pink to red

like the gentle hint in my saliva cranks to 11
so this thought wrecks me
sockets saturate and flood waters turn all heads
know news to speak of

this young gunslinger glides with promise
His un-scared coin un-flipped.
fingers met with their match in focus
on edge with my own boundary
on outs with my own insides
inside i too curl with greatness unwarranted.
Yielding in this case
(all case?) I pace with will to win
his head back to a brain filled future...
whose head?
"young boy faced boy" I'd callous your hands to soften your heart
you have got to start on down your chosen path.
I'll be here when you merge back from the black.
I'll be here when you unclog and clear the fog.
I'll be here
.............so come, join us as we glide.

lost and found

I sit in silence
waiting for the whisper. of Lighting and Thunder!
or mice
or feathers. I untether my heart
and before I start it is gifted back with a mitigation.
Such frustration in a wide angle shot.
yet as tight shots go it is skilled in His trust.
I fight the dust that fights to find me still.
I will and I must bring back to ballast.

Why do I fight when I know I am right?
can I not just veer left to avoid the cleft?
yet that centering motion has many a meaning.

Translation:
I'll continue to be foolish if G-d deems it necessary.

a bright and shining dream

A Bright and Shining Dream


i called on that current conquered fear
with relapse on pendulum swing back.
and the tin can string gave to my ear
peace like a bridge without any crack.

and what is list? Mr. Difranco wants the
names and dates and times
Though I want the rhymes, I'll be happy for vague-ery

The smog is clearing.

I'll tell yew the meaning if you ask
(please ask)
My new task is chewed up trees with a pretty please
and ribbons and bows for good measure.
letters and new habits to fill them are just on the edge.
such prodding of the ribs also paints Van Gogh like B-E-A-Uty.

my prayer is that I will still hear if yew ask
(please ask)

uncaring and self centered

shrunken and stiff,i am without water.
You did not beat. it. out.
with all the warmth this winter can muster, were you wise to unplug?
What am I? vexed vapor in your vision. can you not hear heart break at your door post?
can you not see me spinning while I wipe out? Oh that's right I have no track listing on your iTunes. I shift this from side to side, leaning right then left. (right then wrong?) I dwell in the waver and make fixed my position. center of silence, screaming at you to get eyesight in your daylight. no hook no bait yet I wait, with well tuned sense, for a bite. be it ever so slight, it might lead land ward.

ahh, such fancy folly. I seek to shed that skin with heart as sleeve.
I want to be done to those with none
.
.
.
.
i want to be done to those with none.

'might as well' or 'why wait'

dieing to tell me?

well why can't you make it? I need for you to beat this out.
I need for you to make this work while its winter.
You can't live there longer than he can.
and i'm out of complexity. one subject and then a verb.
am I to begin stealing for you? mementos and tidbits of time filtered through the most current audio in jack mounted to my right. So I spark with every breath in. new concepts approaching in the approach. holding a mirror up with feeble weak armed gestures. I'm not asking for much, but I should. slurred, dull eyed and anemicly ambient.

all at the same time. rise to know more than you thought you could. you have the stretch with in reach. more minutes than miles, jerk from your stop. trust in that which fuels you deeply. hit the crescendo with momentum, follow through. boil it down to one. Tap my tears streaming with level 4 rapids. Keep current the electrical force from my well paced socks. I love

Evan in New York

He stood there with jaw on concrete, amazed by what man has been able to accomplish. neck craned as if he might see the top or crisply see the point where they stopped. No such luck. the crowds brushed by pushed on by the tradition of being rushed. destinations would not be reached today. all time would stop today, and that was exactly why Evan was here. He looked for the lockers he heard of down below but it must have only been created out of convenience. How else could an untrained prophet explain the darkness that lived, oozed, eminated from this place.

Evan took the string of glass beeds from his Grandmothers collection out of his pocket. His awe, combined with the bustle, got the best of him. The beeds were nocked from his hand. they hit the floor with a clatter that only Evan found ear shattering. Having broken free they scattered, not unlike a billiard trick shot. Every sphere found a pocket secret or otherwise. Evan was unsure of how he would find the high place. Just as his heart hit bottom he felt the light hand of hope lifting him from the frantic search to reclaim even one of the beeds.

Once again he was standing but this time his eyes were focused staight ahead. the glint of his path glowing brighter in front of him.

"premi" or "oh so small cute"

weary but well
as has been at every request
subtle distraction...the door gently shuts with click and tap
I project to far so I get blinding nowness,
(I greet my crooked red friend)
funny freedom
I am bound, as I desire, but where is what the weighs the wonder.
hits at this helium heart.
shifted but always advancing upward.

punctuation punctuation

to write and re-write
about the good fight

and will she even see this mental neon
click-ity-clack click-ity-clack
breaking my back to stay still
breaking my will to stay filled

release the mosquito stew.
or brew it up into tea.
we need a physics brand accelerator
to steady and all ready, trying to translate

הלב שלי שמח לראות אותך

plans to take the hills
yet none to get out the door?
neon flickers failure
and faster
Call my Master
save me
my clouds need clearing
felling a fantasy forest
pruning prudent and practical.

scrap composting to soak soil with new life
Yes scorch this earth to regrow with Your newness!
petty is pretty (oh so very pretty) yet more beauty is promised.
Not that I seek the reward for myself, but I wish to qualify and point others in His way.

