I am the farthest son from the sun. I am begotten but I’m not the only one. I cascade between astral planes as a means of flight between extremes of mirrored wings. I am dense but not without density, no relation to my empiric destiny. I cow before no one who is not one who has not won the struggle against the self to actualization or manifestation of conscious desire piled into the burning pyre where we burn ego in effigy. WHO am I? I posit, WHO are WE? Our destiny is cloaked behind the deaths head diagram of this supposed plan. It is, it tis layed out by design, we erase it as we find the substrata layers of this conjecture. Dig deep, dig deeper still. Be still of mind and heart from time to time, fall not into the fallacious idea of constant stimulation, our minds fall into the trap of Eros on demand. Look away, touch another’s skin. Connection is made skin to skin, breath to breath. I am one god, creator of earth and air, man and woman, fire and water. You are imbued with this quality which is no measured quantity, how could it be, how could it be immeasurable? It defies your knowledge or reason, it is the tides and seasons, it is the wonder and reason for being, the struggle to attain meaning. Seek and you will find, find and begin the search anew. It is what is commonly referred to as life.
Memories
There was fear in your eyes when you would
get lost as a child.
Fear that you would never see
Mommy and Daddy again.
PANIC
would rack your small body
and leave your heart
Beating,
Beating,
Beating
so hard,
so fast
that you were a little bomb
ready to explode into
shaking, uncontrollable tears.
Shadows crept up from corners
you scarcely noticed before.
Looking up
the whole world was above,
looking down at you
so close to the ground.
Would you run around
frantic?
Darting from
place to place,
aisle to aisle
hoping for a sign
of love?
Did they know you were gone?
Did they miss you?
What if they didn’t?
What if they didn’t?
What would you do?
What could you do?
Sometimes you would look up
through eyes misted
and see other adults
look at you with pity.
Once in a while
you would get a sympathetic face
asking,
“Are you lost little boy?”
“Are you lost little girl?”
They would always know the answer wouldn’t they?
All they had to see were your eyes,
Your cheeks flushed red
and know.
You would nod
and this kind stranger
might take you by the hand
to where your parents could be found.
How did you feel when
they would say your name
or those of your parents
over the loudspeakers?
Were you relieved?
Ashamed?
As they came up,
Worried,
Relieved,
Wondering where you had been,
How much did your little heart leap?
Did you promise yourself
to never leave their side again?
Walking away
how tightly did you hold their hands?
Could you have turned carbon into diamonds?
You’ve never forgotten that
have you?
We came across each other in the park. Much time had passed since we had seen each other. You looked much as I remembered you. Your beauty was never just skin deep. Your smile lit the flame, burned right through me. Nothing but words passing between us, like waves between shores. Closer, we closed the distance of our bodies. The sky above us, we nestled beneath eiderdown, groaning like beasts of burden. Cool air growing hot, heat dripping. Moments growing into infinite space, a rejection of life viewed as linear time. Exchanging thermal reactions, each frenzied slide one bit closer to this, to this, to this, to this, to this to this, to, to,to,tooooooooooo... The only salvation worth anything.
The City*
I
Rising over the desert
it spreads across the mountains,
beaming softly across the
endless sprawl.
Reaching
water and sand,
waves crash into piers
as bodies dive
into natures embrace.
Towering figures framed
against the mountains,
pillars of ingenuity
reflecting rays cast
upon glass and steel.
Arteries begin
pumping platelets
from North to South,
East to West.
By the entrance to Poseidon’s realm
the beasts stand,
craning their sinuous
mechanized necks
as the relic of a sentinel
stands watch over a task
long since relinquished.
II
Alive and breathing,
life engages its patrons.
Peering through windows
the box chatters on as
beauties recline into
the folds of suburban decadence.
The world is a small expanse
best seen through tinted
eyes for second sight.
Palatial homes filled with
an emptiness
few could understand
or desire.
Manes beam deceit
of affluence worn
as proudly as
any regal regalia
from a vanquished monarchy.
The sound of blades and
arboreal amputations
cut and clamor,
the only disturbances
in such placid places.
Brown skin
tanned like leather,
stewards of a past
not as distant as some
would care to think.
They always watch them
when they encroach,
like a stain moving
and corrupting.
Always so ready,
ready to assume the worst.
Black and Whites
pull up screaming,
rubber gripping,
screeching to a halt.
Freudian compensation is drawn
and thrust out.
Slugs puncture hungry
vitals shocked by sudden
scarlet spurts.
