My heart is racing
and I wonder if
paranoia would be better
than disappointment and long
worn melting emotions
feelings drained out when
I do not expect
and leave my back exposed.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Deep breath in
and exhale to the
tune of a starship's manifest
It's time to prove that there's
something still moving in these
depths beneath a long still pool
My currents turn ripples to
waves across my surface-
is it time to come up for breath?
The light scatters and dances
stars where waves peak
and I rest my burning eyes.
________
3/30
and exhale to the
tune of a starship's manifest
It's time to prove that there's
something still moving in these
depths beneath a long still pool
My currents turn ripples to
waves across my surface-
is it time to come up for breath?
The light scatters and dances
stars where waves peak
and I rest my burning eyes.
________
3/30
Friday, April 11, 2014
vestigial existence
these chemicals that flood
the channels that
these chemicals that flood
the channels that
irrigate imaginings
and movings beneath
smooth plains.
My continuance a
remainder of the processes
manufacturing culture
until we collapse in upon
ourselves—
vestigial existence
the key to endurance
if I can survive the now.
_________
2/30
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
I'm a fragile eco system
built of bird spit and star dust
delicate electro wires frizle with
each impulse out from the darkness.
I've come tilted and un managed
my pools over running and building
bogs where once were tender footpaths
and leaving the other dry, parched,
leeched away so that even the water
unexpected afore death leaves no
jolt but cognition. Thoughts a reflex
now where once white hot lightening
arched from pool to pool, foot press
to foot press, alight with hope.
I've found these paths abandoned
an old bower's nest strangely preserved
through time, as the rot seeps up
from the ground and reclaims
the supports keeping up the
expectant hoardings twinkling
as the light reaches a final
gloaming over the ruined land.
built of bird spit and star dust
delicate electro wires frizle with
each impulse out from the darkness.
I've come tilted and un managed
my pools over running and building
bogs where once were tender footpaths
and leaving the other dry, parched,
leeched away so that even the water
unexpected afore death leaves no
jolt but cognition. Thoughts a reflex
now where once white hot lightening
arched from pool to pool, foot press
to foot press, alight with hope.
I've found these paths abandoned
an old bower's nest strangely preserved
through time, as the rot seeps up
from the ground and reclaims
the supports keeping up the
expectant hoardings twinkling
as the light reaches a final
gloaming over the ruined land.
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