I’ve sewn together a thousand moments
of nothing (butifandorthis) Outis of
sorts and                              ends
                     depressed
         enough to make your head swim
         your wrist spit
         to drown in your own thinking

grasp breath drench and saturate
obsequious regurgitation
prolix asphyxiation
words worlds whirled
LOGOS
spew forth and I choke on
what I can never get out
the
emptiness                within
                                ­                   a
                                                   few
                                          
secondsleftoverste­psout     line
                                            of
             ­                                  curfews ensue
more or less and less is more
of the same (few cures for futures)
                                                  of late
a puddle reflecting and shallow
sole-stomped-n-splattered
I
         Can not help but mis  
s
     the piece( is ) of me that mattered
less than the least of my worries
and the old black boot
            with  a                hole
                    ­                             the one that is always waiting to.
                                                             ­                                             .
                  ­                                                                 ­                       .
                                        ­                                                                 ­  drop.  
                                                                                                             ­                                                                         ­                        I Am 
                                                             ­             still           
                                                           here           
                                       hoping                  
             inre           
   verse              
          
It all fits                                               the tailor-made addendum
but it doesn't                                      the sedentary splendor
change                                                 the worn out agenda


of yet another loop of the clock
fomenting
a grand sutuREDness rending a
torque of tendencies
to ward off the
subversive inertia
of idle thoughts—***—wishes

the edges of that
cloud grapple
with dissolution and
the shaping of my
                                         own                                                 periphery                                            sic
        [i]magination                                           ­                                       

The interior storm
has come and gone
replaced by a wretchedly anxious calm
I then wonder if these
tempests are what is…
or just a fallway of mirrors
I pass through in a tumble
down some hole
feeling it’s too late to know
if I will ever be whole

Alas, another looking glass
I have been
cut up too
to see the half emptiness
of ours
in the hour glass
timetumbling down
the singularity of
How are we?
Relatively bleeding
Speaking of

self
shred-
ding dingbats-in-the-belfry
A  f  r  a  y e d  address of questioning
covered with
s-t-i-t-c-h-e-s
in
this
                                              fourth           ­                             dimension
saves what? 9 lives? No rhyme--no reasoning
with me
                                 …I guess
my wounds are dressed
but only it will tell
                                                            ­                              (What is real?)
                                 (so obviously rhetorical)
it marches on
and it can’t be stopped
but it’s of the essence
and they say it will heal
All wounds
and I say when and how and isn’t now
all I have
to be?
wound up again I see...

And then be left
to the present
tense
out of it,
Up against it.
Who the **** knows?
said the Emperor I
(in third person disguise)
Wearing nothing
(He supposes)
Nothing
But being
                  but...
The scars
Uncovered
for the seeing
Being what scars are
Are they something...
Symbolic?  Systemic? Sympathetic?
That makes seeing is believing
Real for me,
Or, for us all?
Is Being
Beingness
Or is it
Meaningless in a...life…
S
P
A                                            
Not evolving as fast          
As semiotics                      
Or sentient
Robotics
For the rest
Of us
To be
Sure that we are
Individual
Beings at all?

What?
Time’s up?
                         At least for the
                                              Time being…
                                                          ­           Nothing to worry about...

She want to get out
She's waiting to set free
Shes planning to have control all over me
Shes the monster i can not hold
Shes the part i try not to show
I caged her inside
Yet she's peeking through the holes
Im scared but I can not show
Shes the darkness shes my demons
Her freedom is deadly
letting her outis wrong
Shes something I can't control
Never thought I can
Never thought shes strong
She kills lies betrays and steal all in order to grow
Shes carving on the walls
Shes likw my shadow
I know shes there
I see her in the mirror
I see her everwhere
I dont want to give in  
I don't want to let go
I don't want to be the one caged inside
I don't want to just watch
I want to take the lead
I don't want to be scared

We seat beneath the candlelight drops
As we teach each other our story
I’m compelled to let the words out
I’m here to grow us up

Way before our candle was kindled
Way before light roamed any sky
Some force was forced to say
We either grow
Or we die

In dying we are warm and modestSpheres of chaotic comfort
Unchallenged ponds
With nothing to defy


Yes, before the molten world
Was turned to rock
And then weathered away
In little strife
Someone was compelled to say
In life
We either grow
Or we die

In growing we have a hard time
Because all bigger growing
Means greater dying
Whenever the growing halts

Way before the sun warmed your cheek
Other synergies were brought to a stop
Before my hand reached your velvet streak Other supernovas contracted outIs my slight tucking away of your hair
Broadening your face for a slap?

Because someone wise
Surely wiser than me once said
In love
We either grow
Or we die

As any one-celled world
Was forged into a rightful cosmos
It might have been us
Or a treacherous cancerOr all three

In all our power we could remain powerless, you see?…

Could this candlelight pool
Where we gain our room to swim
Be dripping from a toll from over the brim

Where a fire was set aflame
Through wax lines untamed
Of our locked stares

Through time and space and mind
Could it all be the same
Is our room to swim
Room to revolve away
Is our manner poured in wax
A giant candle from which
We see

But also the fervent sight
We must somehow keep in mind
Whenever the coming darkness
Grows us blind

Whereas now all I seeIs a sentient mirror smiling at me…

Compass with me for a second
What this all means
Is I don’t want our death right away
Nor do I want it any way
And in growing up myselfI grow us up in part

And in growing up in part
We might just grow apart
Our candlelight might fizz out
Our death might, in pain,
Come anyway.

But I’m willing to give it a try
Our candlelight, our sight
Are, in turn,
A great light to photograph
And a great memory to hold…
Beneath the hourglass wax drops
We teach
In teaching we learn
Through embracing we love
And the silent tug that follows…Is where I’m willing to belong.