata chakra had a back door.
no wonder sometimes I feel like i’m a
hydrogen bomb welded inside a lead casket.
someone open the ******* door and
let some light in.

the sun doesn’t rise from the west
and there is no rest for the weary and
to this day I act like that wasn’t only
water in the rig.

I miss my old hair clippers
I had them since before I got sober.
at the rehab near Philly, I would trade rollies for head shaves
until I learned that I could shave my own head without a mirror.
that was ok with me,
I saved on tobacco but I still had my cup and bowl out.
like an anchorite begging for alms by the road side.
some 3000 shaves of the head later and I don’t need a mirror
for much anymore.
I set the old clippers aside and I don't know where they went to.

When I wake up the sun is going down.
I do my shopping beneath the cold chalice of the moonlight,
cold glistening, somehow still reflecting of the Sun
even though
I said goodbye from
my window to the early evening dawn
9 hours before the burning
of the midnight oil.
I chant and ring my bells
so I don’t drift back to sleep.
but I can still smell sulfur so I
Aum and pray and ring the bells a little louder.

I found God on the carpet once.
It only took me 14 hours to pick through
every crystalline crumb that glistened in the kitchen light.
the next morning I had a half soup spoon full of the Almighty
but the hook and the plunger swallowed Him whole
and with haste turned me back to dust.

sometimes I’ll make a to-do list
with every strike of the pen another performance for
the bushels and the bones,
I like grocery shopping at night.
normally there are only a few souls and
old drifters wandering about and
they usually keep their eyes pointed down.
sometimes I practice small talk
with the clerk,
endeavoring to exchange appropriate
amounts of eye contact throughout.
personalities and performances and
I am so tired of caring.

when I’m waking up the sun is going down
but monica gave me a hand full of vitamin D and
a fire in the hearth and
sometimes the world
Is like a seven pointed centrifuge.
the heavy particles are all hitting the
chalice walls and I’m spinning so fast
all I can do is look up and breathe.

The swallows are singing swooping for the
Black Madonna and the Popes of the white smoke.  

God jumps from the sky to the spoon to the corkscrew
and L/L research put up a new tweet:
more from Hatonn about the bitter wine, and
this being quite a dense illusion for the thickness of the veiling,
and the chakras being tuned like strings on a harp
to be plucked by the Hands of the Creator.

This isn’t the density of knowing
as faith is the evidence for things unseen.
I’m still half blind but I can hear them chanting and
I’m just this side of single pointed thought but
facebook keeps breaking my ****** attention.
so I stand here
awoken to  the sun going down over the highway
and the snakes winding up my spine
and a mouth full of Vitamin D.

She says, "Chad, **** me hard."
She puts her hands on my shoulders and slips on to my *******.
She bangs herself while she thinks of me.
She knocks on my front door and disrobes in the entryway.
I cup her ******* with my hands as I **** her from behind.
Our rocking motion ebbs and flows.
I kiss her neck as she pulls back her hair.
My lips slowly go down her shoulders onto her chest and I taste her salty skin
We walk through a forest in daylight hand in hand.
We bicycle to a coffee shop together and sit down at a booth with our warm mugs.
Then I read this poem to her.
The words dance in her receivers, she says "thank you".
Then she walks away by herself
With her memory of us together.
Knowing we will meet again.