'lessthan three' or 'more than me'

is it wisdom or cowardice?
this "plastic on key" approach.
arms length deliberation, deliberate in end prevention.
black and white squares shelved in favor of blue prints
keeping yellow cautiously caged, lest fingers paint sans focus
blurring a trip wire.

rethink.. regard. (Unsurety
said squares are untrue. pit stops and road trips
typical yet my mark or The mark,,,
unsettled!
drawn with ink expired pen. all lines understated on paper.
only pulp depressed and starved for contrast.)

rethink.. regard.
reinforces the question in order of its asking
is it wisdom or cowardice?

Lars oh Lars your pink sweater inspires!

center in boom
every influence edging out the next
brush beats chisel in every epic
resist the rep and fall to its exact intention
jousting this pedestal in an empty arena, I opt out
journey only just outside the door of my heart
callous caught by brush in the way the chisel fails
meager membrane of former brick class cell wall
I keep seeking sense when I should cease and surrender

a plod

energized by the color of the sky, he takes note of the atmospheric changes. the rain begins to lightly tap out the chaotic rhythum of a jazz drummer upon the leaves. Natures strobe begins its slow increase to eleven and peace slinks into the corner of his mind...as if the storm outside needs to be balanced by his mindset.
the jazz amps up as the wind alters the tambour and tempo. sleep delayed, though not by fear. Fear is not found in him easily. No, he is sprung on by sorrow, the stench of stagnation. the build up, like plaque, causing corrosion of inspiration and inspirative moments. no...sessions! over whelming voices of lateness seek their well worn footing.

Finally FINally they slip as if on oil. timing is, for the most part, beyond us. He'll plod for some time, but plodding prescribed is perfection pending

Sir Sad Face

Oh Mr Angry Face
You are so silly. gruffly thrust, keep me at bay
when all I want is to be away.

Prince in your space
Nilly but not willy. circle with one mind in way
When she will want to get away

Oh Sir Sad Face
You are so loving. "Why is it that she must stray?"
The only answer this: His name.

stale slices crumble in my mouth

hidden and shrunken away
light beckons

with strobe distortion
sudden and seizing
open doors and unlocked windows implode
wreckage spewed
with perfection well patterned

I goodbey
(because bye's are to hard for this glass house)
and slink when His will
is to till
and (click repeat track)
is to till to till till

wreckage right
and ripe for the mullet maker
I mustn't be still
when His will
is to till
and (click repeat track)
is to till to till till

crank volume "Invite!"
resound as loud as light!

paper cuts

let loose at full force
paper cuts like steel
reinforced concrete.

fold after fold
crumple upon crumple
a samurai sword takes shape
and I'm un-armed

whipping wind sapping me of simple
whirling water wrapping me all arounded
almost drounded but glory story
neither sink nor swim, yet

safety.
...such safety
until the time I'm pushed.
this time I'm pushed.

because safety rots the teeth
and paper cuts
like steel
reinforced concrete

drained

stunned i become liquid
sliding down the drain
I slip in and around,
thin metal drain stopper.
no rip to grip.
and I am caught.

while i wanted reversed direction
I now long for motion,
any kind.

stagnate with this blockage beneath.

make me basic to melt this bio-matter!
mass of growth
massive growth tapping me
and sapping me.

i solidify imprisoned
careful to keep clean from clog like infection.
"I wait and wait for a doom-ed date"
in length of time. Yet star like pin holes are larger in person
"I am so small
I am so nothing"
only in ending, but I must build to such endings

Build with bricks
muck for mud
hair for straw.

personal exodus exceeding cylinder
collapse this construct entire.

starlight becomes daylight
when I fight

Salomon

Listen Abby: You're not at your post
While you slump like most, your place hangs higher in the sky.
And I'm placed to say 'Dear Phishface?'
I think not, that you have got your case at its base.
While you swim in sand,
the water waits and, You have home hanging round your neck!
Are we such to be back burned as second? I reckon you are a billion burners deep by now
So how can the bridges keep coming? The Kings son as an arsonist is a portrait appropriate.
Please, oh please put down your matches and come inside the city gate. You can't burn tHis bridge but those around you suffer from the heat. Beat out your where abouts. Map in the source of this sin and bring balm to your brother. My scars run deeper than you know, though how could you? You are two burners ahead by now.

That water waits, but it aims to win with out whimper.
You dream of a life simpler, and all you need is to grasp an eternal flame.
Not the same as you apply to those wondering why they sting and cinder.
I talk so as to cease this
I stalk and I'll not miss when I aim to break this cycle. step to the side, Oh please to the side, away with this ride.


You need not break with it.