Oil and Winter

Action renounced from
The desire to act.

Desire.

Desire renounced from
The act.

Action.

The past, the infinite
The ocean.

All these definitions
To look over,

To skewer,
With our lens.

The present, impermanence
A glimpse.

Our fragile
Withholding's,

Wind's of the fallen,
Bold and emblazoned in the Morning,

The Empress of the Dawn.

Golden and
Destitute,

Wanderers of Eros,
Played out and pitiful.

Retention,
Contemplation.

Supplanting of all considered
'Revelations.'

My mind has tasted,
Oh, the glory of the Lord!

Red juice dripping down my
Jaws.

Blood dripping from my
Loins.

Coins,
Purse or ex-patriots of Carthage,

The worst has been done,
The best tainted.

Save it,
Paint a picture with it.

Savior in a pickle.
Small splinter.

What some men revere
Most others just spit on.

Blood sweat and tears
Oil and winter.

Foul and Fair: The Notion, or Fishing With My Back Against An Arid Waste

The way we survey the land,
I tell you everything is a poem!
Now, what's a drop inside the Ocean?
Love inside devotion, try to be a
Particle, no need to talk.  They walk
With fire even as we fall.  In deed
A hand full of rocks and a head full of hard sense.
No need to be mentioned,
No need to even call, but then
Who will be reporting, who's outline in chalk?
These hands are my father's hands and
These hands are undone fists balling love
In the form of dirt-clod wisdom.
A certain sort of 'no-duh' spiritual practice,
The kind you wake up right gradual.
Whose tent are you supporting?
With what lens do you see?
No interest controlling, I
And I will be, again, it's
Nothing but nonsense.  I plan?
The plan, no-man—one sense.
Crevasse, I am X.
If you close your eyes you can almost see the
Swallows darting across the Willamette.  Lapis lap wings
Laze-uly circumnavigate the cause-ways.  So much rhetoric
Wiggling in the places.
The bright and shining faces
Wiggling in their chairs.  If you close your eyes
You can sometimes see the lines
Pouring loud & clear, out of nothing.
Pouring in the mind, not
From the mind.  It's just a
Fool's errand if you think
I create this beauty.
What is not?  Where isn't?
Forget what you have thought
It isn't all that relevant.  If you listen very carefully
There's something there that I
Won't call.  I don't know,
Maybe it's buried in the snow.
I know there's something there
But what it is ain't exactly
Clear, maybe we'll call it air.
Ether/or and all in all
They sing so silent.  Chalk it up to experience,
My art has transformed into a science.
It's a rough translation and not too
Many have the clearance.
I'll just say 'The Fall.'
Foul or fair is a game of appearance.
Pardon me, madam, merci
Illusion and allusion are two different things.
I reframe trans-continental exchange,
I'm cut from a different pair of jeans.
I offer clarity, often appearing to be
'In the wrong,' or 'just plain mean.'
I don't ask for anything
I just look things in the eye, like, how am I feeling,
And how are you tonight?
I enjoy this instance and
I may enjoy more, my
Only wish is to remain open
And exist in the roar:
The wash of the ocean.
My mother's own wisdom
In me, I am the same but
Different.  What chains have
Held themselves unveiled by
Light of moon be spoken.
Something intrinsically different—
A mark of the fortune, an ever changing fortune!
A song I've held within my cell for
A thousand nights unspoken.  Not even
Remotely close but then I'll sprinkle
Down a portion.  Northern king's norse hand,
Narcissus of purity, no remorse, please, no pity.
Those who want a lot
Work less,
Them who want little
Work more.
Cellar door
Are not
The most beautiful words anymore.
Wanna know what is?
I can give you a hint
But that's pretty much it.
I always hit the hammer
On the head.  'Nailed it,' is
What they said, the diamond pitch,
No yaw.  My lips are sealed speechless,
Cupboards boarded on.  I'm pointing
Straight for the fences, you know,
Right out the park.  A bit ballsy
But a job well done is
Enough for my senses.
I don't need a car.
I don't need a pat on the back,
Or, 'Good job, work hard!'  I'm down
And in the trenches, everyday I'm in the yard.
I need a bed to rest my head and a roof above my hat.
I need a well-balanced diet and time to hone my craft,
The tune comes when pursed lips finally crack...

I am Proteus, old man with
Wizened dreams.  I put rosin on some
Walnuts and shake the rain from my keens.
I am good sense in a
World gone mad.  Lightly
Press the sails, please,
Shadowed geese and the
Overpass.
ΙΧΘΥΣ
The wheels of the
Whirlwind, pattern
Of a well-themed
Husk.  The pearls
Begin bursting forward
Against a sharp exhale
Of dust.
Now, if you can just close up your mind's wind
You can see it for
What it was, tough
Mustard, but the trucker's seeds are even more rough,
Either way I'm a tumbler, 
Foul is fair like
Macbeth, done.

