The U

Where do you go, in those phones, heeded on head, wired to grid of train tracks, crossed

Crossing Eyes Blink,

Nastigma traces the groovy footpath through a tunnel of dreams

Cradled n’er woken from a lauded longing

Emoted chords melt the time away

Bubbles through honey, a metal snake never finds it tail

Birthing a thousand sonders

At each stop

Curiosity sounds a C-Sharp

Makes a C Shape

One end of a track

To another on queue

Lined up, through stairs and beyond

The same humans

Pass you again, later, Später

Without mask

But still with phone,

Still with peering eyes

Of your peers,

Hidden smiles beneath FFP2

KN95

17A, U1, U3 - back again

USB

Recharge

Restart

Replay

Are you board?

Where and what and when are U

11.18.22

Preserve

Dyed apples

Soak up an ultra

Gamma

Ray

Edges burn

Berry juice, Tart Bite

No sunscreen available

Tastes like strained teeth

07.11.19

Gating

Destiny

Sacred feet washed in mud

Earthen bound mixture

Finding seashores to mend mountainous layers

Skin baked in sunshine clay

Potted feelings grow off the grid

Bountiful

Watching the clouds in millennia

Paintings throughout antiquity reflecting

Sunbeams, seen, as new scenes

Curtains drawn, in ever changing cyclical geometries

Shapes show time

See it for what it is

Filtered in biological biases

Do clouds see what we project

as projections in vapor form?

Renewal finds home and pattern

On the gusts of wind

A lens and brush

Capture the enraptured, yet

Space and paint can only try to

Outlast the moments of true

Musing, so in using instruments

For experience to inspire a

Movement of outward sympathy

An artist still remains on the ground, perceiving a perusing of colors

Spectrums seen through spectacles and refracted convexity

A complexity in concave fluctuations so special, fleeting—

That a beating drum and howling moon pass time again

So whence mental rain dance conjures the comings of tomorrow

New formations take poses, in the sky, for poets

that may try to dry, their avatar eyes

Finding balance in elemental forces

A beach of sand the count of celestial variables


2.18.17

Shapes of Stardust

Unpredictable lava consciousness
‘round mountain tops
obeying the mulch of cerebral deciduousness,
Churns in recycled patterns of geography,

How does the gravity of the mind orbit
our soul’s star?

Weightless spirit harnessed by shackles of
Industry
Clocked backwards
Congealing in unsealed understanding of
entropy,

What is the shape of the human soul
when detached from its host form?

All spirit has story to preserve
Time, with no time,
Curiousness, while knowing everything,
An era untold in riches, availability, and
Perseverance into the
Extension of body as a cosmic realm, how
Fire, from within and without
Morphs the shape of understanding in handheld
Wonderment
Confined to rules, overarching functionality
Of this sphere, offering the challenge,
Conviction of inner—to outer—mastery
Of intuitive movement,
Speed of knowledge by way of material selfishness,
Rock and mineral wanted to be known,
Used,
And talked to,

Is our mind our own, or pieces of the mother?


12.12.16

Core

The silent scream

Fills my head

Larynx unable to

Shed vocal thrashes,

Inward and cerebral

A yell treats brain mass

Like dough

Kneaded yet unleavened

Zero rises given,

None felt behind my eyes

I am unsure the sound it Could

Would, maybe Should, make—

Outward narration deemed

Unworthy, of

Expulsion and energy,

A mental collar of earplugs

Sending waves through body, back

Towards superficial unrest

Earthen core warming


12.19.16

Wizard Birthday

Each day feels like a birth,

New insights on old sights,

Yet the same pattern is

Renewed,

Another perspective on the reality that a game exists,

And I can play it, too

My body, staff and pouch are the instruments

And the song sung at the table bears semblance of vaginal canals,

Muffled sirens of light calling the unborn spirit in name,

Which calendar, marked in frosted stars,

dots the pink chamber of nascent constellations,

on maps remembered in dream state recollection?

The etchings of neo-cortex structure

fueled by chemical intake and gestated with time,

Half-baked spells in mind, made manifest, through passion,

Now pushing back the astrology of wombs towards new eyes, glass,

Days spent answering better 1 or 2,

Wishes spoken, regularly, becoming real enough for robes,

Sacred plant of sacrum parallel gifted and received,

Suggested by the attendees of cake town who,

Clapping the geometric air

and splitting atomic structure in metronomic celebration, wish:

Happy Birthday, you wizard—

Carry the candle of your Earth through all rebirths,

To illuminate the ancient art on the inward cave, created by you,

Until breath is cast once again…


11.16.17

NY-SEE-ME

this is the endless night

i can't sleep

i feel just so stressed at the thought of all the time it will take for me to complete all these tasks

i can't seem to relax

the comfort of it all seems insane

living in nyc is insane

there is so little nature it hurts

the amount of constant noise is unbearable

for a sane person, i mean

seriously

this existence is awful

how can millions dilute themselves?

