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, and 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 mind I see



with so many deep breaths, some 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 I would give to be undone


 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 have to do what’s right

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

In this scorched earth, how can 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.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

waking nightmare


My heart is the jungle

With the animals of the night

My heart is the barren desert

In dreams of fading light

My heart is the horses

Running in the sun

My heart is seduction

Of a lover still to be won



Within me there’s a venom

That I cannot seem to name

In a wistful dance

Of kingdoms to reclaim

Deep within the green

They call upon a friend

Within fortunes favor

As a life I must attend



Woken in the stillness

This telepathic dream

I saw upon horizons

subtle  within esteem

What then did I owe them?

These thoughts of early day

Without communication   

The words you never say



my mind remains a labyrinth

racing against the clock

as if my soul is rising

like the tide against the rock

and in the nuanced rage

I can feel it in a place

As a future I have felt
Like a nightmare I must face

Thursday, November 2, 2017

slight









Gentle in implication

As rustling leaves

give way to October stillness







slight







in the way that  I feel you beyond the ephemera

as ephemera



slight





in an emptiness I cannot name and a power I cannot relinquish

there is a vesper of self that reigns over me



slight



in some inequality of a peculiar type

some deception of a divisive nature

felt with such nuance that I cannot accurately place it



Slight.







So filled with venom

Overcome with such rancor 

watching them succumb in a hallucination

they cannot escape

as lightning touching down 

a fractal breaking upon their thoughts

in electric impulses

how afraid I can make them

as artillery tearing their safeguards asunder
how present I already am 
unnoticed. 





slight.  

















Sunday, October 22, 2017

38/100


Please forgive the mess

The half-hearted attempts

The shitshow.

Forgive the profanity

Forgive the nightmare-like psychosis

You’ll have to excuse me I’m always distracted

Feeling so many things

 Trying to frame them with palatable language

As there is in my soul like this baseline

Like some desert hallucination

As the architecture of the earth

How then

Have I been rendered on this hinge?

Where the telepathy seems abundant

How I feel them so differently

Both raw and cryptic

In the way that I sense them

Like a conversation that I need only listen in on

And what

Am I supposed to say when the eyes are on me?

Knowing the Ceiba outside is beckoning me away from my desk

What then in the whispers of the lichens?

As I shift away from the depths

Into other unforeseen horizons

Where I am only beginning to learn the value

In not having to go alone

As if in some way

Through isolation I find connection.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

unbecoming




Somewhere in the lies

In being ignored

In the being taken for granted

this atonement

For all the time I have squandered

Where I have done the same to others



And I know the reason—

Because they can.

The why is the same

as we enact a kind of bitter dance

that is always off-rhythm

in every expression of “sorry my phone died”

“I meant to call you back”

It's there in the corner of your eye

Divisive in its own absence

as memory that cannot be placed  



There is a kind of cultivation 

that never takes hold

a regrowth that never occurs

from all of the hurt inflicted 

within others as with myself

not remorseful

like desert tears 

that never come

 wasted

across a landscape of explanation



where words that never become actions

as prey to deception 

in the twilight hours

where I commit you to memory

inside of the concept; unbecoming



not meant to be—

inappropriate for this scene- 

as black leafless trees


reach into the air 

like arteries to a cold white sky 

in veneration of being ravaged by flames

channeling a dissonant chorus of silence



Sunday, October 15, 2017

the yearning


I’m hungry in my heart for a thing I cannot name

As an absence in my soul to a place I cannot frame

dreaming of these things non-stop constantly

To a place in my mind that yearns to be set free.



There’s a whisper in my soul that remains not at rest

Within this fragile form where I have tried to do my best

And I’m breaking on the inside like the tide upon the rocks

devoid of feeling within myself like a fortress full of locks



How many thoughts of this have I held within my heart

In the realities of our world where they never seem to start

And I wonder on the futures of what is yet to be

With eyes upon the love that I never seem to see.