A Flower Sutra

If I were to walk away,
What way do you go?
If I were to entertain,
What would you sow?
I say I see:  Assiah
My mind is one,
My wind is none.
I am not who you think
I've become, or that which
You think I am.  I am not
Concerned with your reverie.
I am not concerned with your
Lines, too, though I have been,
I won't be soon.  Right now I
Am nothing, just a whisper I knew.
Just a glance, a miss, just the word
And the wind.  Good morning to you
With little or no deception, dew with
Little or no production value, good
Bye and good riddance.  The
Fresh wind once again rose up
Singing early in the evening.  I'm leaving.
"I'm just sitting here watching the 
wheels go round and round,
I really love to watch them roll."

Wanna talk about 'enunciation?'

"No longer riding on the merry

go-round, I just had to let it go."

Now won't you all just fade away?

Talking about the whole shebang here.

Un-ending smile or silvery wake.  Frog's

Eggs Gallantry, big-hop on the way.  Decisive

High-kick, punch you in the face.  'Let's do this.'

There is no other way.  By my book and my leather binding.

By my eye and my eye

Is all I need to sign in, 

Tell me, what do you see?

My whole life they've chastised me,

Tell me don't go chasing dreams,

Only stick to the rivers and

Streams that you're used to.

Are you fucking kidding me!

My entire life I've chased after

Every waterfall I could see.
Every day I see

What they tell me, and

What they tell me.

By my eye and my eye

Is all I ever see.  Honestly,

Take the path that's set

Before you, but water

Really likes to fall, and

Personally, the writing's

Hard to read unless it's

Written on the wall, but

If you're sorta through, and

I know you have been told,

Let's get this show formally out onto the road.

Explode, implode, the body takes it toll, just

Give up control, get on your freedom, let's

Go for a stroll.  Echoes sound out down the foothills

Of your mouth, and thusly, my voice echoes footfalls

In your mind, but to what end, disturbing the petals

In a basin, or time before time's well in focus.  Taken,

This one's for the Lotus-seekers.

Wig-wam Kickstand

Everyday creates,
"Nickel and diming em, eh?"
"Nah, man, I'm just coasting."
Right above second gear,
Wandering eyes and a wandering
Mirror.  By the hare or the goat,
In knowing be known.
Everyday sends my
Love to me again
And I love truth so
I don't really miss
Or make appointments,
Merely moaning out the politics of a new-way, this
Chug chug chug, little engine-like coinage, or water,
Spun from many rugs last winter.  Lost hop in
My step, son, but that road is over, I've largely
Been elephant-like, killer.  Bar none show the ropes.
Teeter-tater, mom and pop down river, up on the
Shore the pier is frozen.  Lonely light delivered the
Core idolless speeches, gondola impeachment, johnson and johnson-type
Droll, pure nonsense but in guerilla-like redaction,
The caption on the caption, the way the night was leaning,
The right type of show.  The way it's supposed to be done,
Ya know?.  It's all apparent.  "Cigarettes on cigarettes
My momma think I stink, I got burn holes in my hoodies
All my homies think it's dank, I miss my cocoa butter kisses,
I miss my cocoa butter kisses."  High days are better than
Sober ones, don't be biased but I knew that day would come.
Something wild this way comes, broken rosh in brambles,
Like upside down in air were towers tolling reminiscent bells
Or flowers,  I'm empowered, it's Tuesday, April Fool's Day,
In appearing be named (if you really want to play, all you have
To do is say).  He's likely all gone with the wind and shit, all
'For Whom The Bell Toll'ses' and Jacky Kerouac on the lip.
Duck Duck, goose it is, I love when I'm standing on the edge.
Temporal Lobe Achilles, temporary, like a model citizen's two front
Teeth.   "Rebel, rebel, you've torn your dress.  Rebel, rebel,
Your face is a mess.  Rebel, rebel, how could they know?  Hot
Tramp, I love you so."  Augustus, Augustus, the west wind might
Blow, dump down tons and tons of truncheons, so no luncheon,
No, no, maybe next full moon, I've heard I stand presumptuous,
That whispering makes me cruel.  I make no assumption, adopted
Duval, the people are more than just my people and they are more
Than just four walls, bricks and roof and windows, house or home,
This one thing I know:  Against everything I will deem sacred,
Against everything I am afraid to be, or to seem, I keep one for
Appearance and I keep one in the deep, tongue in cheek
Isn't even the thing, more like a forked tongue screen, some
Friends are not the strong support you would seek, stoned
Chiding friendship, tell you evil then smile to your face, I have
Reached my real place or position in everyday, I don't crave
To escape.  Let's be dainty, or have a heavy hand, in each sense
The end
Justifies
The way.
London
Vienna
Jerusalem Athens
Alexandria
All
Over
Again.
Sally in the Valley, Whispering Wind Recidivist, Second Time
Citizen.  Tempestuous Bend or Bed, I Say It's All the Same Sense,
No-end.

