rites of spring

It is the nexus of these things

That must come together

In their time, in their way

As it is the rebirth that binds us

As we are all but fleeting beings,

wound as a whole that

struggle and survive

unraveling against time

we must rise in the rebirth of each fleeting moment

whole—

undaunted from the experience

as if it bears no weight to our soul

as if supporting a lie that makes it hurt any less

but I come to bear my scars with pride

as if they are armor that holds all my inner anger in place

where it comes out of the softest part of me

I feel it in every blossom

I hold it in every breath

And there is a place beyond words

Where I feel it as an extension of something more than myself.

reference

Because language is so flawed

So broken

So filled with the failings of these human forms

Broken.

In a rage that shears ones character from their soul

So angry that it unravels 

the grace that makes us 

grown Piece by piece 

implacable 

 Rending empathy from self 

until nothing is whole 

 in the process that is 

becoming 

connected to an emptiness 

beyond words

Compleat.

hyphen

It plays out

in cheap street theater

punch-and-judy style

as the snow blows across current landscapes

it seems so far away

and still somehow omniscient

in the forethought of the past

manifested in moments that could-have-been

as the undaunted march of time

tramples us into oblivion.

And still,

We rise from the cracks in the asphalt

Only to have our seeds swept in the wind

Luxuriant and orgasmic

As if life itself

Naturally emergent

to the imagination of possibility. 


it scrapes like a card against the table 

as we draw into the future

play-by-play 

as all existence is but a game

as we draw heavier and heavier hands

resolved unto the agency of ourselves 

echoes of elsewhere

In suppression their voices ring out

Delicate violence

In vocalizations tinged with the interpretation

Graciousness fills our time

Where I am at my edge

The beginnings, silent as the falling snow

peeling away the feathers of my soul

I am not breaking. Just becoming more 

relentless frosted rocks

tearing into the sky.

gnashing away the memories of origin

the cunning of my species

is not rewarded here

somehow coercively hurtful

and somewhere in myself

there is a shadow in the moon

fearing neither exhaustion nor hunger

nothing is sacred

not anymore.

their signature in the tempo

shaping some sort of unknown

in a lingering sensitivity

of collapsing futures

trampled,

like villagers beneath a charging draught horse

a contemplative carnage

takes hold

echoing through my landscape

the eye of shedding power

to unforeseen æffect

Different voices.

 

Had I never met you:

I might be holding a degree right now

I might have ran when the detectives approached

I might have proliferated and proliferated until even my borders sought allegiance.

Had I never met you:

I wouldn’t have memorized the date to the worst day of my life

I wouldn’t have the memories of venom, as thinner and thinner became written on your cheekbones.

I wouldn’t believe in atonement.

Had I never met you:

There would be a fiery love that would have lain dormant.

There would be an anger that never subsides

There would be an addiction that consumes on some surreal shore, unraveling us both.

If you ever:

returned my phonecalls,

Took me seriously

Believed in the unforeseen. I would make you happy.

If you ever:

Were on my side

Had my back in such a way that it didn’t desecrate what I am.

Fearlessly held me in some kind of esteem. You’d have me now

If you ever:

Feel empty, alone.

Lost in the world where it all seems so convoluted

It is the objectives that are absurd. 

Remember we are complete, just as we are.

There is also:

The awakening to the chaos of the world

the rancor of retaliation

the extent of the disgrace, that cannot be undone.

There is also:

the experience to be lain bare

humility in the yoke

to the karma that is wrought, to the nature of nature

there is also:

space and time

in the corners of thought

where trivial things gain purchase, staying with us for a lifetime.

And I lament:

The people I trusted that didn’t deserve it

The wreckage I’ve caused to the lives of others

The hatred that consumed me in the past

I lament:

The dreams I have abandoned

and the art I haven’t yet created

hope I haven’t yet had

and still more than anything I lament:

Nothing. 

as the unforeseen tomorrows are cultivated

in the idle moments of today 

within our flaws we are made strong

Quicken

Lensing and lensing

Am I adrift

In memory

In the corners

Of next-level intelligence

The wreckage

Between the pages

speaks of otherness

in the fabric of agency

we are the lies of man.

Just words

There once was tradition

That seemed all the same

In places and dreams

That I could once name

There once was a truth

Bathed in while light

Where cries of valor

Cut out  through the night

There once was legend

of fortune and gold

in the streets of the city  

as it was foretold

so they rode upon horses

and ran their machines

their lives consumed

in metropolitan scenes

beneath them It slumbered

lying in wait

the soul of the river

on the reaches of fate

in the cold rain

see the dragon awaken

to feast on the city

and all it’s forsaken

roads flooded with water

all concrete in their claims

in soft, subtle whispers  

it calls out their names

as their vehicles wreck

in pylons and ire

extinguishing fears

their hopes, and desire

and the rain still falls

in passionate sheets

from the wreckage of man

where it kills and it eats  

the dragon roars out

as the vehicles roll

in bolts of blue lightning

as it tears at their soul

it soars through the clouds

emergent like mutiny

reigning and feeding

calculating with scrutiny 

in a city of angels

the rain falls as tears

upon the weight of the masses

in forgettable years

its all a distraction

that will come to pass

in a world where so little

was meant to ever last

the battles will be many

against foes yet unseen

in the paths of our lives

neither carnal nor clean

and hope shall remain

reforged anew

in the shadows of purpose

that live within you.

Within all the structures

There is only man

Who poisons the earth

And corrupts with his hand

His brilliance a madness

His technologies vast

Upon unforeseen futures

Their lots to be cast

sands blow in the desert

waves crash on the sea

snow falls in the mountains

On what will yet be

The river lies dormant

Where the sun dies

the tides of humanity

washing out in their lies

in the caverns of self

I find this to be true:

Right and wrong are just words

What matters, is what you do.