And I want to say I’m hopeful that this will come to pass

like goals of finding something designed to fully last

Like gazing upon horizons in visions of the blessed  

yearning for something more than language can express

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

37/100


Sitting beneath one of them

 I think of you,

As they call to me in dreams of memory

Awoken to visions of family and connection

Laced in the opulence of some arid place

If even dry of thought

Desiccated from pushing themselves

Where I’ve run aground in the charade of concern  

In the seams

where desert minds wander

When contemplating weakness—

And my skin has shed repeatedly

In this season of summer moons

as peels of endurance scattered all around me

And I wonder on where you come from

What it means to be of the same place as you

Where we face the thirst for content

In our different ways

When the wind and the heat are a song of triumph

When embracing the hunger and the thirst slake the boredom

I wonder, what it means knowing how the hybridization of technology has brought us together

And I wonder, aesthetically, of what the future holds for us

and I wonder…

what you’ll think when you hear this .


windswept


There is an aesthetic

A dream; 

a whisper

In tension and strife

In struggle and solace

In the fringes where decay absolves memory

minimal and horrific in the way that;

You never get a second chance to make a first impression–

& it feels like molted feathers

blowing away

in an arid wind

Action


As if pins sliding past the teeth of a key

I am unlocking some. kind. of… thought-feeling-future

Endlessly hatching ideas

Dissecting words

words like “content”

where I watched a person fillet an eel alive

& it filled me with an emotion that was both impressed…

and mortified

there is something to be realized –

in how our minds work; in that –

the manner for which they are sharpened is a kind of survival in the making

and you make it; one day at a time

with every thought and feeling—

with every belief and idea—

with every expression.

We unlock the future with the key of our thoughts

Inside those thoughts and feelings

the seeds of your future self ae already planted

In the universality.

of what it means.



to grow.

Friday, August 11, 2017

36/100


Waking from dreams of you

In missed calls, and read messages

spaces of the future

where the possibilities collapse

without memory

swept away in the desert

in plumes of dust and sand

what kind of gift is this?

To endure,

unrelenting days in unforgiving heat

as hallucinations

of what will not come to pass.

And I am caught

In the mixture of feelings

Divided by the hurt

and the beauty

and the power

reigning over desiccated landscapes

in futures of what could have been.    

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

hooker eyes

This image of tiny, thin childish limbs through the crowd
grabbing it with deference, beating me to my half-hearted attempt
her eyes looked like an animal in clouded amber
this hippie child. Shoeless and filthy
reverent and resolved, throwing herself to her knees before me
snatching up that huge dusty cricket
casting a dirty hand down upon the creature
between meaning and curiosity
vanishing into a desert of memory

this idea of mechanized  technology
rising through azure banners
chains writhing and stretching
wings treacherously spread as dark fingers across the sky
as a ruthlessness that never tires
in triumphs of self
become the corrupted and the corruption
like hookers eyes vacantly looking  
into nothing of significance

this feeling of failure
pours into me like a hull breach
Erodes the enamel of my will where loyalties evaporate
through various lenses
a symphony of savagery takes hold
playing out the story of my past transgressions
where so little seeks recognition
save for the grace of time
refracting us apart into possibility.

this dream of the future
I once held
foreign and distant
Like a long awaited goal that I once believed  
as a trail into dry and hostile mountains
what sort of man have I become?
bearing teeth and talons at all opposition
shedding feathers and words dismissively
as mind frames of collapsing catacombs

this hatred boiling up inside of me
galvanized in rage and hunger
primal in that way that I cannot relent
burning as a wildfire that obliterates everything I once felt for others
in amphetamines and squalor
how broken I feel when I look upon those eyes
how disappointed I have become to the illusion of myself  
& they look upon me as if I am the rising sun
to grant some kind of salvation

this memory of another era
Essentially simple and yet sedated
laced in breathy words and sweat
Panting out all the echoes of what I have been
exacerbated in the marks of flesh and endurance
disposed of as wretched machinery
in the wake of some greater monument
As the objects of becoming
render my soul in shards

this subtle power pulsating outward
into the earth and trees and minds
sensitive and hardening
gripping and addictive
overwhelming in its implications
leaving me so bastardized and alone
flavored in sensations of power
viscerally unforgiving
to the blindness that represents man   

this unrelenting state
fetishizing my unedited self
delving man and mind without hesitation
defending belief and innocence
in deft strokes and actions
are they but simulacrum?
Seeking to emulate this, ability
I would watch a pit a of men
beat each other to death and feel nothing

This future that spreads before me
met with resistance
How they must sense my desire to control them
Yet, they resist in their way
unable to grasp what that reality holds
in terms of precognition
deeply yearning
for the simplicity
of a child chasing bugs










Saturday, July 15, 2017

Nothing of forgiveness


It feels like the slight drag before a blade cuts flesh

In diligence I rend the fat from meat

Articulation separating sinew from product.