booze and other drugs, me thinks

the experiences of rooftops and basements with substances is key

those memories are the strong stenches of nostalgia which tie us to their subservience

to this game, this flow, this hustle, this beat, this mix bag of designer and tailored profiteering

high in high rises we march, through unnatural ups and downs

beyond stimulated to the point of being floored

back down again, elevated rides in patched periods of temporary pause

until the lighter clicks, the neck pops, the metal twists and again we press buttons

more time spent going up, down, upper, lower, mids, quads, lids, shake

thunder overhead reminds us this land was once pristine and native

rain attempting to collapse the paper mache rendering of resource and denial

hundreds of years of this

in the making, baking, making, taking, faking, waking worlds of all industry

all ages, sizes, creeds and tongues

the quantity of networks, lines and signals pumping through our minds is inconceivable

literally

for true understanding seems an internet search away, and yet all signal is not equal

interference runs circles around the paths of birds

patterns of exchange and communication disrupted at the very level of nature

by invisible slaughter, bleeding down overhead, our laughter

at jokes and at the expenses of others, is cloaked by cross wiring of natural and artificial dialects

our smiles are brought on by brightness of screens,

rhythms of whales and their mating calls are lunatic and dismissed

how dare ANYONE break the illusion that our device, and edifice, is good enough

speak up? call out? yell in union station?

catch the echo of solitary and momentary joy, forcing stares from all staff as suspect

nothing natural in the yell, only a potential of something unspoken and un-hoped for

in this city, i hugged a tree with beautiful bark, and surrounding the roots a plethora of acorns

heart to heart we embraced, and I had the urge to look up,

moving towards me was a lone squirrel, scurrying down the washed trunk with muddy paws

curious and hungry, this creature has adapted, to the presence of progress

the noise of societal gain has uninterrupted the search for fare and fortune

what can you give me? who do you know? who do they know? whats in your pocket?

these cross and inter species questions draw humorous comparisons

and so this fur-tailed tree dweller gets closer and wants something

I take my smart steps around the landing zone to a surprise jump, and watch

as this little alive being bobs and weaves through the grass

finding the blades with the scent, or the lay line of energy

that tell them where to dig, and on he or she goes, making her paws muddy,

and i watch and wonder how silent it must have been, before we came,

before our land-escaping from our urban trappings changed the routes of squirrels

our, hollowing out trees and bees' homes while gnomes watch and shake nubby fingers like

we told you so, we old you know, this road you sow, its plagued in tow

to your ideas, to your creeds, to your stone carved decries that simulate authority

we can never change the course of a hurricane, and until we learn,

we will push air through tunnels and money through exchanges like the masters of the universe

and yet we will feel empty, because in this beautiful world of ideals we have placed filters

of religion, beliefs, theories, hypothesis, proofs, photography and modernity

which ARE the lens, which have become the slits in the barrier between you and light

so the inverted rotation of everything on this planet looks and is rendered a certain frame per second

to your eye, as this, played back through, endless searches for the feeling of initial joy,

is the definition of insanity, and we look for this feeling, in cities, and not in

each other

or nature

we run and risk the wheel of perish

Lady Fortuna is a mother culture tongue, lapping up our cerebral fluids, like

“I AM THE ONLY STORY, SKYSCRAPER OF MYTHOS, OBEY AND FORGET.”

(I’d rather not forget my indigenous soul and the more beautiful world our hearts know is possible)

…so I moved…

9.20.18

BU-COW-SKY

(in this world, the sun rises in the west.
I lay still on his bed, in another land.
I'm house sitting while he jaunts in NYC)


hello?

is she
over there?

yeah
why you calling me
so early?

can't sleep

why
not?

there is no air in your mattress, there is no mattress, only lost time,
slowly

sounds…squirrely

my head is pounding

so is mine
always is actually,
against those keys

there are holes in everything

the mattress
you mean?

no, there is more

(my alarm goes off---I hard tap the snooze)

what is she
wearing?

who?

big lips
big hips

I thought you called
about my book

after,
is there anything…
at all…

…no, nothing

its going to be another sunny and 72

the continual
condition

how do you care
so little
and know so many
things?

with twelve fingers
two for the jigger
10 for the keys

(my alarm breaks snooze again---I tap in for the last time)

what time is it there?

the sun just broke

sorry to bother you

i just saw
on the horizon
a cow
flying

did you get any sleep last night?

enough
to wake me from
the slumber of mendacity, I think
she is getting up

go
go back to her
I’ll inflate your mattress
with heavy breaths

I hope it rains
milk
into your empty cup of ice

(Awake sans alarm, yet alarmed.
Residue of dirty soap
Clings
All day)

Feet stretched, I ponder:
empty letters
on the backs of chairs,
join sweaters
of one night stands,
sweet would have saids
great should have beens
as
the could haves wake up
elsewhere


Ring* … Ring*


9.19.18