The soft sound of
meat hitting asphalt.
A stain removed,
another spreads
like an amoeba
expanding.
The box will have more
to talk about.
III
We travel within
Arteries,
Veins
& Capillaries
cast in concrete.
Blood at a standstill
time to time
(more often than anyone would like).
It pumps from Arteries
to Veins
& Capillaries
for far reaching extremities.
At the center of it all
the heart never sleeps.
It beats endlessly,
it beats endlessly.
IV
Dreams
draw them in.
They come like
a wide eyed doe drawn
from the forest
into an unending expanse.
Short on money
(isn’t that always the case?)
and fueled on endless ambition,
the heart draws them in
to streets lined
with names immortalized
into the stars themselves.
Lucky breaks and losing streaks
mar lives in almost equal measure.
It’ll be a great story
when the camera eyes
capture the ineffable essence
that’ll one day be lost
to hubris and indulgence.
On the hillside
beckons a name
as towering as
Colossus &
Ozymandias.
It is cast into hearts,
molding ambition,
standing
hollow backed
and
beautiful.
V
Hidden in the shadow of the heart,
they wander the jungle
of it’s interior.
Souls who wear
the endless toil
of life across
their faces.
There is nowhere
but here for them.
Dirty streets
clogged with cast off
dreams.
The failed state of hope
occupies like an
invading army
waiting for the last body
to drop.
VI
Lights flicker on
across a patchwork
grid one
by one.
They light up
the darkness,
we can
never see
the stars above.
Blood flows
quickly through
concrete arteries.
The heart glows
in the darkness.
Blood keeps flowing,
Heart keeps beating
On and on
and on…
Nostradamus
We
are so
easy to
predict.
Patterns play out
like
ABABCBB.
Where is the mystery?
It lies in
the variation
between points.
We are far more
simple
than we would care
to admit.
If we did,
then perhaps
we would
be better off
than our
current
state of affairs.I
It rises over the desert
and spreads itself over the mountains.
It beams down softly across the
encroaching sprawl.
Reaching water and sand,
cold waves crash into piers
as adventurous bodies
dive into natures embrace.
Towering figures framed
against the mountains,
pillars of ingenuity
reflecting rays cast
upon glass and steel.
Arteries begin pumping
Mechanized platelets
from North to South,
East to West.
By the entrance to Poseidon’s realm
the beasts stand
craning their sinuous
mechanized necks
as the relic of a sentinel
stands watch over a task
long since relinquished.
II
Alive and breathing,
life engages its patrons.
Peering through windows
The box chatters on as
beauties recline into
the folds of their suburban decadence.
Outside,
they toil in pairs,
The harsh sound of blades and
arboreal amputations
the only disturbances
in such placid places.
A close distance away
Black and Whites
pull up screeching,
rubber gripping,
squealing to a halt.
Freudian compensation is drawn
and thrust out.
Guilty?
Why not?
Slugs puncture hungry
vitals shocked by sudden
scarlet spurts.
The soft sound of
meat hitting asphalt.
III
Like a body
splayed out over sheets,
one hand reaches for snow capped peaks
as the other dips its fingers
into hot desert sand,
toes curl in the cool sea,
Arteries,
Veins and Capillaries
cast in concrete
keep brightly lit
blood cells
in a dead rhythm
on the road.
They are endless.
Drawing us everywhere
& nowhere at once.
IV
The dream factory
draws them in
to this strange place with
a song in their hearts,
a role they were born to play,
their words meant to be
immortalized on papyrus.
They struggle,
they thrive.
Lucky breaks and losing streaks
mar lives in almost equal measure.
It will be a great story later on
when the camera eyes
capture the ineffable essence
you’ll one day lose
to hubris and indulgence.
Writ upon the hills
their mantra
stands hollow backed .
It keeps them coming.
It keeps them coming.
V
Staring at faces like flowers
in a bed,
a kaleidoscope
of features
and tones.
An immigrant tapestry
in bloom.
Joy and Hardship
told through lines drawn
into skin.
Tongues retain their native lilt.
Aren’t we all
children of far off places?
Stand at the waters edge,
look back to all
the flowers in the sand.
Burdens Of The Field
A dying tree,
solitary
among endless waves
of bending grain.
Branches
stripped bare,
roots dead,
dried up.
The hollow trunk whistles.
Fields as vast
as infinite space,
lonelier than the distance
between stars.
Windows rattle
far in the distance,
memory
chooses to
forget.
The night holds you tight
once more.
Fields bend to
unwavering wind.