Unreal.
"Turn the spit."
Puh-ting!

Fresh Yes Fresno

Does it ever stop?
Does it ever begin?
Much more than an
Artist's brush or the name upon
The pen,
This brush has forklifts,
Adirondack winds,
The elephant within the pages,
A parody of attempts.  A  B
C Easy.  Fool-proof, as is the way
Of things, some things, some things
Hit home more than you can.  I can
Spin weaves, my sister, she told me
All sorts of wonderful things.  Hip-
Hop and hopscotch, butterflies and
Things, wiry worldly one.  Only 14.
Those streets.
Does it ever cease?
Does it ever begin?
The drink within the purse, an allowance
On 1st and 17th, a dream of finer things.
"I bet if you didn't love her so much..."
Shit screams when you're reverse-seeing.
Cha-ching, hindsight baby, honesty, pinch
Hitter, I'm a forced man.  Sitting on the steps
I've done worse before but I think 20/20
Might find it heavy and if the ratings drop again, well,
We couldn't have such a thing now, could we, and hello,
A rainbow, how retro, like wait, isn't Ulysses
Some sort of general or something...I'm retiring my
Name, hitting up the day-glow, R.I.P.
Instead in place of the open sign on the window
I give to each my peace and to each of you
'In the know,' one sound for my beast, one
Sound for my ego.  Lets dare to push the envelope.
Does it ever start?
Does it ever really end?
Contrary I sit for years and
Years have been
Hell-bound and heaven-sent.
A contrite spring of tense
Between the sheets the
Past or present, future's uncertain glimpse.
Before those cannons start to whisper tunes,
O Starry Night, and Frère Jacques, I wasn't
One for reminiscing, I was never one to fool.
I wasn't the only one to go out on a perch at
All, I wasn't the only one who was new.  I'm
Furtively naming Jupiter, against everything I
Call proof, or 'writing on the wall.'  The only 
Thing I can really understand is my experience.
The only thing I can really call this is my furtive
Attempt, negligent man's experiment, an abyssal
Ring of death.  Fuck fire.  I fell in to something
Even more painful and dense.  But then again,
I wasn't the one on stilts for a queen, what a quaint
Sense, imploring the lesions with a lens, the land is
Half sparrow, half loch-ness, in more ways then
10, I'm not even joking, I can't even begin, but
Then again, there I was, remembering it all again
(I'm quite the impressive liar, I've want to remind you)
And it sounds unpredictable, but I'm the best I've
Ever been.  I just like to see the Ocean, much better
Than reminiscing about a friend.  Much better then
Anything I could ever spin, cul-du-sac of riddled
Sands bound to cut the cord but one more flame exhausted.
Arrange the cutting board in saying, existential mis en place.

If You Would Like To Make A Call, Please Hang Up And Try Again, If You Need Help, Please Hang Up And Dial Your Operator...

Kamikaze
Dashboard about now,
Justice with pronouns.
No need to sound for
Or against, no need to
Even sound.  But then
At best I'll be left with
What is the cat's now. I'm
Paved in, deadened is
To dead-end roads or
Blind and deaf to the sun
Unfolds.  The jeweled
Princess mocking them
Cold, to say one thing
Leads too many ways.
Hold my hand and let's
Review this grave, this
Paintbrush touches in
The most gratuitous of
Ways.  All-in tinctures,
No organist, no bleachers.
No chiding brush, no
Teachers, no Lance or
Lot to speak fear, I'm
Neither.  A Joan of Arc
For seizure, lawful search
With all my care.  Sunny day
Real Estate, waking up
To 'Cap'n Jazz' analpha-
Betapolothology to make
Your little kitty kats heads
Hang happy, thin kids get
A skinny neck hex, heads
Hang heavy, Oh museum
Room mouth, my how you
Misuse me!  My how you in-
Fuse me confuse me, berate
And abuse me, radiator leaks, fire-
Man won't be reached, looks like
The sprinklers are gonna have
To do again.

