Looking In

From the outside looking in.

I'm on the outside of the circle,
In any weather or situation
Where do I go to lead me to patience,
To lead me to clean water.

In practice and while active
A parchment of the senses.
White, blank and deepening tank
This form to hold a picture.  Fantastic.

Emphatic with a finger, silent secret listener.

The Best of Both Worlds

You know I could
I would drop everything for you,
Persistence.

Two sides to the coin
The best of both worlds
Sliding, rattle to the point.

Break in trumpeter
(Naming Jupiter)
Ramble to the joint.
Shake hindsight, failing
To live up to expectations,
Intrepid maneuvering
Point to ivory point.

Is this the last semblance of tacit resistance?
Creating distance
Making waves.

Two sides to the girl, grave.
Pearls to safely save or savor
In time this falls away.

Missed by just an instant
Reserved and trailing grey.
Menos this resistance
Apropos to fade.

But besides this,
I'd tell hell to spill my witness
Black coal held well in vein.
An Eye on both his foreheads
A day within a dream.
Well say, an opportunity to exist
In which
None remain.

Havannah's gold is here
In tears of a mirror's incentive,
Incessant question
Riddle to explain.

Have the days spun
All their spindles?
Will we ever meet again?

Safely let your hair down
All the shades of midnight
Shining entwined.

Original Plate or Dish

What is important in despair?
What is worthy if all falls
Down into that ditch?

Unholy bitch, hedged out, hemmed in hegemony.
Undone this worldly pit of
Dissatisfaction, putrid, putrefaction of sin.

I'm dipped in it, this serpent
Is my only friend.  But the stench
Is something prefunct, preternatural style of men.

I gaze into my black heart, precinct of the grim
Unholy black art, carnal den so dim.
I cannot fill this cistern, my cup

Just wants to rust, beholden.
But in the eye of the one who held me,
Held me up in whim, un-hostile holster

To foster once again, no harbor
For the dark born boulder, the warrior
Within this chapel blossoms into rooms, all intricate.

Each one filled with his rose essence, prescient
And plain.  What's with this Eucharist?

Allegorical prayers,
Oligarchical patronage,
Original Dish or Plate.

My Sorrow is Sunshine

Snow, white lies, December.

The fire can refine, a newborn
Folly from the eye's of babes.

I might be grave but I will still stay
Until I see the last little seed falls into place.

Reserved and trailing grey.
A wake in life with an open eye into the other world there.

Many have told me meaning,
Against and with desire.

I will say anything,
Of this or of that

And squired intent
Falls out of my cap.

An eye to those who are silent,
The observational diet.

I will eat and I will leave,
The appropriate harbor, less my brain begins to bleed.

Informed by more then what words spell,
To hear underneath them, what some can't stand to tell.

A reason for this uneasy feeling.



But I am unspoken, unkind, and unknowing,
Unruly, uncouth and untaught.

Vulgarity fits, poorly appropriate,
Saddled bed of apathy.

Then tell me how the fire feels, actually.
And all the words make sure to whisper

But dark and December
Avast, we'll wind in the maw.

A strong storm behind our sails now, a bright light behind our backs.
I trembled no less then how the storm still can shake me,

This world is no less then vicious and fact.
I've ordered no more then the plate that they gave me,

I trembled no less then the storm still attacks.

This word is no more useful then any,
Every meaning is an open end to precision,

Ruthless.  Usefulness and tact preceding the unaccomp'nied back.  Holy shit how graceful.
They move so slow, a steady crushing hand.

A Field

A jewel drips down
Against the lion's cheek, starts a speech
Of sparks and trees, the sudden illumination
Then thunder speaks, once more for
That sunken floor underneath, the giant's feet.
Ungainly enemies but a clever little fiend, lacking in no amenities, Loki Loki
What do you see?  The crest and star of Lucy, consoling the people
In dream.  Star-light, star-bright, first star
I see tonight, light of fire atop the trees.

Let sleeping dogs lie by and by on the side
In eternal suffering and cling with the breath of directness,
In each and every forehead, like the eye-opened
Orpheus of Greece.  Living antiquity, light-like simplicity.  Implicitly
Impervious.  In mystery I saw garlands of the goddess
Crowning roses.  The flower and thorn of kings, petals falling nearer
To my heartstrings then the intellect of the many.  They may
Skewer me proficiently, but sentient?  I doubt with intensity.
Consider it, crazed whim, brutal payment.  Let the wine brew for Brutus
So he can ease his day's end.  It's the sound of the pin
Drop drop to the pavement, I have no need
Of names, it makes not one difference.  Once I held
Respect and reverence, and once I felt the breath of
Resentment.  The Lords of Light-less Decadence.  I cannot
Refrain within this placement, black and white is all
But black and white in me, shading, do you see it, but
It makes no difference what's been said of it
I don't care for that insanity, the cup just turns to dust.
Instead, I draw a skeleton key from inside of us and
Watch the some turn into galaxies, then take
A drive on down the turnpike to see my friends and family.
God, this dream can't really be, I feel so
Weak I'm faltering.  Trouble, trouble toil and double!
For one so meek and grim.  Desire and admonition.
The weight of the pen; poor men and prophets, most often
Where it's least expected, buried behind piles of jest, but anything less
Is left uncollected.  Tell me whats best, coddling collective?
Give me solitary contentment, a stand on the moon or the trees.  To the
Tops of each pleasure and the depths of each winter
We season two birds in one stew.  Pan--so specific and splendid,
Sordid and senseless, relentless and restless and cruel.

Property and Liberty

A looking glass
In place.

Time and space, embroidered garments inlaid.

Now, you know me
Might I know you?

That's just a blade of grass,
That's just a tree.
That's just a mushroom,
That's just a dream.
That's just a golden calf,
That's just a spoon.
That's just a sort of fence
And once this was true:

"Trudge in the moonlight,
Fight in the trees.

Know thyself and the route will be seen.
Know this for certain:
If we fight we'll be free!

In death then for certain,
For we fight until then
Or until victory.

In decline, the perfect time
To strike.  Henceforth tonight,

Trudge in the moonlight,
Fight in the trees.
Know this for certain:
There is no defeat.

It is too often the story that
You win some, you lose,

I say, I know what is true

But since then we've
Lost all hope, all that are left now stand
As free men,

A martyrs last stand.

Burning glory,
Southern star,
A worker's friends."

An innocence depicted
In dime-store stories.
A vein pumped under it
Of slaves and of payment,
Prerogative, tradition and men.

I was born a black man, I was born a slave.
I was born a white man, I was free they say.

The creation of this country
Was cast underhanded.

Progress manifesto: wealth is demanded.

Enslavement contradiction:
Freedom, democracy.

The contrite face of the city,
Is this peace, prosperity?

Property and liberty,
Profession of thieves.

Ulterior Motives

This pad, this paper, this pen.
All secondary.

This specific arrangement
So elusive.

Like, quietly now into the thrush,
Shall we follow this deception
Born thereof?

But whatever I've been trying to say all along
Is just a whisper
Compared to the dawn.

Sun, light of sun: A thousand lights are made as one
Inside my empty palm.

Now, what ear to hear this mystery?
Another day, another day
I will be.