Monday, December 25, 2017

Brushfire


The wind tears across the landscape

silencing words in the spreading flames



In distant reception shouting into phones

Claiming nothing but strife



There is a veil of duplicitousness

taken as challenge



sinking the teeth of electric soul

Igniting against a backdrop of human trespass.



whispers and fragments

where some kind of communication takes hold



though not the taught high-frequency

so accustomed to 



Where reign and desire are inexplicably woven

Into the wreckage and chaos



grown into stasis reaching for the canopies of dimension

Trying to extend beyond the flames

Monday, December 11, 2017

endure


In an anguish I cannot pace

Where I know I’m not alone

But I feel so utterly isolated

And I keep lifting my head

And I keep pushing through

And I’m wondering why,

As if there is any reason to persist

Each year more anguish than the previous

Each love more draining

Each fight more savage

Where is your god now?

In the thick of it—

Dissecting us like experiments



I need to heal,

from the claws of our species

in words and language that abrades

strife, like little rocks in an open wound

in blood and salt.

I’ve trained bigger horses

Demonstrated greater power

And in this moment, restraint.



it’s thunder breaking in the distance

it’s having my brain devoured by ants.

Today it’s the electrical torpor

 of a limb falling asleep

in the numbness of pushing through chapparal

regardless of how much damage our forms endure

we will endure.

Monday, December 4, 2017

Relentless



Somewhere, we are whole.

Complete in form and function

And in places

That I cannot name

But seem familiar

I heal and center

In the cambium and the forest

In my body and soul

As they must be confined to pillars of self

…and in some cases others.

Sequestered upon the network for which we rely

And in this moment I have to ask; how are gods made?

As I have seen how gods are broken—

Like a keyboard sonata that pulls towards the center

Shearing at the dreams of self.

like a condor tearing at carrion.  



 How is this not what we are?

In the experience

Where I think I’ve aged a thousand years in a week

There is an emptiness I cannot place

Where potential and coalescence

Should have overlapped—

By now.

How remedial I feel,

 brought down by foolishness

in our weakest part

the creatures that exploit weakness.

Of poisons and talons, ideas and thought

eat them, bathe in their blood

exploit their weaknesses

As we feel the little deaths of self acutely

As if burning the boats

Relentlessly

As if the warpath

justifies the wake of chaos



Like machines taking to the sky—

It was never my role.

I am not a healer.

It is not my job to give a shit.

I sense in the deliverance

in the psychosis of our enemies.

Particular and acute and still Blunt and obvious.

They are already defeated.

As artillery of thought lays waste to their petty sense of worth

Relentlessly

These moments become all that we have and are

As if my life unfolds like a battleground before me

And must lift the weight of my soul,

 as shield and sword, liquid and crystal

to the unforeseen moments of the future.  






Sunday, December 3, 2017

whatever.

reigning the horses in

&

Being torn apart on the reef

In some relentless high tide

Where I can’t get a foothold

Against moments of anxiety sickness

Pressed against the clock

Into service, against desire  

Where everything feels like piracy and corruption



Like riding atop a draught horse that forgives nothing

As everything falls beneath the gallop as ruthless empires of thought

In moments I trample over anything that could be construed as opposition

And in others, it decimates as choppy waves in an upsetting vessel  

And I press my hands to my skull and the tears I cannot hold any longer, fall.

Torrential, in a way that I cannot harness, in a sorrow I cannot name  

As the storm of myself reels out of control

to be prescient in their thoughts as the pent-up rage peels their souls from their form

to feel them as their beings pour into Hades, dragged down under the currents

I want to hold them to the fire of my form as they incinerate in strife

and still, there is no they, only me, only I remain

adrift upon an endlessness I cannot place

reigning over creatures that I cannot consolidate

broken within a form I cannot clearly sense

dreaming of a nature that has not yet come to pass



and it is the perversity of hope that keeps me at the helm

compelling me into the sequential moments that comprise a lifetime

I have these visions where it all works out

And I am left wondering how to reign them in

Beyond the veil of my own delusions
And still within the power of my own reach.


Saturday, December 2, 2017

Arc

 
Afraid to move forward



Or retreat back
across the wreckage



this moment like shrapnel
scattered across the wasteland

our lives as a fraying banner  



begging for the rain to fall



as blossoms scattered to the wind



caustic and hurtful



the ache of what has been done echoing through us.



In the savagery of our species



Stripped of arousal



Where I don’t ever want to feel numb like this, numb to you.



Separated from what I feel and what I am  



Drawn and desiccated



Callous to our own suffering.



I open my eyes upon urban and domestic pantheon



In moments of solitude



Dissolving sexuality in a harshness I cannot place



I feel horrible—

I feel lost.







In the scent of something I relegate to memory



among caverns of corrosive darkness



How deeply we experience such moments

how often;



As chaos and carnage



Sought and sonder



Wish and wonder



a thin ribbon of smoke peels across this landscape

that chokes in sorrow 

asphyxiates in hurt





where you seem so impossibly far

in grief and strife and sorrow  



how can we face the sun again

or each other  




unspeakable loss  

Wondering on that which will not become

in the clarifying bitter scent of redemption.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Esper


Somewhere in the foothills, somewhere in my soul

Somewhere there is something, Yearning to be whole

In flights and phone calls, in words and text

all the forgotten moments, where I wonder what comes next

I’m lost for what to say, estranged on what to do

In the dreams of making better, the things I already knew.

They cannot hide from my mind, and they cannot be free

 How can I answer all of this, within my thoughts I see



with so many deep breaths, so much to be done

Silencing a heartbeat, this battle cannot be won

How broken I feel in this instance, how hurt I have become

In such soured spirits, what would I be done? 


 I sense though dimension, the cries of that which gives

How can we make such choices, to deny that which lives

And time will heal all of this, and shed some kind of light

we have to make the plays,  we must  do what is right

I cannot break two lives for one, I cannot take away the pain

on this scorched earth, where will anything grow again?



In some way I have earned this, in some sense it is right

What I would give in this to take away this slight

I feel it through the aether, I sense it like a dream

Like hurricanes making landfall, like a voice that cannot scream



And at its end I’m sorry, and in my soul it hurts

In this I would give anything; to make this more than words.