Hermes: The Curious Need Infer Below

The title would read,
'My first wish is for the
Esteemed sense of Death, Dante, yes we can!', but what a tumultuous mistress!  I left those flowers
To float on down the bend.  River of the dead,  sitting on the dock of the bay I hear the Siren's wail, that song
Never fails, harping in she shines, let's begin.  This night, or this one, to be right is to be quiet.  But at
Least this much is evident, bare minimum, par.  There is no other one.  Whatever appears as an option, or a
Problem.  A pin drips into the mist and I absolve with a wish.  Revenge is a dish best left with evidence,
Don't even look back, don't even begin.  Ace of Tens imploring the estimated time of an inmate's death.  This Whole contractual land or obligation is innate then, unique as the stone-faced picture I recommend.  You
Want 'em, I got 'em, drippin like water, dig down in order, any order.  Tell me the thing you can't remember.
A Kingfisher sense shuffling fires in the form of quicksand, silver in hand, next-level let's begin, what I mean is
What pattern do you recommend?  What do you represent.  There is the dirt-seed tumbler fortune, there
Is the, 'I'ma beast,' but that's all wind, there's the 'I'm fresh, you fucker, swag,' but, now I begin to think,
Maybe peacocks really can't sing.  My only obligation is to be true to my team.  One fish, two fish,--
Who spits it so clean?  Put down in threes, Knock, knock who's there, nothing, its just me.  It's been way Too long man, I'm thinking about opening up a bottling plant for fiction in coalescence with my friends refrain, see some early returns start surfacing.  Didn't know I had a dream, or a fire within my sentance,
Didn't know there'd come the day.  That island was far more important than anything I could ever say.  Why,
The starting line-up is in the ocean, that's more for the possibility it brings than anything we can create.
They say don't act, be the full appearance.  The physical basis for all possible plains.  Don't avoid it, tell me.
I cannot care at all about direction, you know what way I always take, now let's get this ball rolling.
The impression is always seated under us, like a wheel bound to break.  My fourth semester, and I am 7,
Remembering the end.  Really, it's all about the clothing.  Materialistic sense will always be materialistic Sense.  Spiritual sense will always cover this.  Be picky as you purchase, be priceless, try to resemble
Only the finest, be fresh, sponsor only the best.  Leaned up next to this old wisdom, siding with the fence, a Boy holding up the curtains.  Down the road, driving by in an '82 Blue Camaro, or so I am told,
Is our Hero.  It is nighttime and the county line is as blurred now as ever before.  Looking around the Country he can just begin to make out the lights around him when the car rushes past, like a bullet or a blast In a corridor of zab zab zab, zing zing zing, every human being is looking for the same thing.  Light-nature
Is to not take anything, shine and then leave, only thing is an echo rumbling, gathering distant over that
Hidden peak.  My island was a sunken fate, this crest is luminous, no doubt, don't tell me about the way, that Saying is a poor man's nuisance, there are some things which cannot be said aloud, you have to wait for the First kiss.  It feels like I've just awoken, I'm in the morning of my life.  My day is whole, one sight.  Gloria,
If I die before my time, bury me upside-down.  Marry me to the sky, the pupil of the sun, cat's eye olibanum, Cherokee catching up, true power.  Something has appointed me catcher in the tower.  An apple in my Misfortune, kallistē once is mine, don't think I will avoid it, I'm a peacoat-toasting sportsman.  Interwoven Armchairs, the entire earth is opened and the entire night-sky our porch, friend.  Paint the city, paint
It golden, paint the islands.  Paint the known and paint the unknown.  Paint the friends and paint the friend's Friends!  I'm rolling a joint for hope, then, beneath the Milky Way breath unspoken, drawing crazy patterns On your floor.  The dance of whirling purpose, always the same end.  A capsized new captain, like a weight Overboard.  I wish for nothing, I don't pretend.  I do not hope the world will forfeit something for me 
But not the next, I am impartial, mister, for whatever it is, it will come and it will end, like that constant State of arrival and departure next stop distance from the last.  Flux, envelope of ether.  I do not wish, 
I don't pretend to know this envelope either, I only see what light shines in.  Existential portends, a cave of Riddles I've been in.  Give me that perfect portion, ask for what you want, and have.  The choice Is always choosing, everyone is every-man.  So I see your home and enter, just around to the next bend,
Half-purt so lets speak slow and burn this wick until the end.  The world is always turning and I 
Always have the time to spend, two to the best, yes, life and death.  Hermes as the messenger, you
Are seafaring yet again.
Half-moon playdoh.