A few quick nothings

May the journey be seasoned with a breeze
First to the isles, finally to the stars
Is what I wait for, hope for
The climactic sun on its steadfast rise
Fateful as the
Day I was born.

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Ships that sail in a noble manner
trusted with a frame of oak.
Fresh in spirit, and the scent of the air
Seaful mist and salt in our hair
This is the boat we build with our friends
This is the epic voyage we share

i know how the swimmer feels far from shore

recall, you

did? is fire and blue licking
tongue scorching my throat

Pale eye rain and glossy crows
that i dreamed you
i sang you
i need

your Waiting never explains, the cumbersome
Tick
Talk to me.i'mlisteningwatching


singingbreathingrunning

through the crowded
masks paint prism ripples
and yours is a face,
in a bottle
under water

in
sip
idiot, you formless mass
i fell for you
again.again.again.again.again.again.

Refrigerator poetry (at a party)

I see the insignificant disorder you have
You're about to humiliate yourself for the first time
depriving your thoughts in public
never rises to pronounce your ideas
but marinate your IQ in a personality
imagine these spinning freaks try to save the gene pool
again
I'll bet a few fries you're
happy with chaos.
usually

[29.6.05]

On a side note, I found myself wondering:
Music in a box, in a sphere.
Why are the ones who voice the problems of the world exalted above the ones who take it upon themselves to solve them?

Reminder

I love myself because God made me to play a part in the glory of Him.
I love others because of their roles in the same.
Otherwise, a wretched petri dish of woes am i.

Human carcinogens

You walk on the surface,
trusting it not to
to open up and swallow you
into its cauldron gut

You nurse on the silicone
sweetened breast of Babylon
Singing melodies of he.donistic merries
this empire
While her tendons are wasting away
protruding ribs
that rise and fall to the fragile
rhythm of existence.

You are busy, scuffling steady
shoe grease in time
With the genetic manipulation of nature
In time when there will be bionic hearts and holographic birds
that twitter at night to make you comfortable
In this pixelated, industrialised, mechanized, battery-operated
Reality you've created for yourself

You try, but just can't digest this
biodegradable plaque that's solidified into
a residual green precipice
Eating away at you liver to feed its mammon appetite
And permeates into the circulation of
red life fluid
Flowing to the uncontaminated
regions of flesh
growing and
Now you know what it feels like,
to be consumed.

His wonder inspires me

The little wooden man
With his little spring joints
Stands by the broken window
Ample with emotion

His posture is majestic
His stance is dramatic
His gestures are pleading me
To take notice of the rain

He tilts his faceless head
Inquisitive to the twittering drops
His arm extended to embrace
the filtered grey light

He likes to ask himself deeply
The meaning of springtime, Joyful
he concludes, "You are the subject
Of this beautiful Nature."

Shadowed on the vast deskscape
He serenades the green and birds
Trailing off into silence and
Lost thought, vacant.

My mother's heart rots for my sake

I am virulent today, the pestilence of maternity.
She is my nourishment while I am her blight
Wonder. Brittle agony? Hurtful sight?
Reaching for that one, last, flickering, irascible
Fluorescent light

And my being croons over and over, this strength
so mustered by undelivered rations of Milk and Honey
so embittered by the fashions of Silken Money
Be STill! And know that I AM is still up and running

Regardlessly wreckless of denial and breakfast
Fack, it's like a carnival hash (of once which I have propriated)
The Mish and the Mash that got me so wonderfully faded
The one grasp of Reality that could not be invaded... is bereft,

In my forlorn nostalgia of motherly wept.