Where there is nothing more savage than grace



Held together in the tensions

Dreaming of the cannibalization of self

how worn these monuments have become

as tattered flags



pollution fraying the fabric of my banner

forgetfully injecting value in disdain

a sweeping landscape where I outlast

in silent relentless triumph



more perfectly synergized it cannot be unlearned

remaining inherent in its discipline

like an arid desert landscape

that knows nothing of forgiveness.

Saturday, June 24, 2017

grasp


I’m seeking to coalesce

varieties of thoughts

how might this work

how do I bring up

the words I’m too shy to say

I dreamt of you every night this week

consumed in this

idea.



How many words, years, thoughts

How many empires of self rise and fall

Flowing like choppy waves 

In an expansive ocean

I feel so many things

As the pull of moon and tide

put this to æffect  

How deeply I desire the dreams I have

Of us coming true

As if trying to harness a thing I cannot name.



As we are akin

In dexterous propensity

I feel you so clearly

In all the ways

I have not yet resolved

We are the herons of Esper

we are the dreams I wish to have.

On great wings,

lifted from some other spirited place

how deeply I wish for this to take flight

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Dissolution


I would say its powerful.

I’ve become

In the liquid an texture

In the tense and tension

Thunder breaks

As our minds penetrating the æther

Electric and sudden

As lightning twitching across the sky

Feinting in feathers and rhetoric

It is the absence that has made compleat

As Triumphs of ruthlessness

Reverberate in time



Awoken in such a way that

Possibilities collapsed

Until we were left with the ever present now

How ridiculous and familiar this seems

the weapon has not grown weaker

Only more acute

As if articulating a liquid

As if efficiently weaving ideas

Like moss in the jungle

Carefully laminating everything in a verdant, gentle embrace

Such instances of connectedness

Can overrule even the strongest lines


lacerated in scars passed

We lift ourselves from the wreckage of this life

Absolving our wounds to the sands of time

How I wish in this moment

I could heal my mind

As quickly as flesh

In a kind of pattern recognition

to seek out faults

exploiting cracks in the carapace

unraveling something ethereal

into the waking eye of a hurricane

making landfall  

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

such behaviors


In poor decisions

again and again  

until it matters

with mind rending moments

having lived through

stupid rhetorical questions

written

without purpose

what then does this mean

from one moment to the next

plane after plane crumble

in the behaviors

exhibited and advertised  

ire and sorrow

mingle into these

bitter moments

that you have brought me.

How disappointed I feel

For having loved you.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Condor


relentlessly traversing the desert

In confusion and memory

How lasting has the ache become?

Where I fear there is nothing left

But the rotten parts of my spirit

I have given it all away

the vacancy of space like stars in the sky

In the rhythm of experience

beyond the electrical impulses that make up this reality

when there is nothing left to see and everything left to be felt.

As revolting and magnificent animals

Feeding on the carrion of lives

Tearing into the leftovers of self

Where I still wish to soar

In light and dark

Facing extinction and bounty

As if the last dance of ourselves

Carries out a life that we deserve

Feeding on trash and dodging cars

And yet, what else would I be

If not a rare and ominous figure

Alone in the sky

Lifted by great wings

above the backdrop 

trying to escape

the ruins of myself



Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Fancywords


Impatience I have toward others.

ruthlessly I have dealt them.

Spread my black wings against their surfaces

dismissed them as nothing



In graceless façades

shattered their possessions of psyche

eviscerating with language

In assimilations of mercilessness



hinging nuanced experiences

on single expressions of dissent

consequently, such lessons are clear

evidently, with conversation to follow

   

weaknesses speaking something ancient

in connotations of excellence

something relentless is patient

in sensation, as a kingdom of night.

Monday, May 22, 2017

lost connection


Once the train left the station,

I wanted to wave my hand and cause a car accident.

destroying something violently

to mar my enemies so completely they could never heal.

like a debilitating black streak
defacing everything I don't control
as my hate for what our lives represent

our place in time

our poverty

Where I feel so unbelievably powerless to help
anyone, even myself.

And yet, I feel so strong when you are near.

And I felt that power riding north

Away from me

Without me

I wanted to lay waste to an invisible enemy

That brings us these painful moments,

Drowning in the helicopters and the car alarms

where pieces of me die
like a shattered flophouse bathroom mirror

When the doors roll shut and I worry about your safety

  what fresh hell awaits when you get there

where the dreams we have of us are always put away on the top shelf,

like a bottle of wine we keep and never open.

And I wiped my eyes and dissuaded a crackhead for change

I want change too, man. 

I want everything to fucking change.

And if it means burning this city to ashes

I am willing.

And honestly, what it really means is keeping my chin up

And being brave enough

waiting on those empty tracks

For you to return.

Monday, May 15, 2017

of you.


As rising suns

And setting moons

I Can hear their calls in the night

As if Running down prey

The last grain of sand falling out of the hourglass

The last tear that I have to shed

For all of this to be absolved into memory

Forget me in the whispering sands

In the Howling wind of the night

I am but dust to this place and its ilk

I am but wreckage in the dunes

The nausea of dehydration

The thirst of an ideal

In the ceaseless search

For you.



how they have felt me through dimension

we are quickened and whispers

song and sonder

in some immaculate dream where the details

played out into some coincidence of time

framed in sound and fury

struggle and strife

where I cannot know what the futures hold

only shape how I will persist into them

and the motivations that  I have

are as captured satellites

around you.



As I am a craft upon reentry

Coming apart in a cone of flame

Shearing of metal and machine   

As this has somehow become customary

To make impact and then proliferate

Becoming the reign of myself

Repeatedly and relentlessly

Awakening on foreign shores and foreign landscapes

Adventures within adventures

Dreaming the dream of the life that I have

Woken in the experience

between sanctuary and solitude
with you.












Thursday, May 4, 2017

Worst latté ever.

 




It feels like holding an object from another plane

In my coat. I feel it weigh like disappointment incarnate.

This, this shit. Comes from another place.

And that place is made of fire

This shit, is what burns that one girl’s forests to ashes.

It has decimated your landscape

That much is obvious; when looked upon.

And I walked it out to the rainbow road

And turned it into dust, in the middle of the street.

To go and poison the city some more

In little glittery glass fragments

That get stuck under the feet

Of people trying to walk barefoot to the beach.



There is a kind of gentle spite to the lay of it

A sort of passive-aggressive control.

And just eons of miserable nostalgia.

-I have time for none of it.

-Just, the hopelessness of it

And there’s a reason why—

And the answer to that is

More hopeless.

And then erodes into

Some other nonsense

-And I’ve got time for none of it—

Because I know

that every second I spend feeling hopeless is a second I have lost

to feel excited, or happy, or orgasmic.

Or just anything but hopeless.



And I can only imagine

What that must feel like:

To be the thing that is difficult to put to language

And you’ll go on setting fire to your plane

With shit like this.

It is part of you at this point

as if a child that still plays with matches

after the house has burned down

no we cant get a new puppy. no honey he's not coming back.

As if fire has shaped the landscape

to the point of tectonic instability

it cannot even conceive of something

stable enough to grow moss



as if:

the rapid consumption of landscape

never establishes anything of permanence.



We are the evenings of city life

Drunken adventures by the sea

Beneath the lights of lifestyles we can’t afford

In spheres of people we will never know

As we, ourselves occupy spheres

Dreams must be made into reality

And for this we must awaken.

Everyday.

Everyday, for as long as we can.

Putting one foot in front of the other

No matter what size our feet might be

And being brave enough to progress into the future

One step at a time