Spelling Lost its Spells

What to say

to begin the show?

What to play

to get in the know?

Big things have small starts.

It is true,

I will have you know.

But what do I know

anyway?

I talk 

and I talk,

and sometimes

I talk some more.

I learn too

though.

Reels of my past

spin on some hidden projector -

sometimes I get to watch.

How it is

that I can be

such a stranger to myself,

is the mystery.

What is not a mystery?

If we are honest,

it is all a mystery!

We have our words

and our explanations,

indeed.

However,

descriptions are like

the clothes we wear.

They have nothing

to do with what they cover.

Boxes are convenient

and things stack neatly

within.

If words are the blocks

that make sentences,

have we not 

already blockchained

our existence?

My Beloved

For such a wordy man

I'm at a loss

to describe my love for you -

you who both terrifies and entrances me.

I can describe moments...

I see the profile of your face

and you don't know I'm looking.

You are smiling -

looking at something you enjoy

and I am overcome.

Your happiness warms me,

reminds me,

fills me

with a love

that is so powerful 

it is almost a sadness.

These moments glisten

like precious gems

in my reflections, 

and the you I know so well

is revealed once again.

It is easy to forget

amidst the rabble

of oh so important happenings,

and yet

it is the only thing worth remembering.

...

We have traded

mystery and wonder

for

technology and convenience.

...

Sometimes pursuing your dreams

means encountering your nightmares.

Simple Truth

A simple truth:
Whatever you
truly believe,
for you is,
and will be. 

11/04/14 - 3:33 MST

Illusory Muse

You pierced my forehead
with a crystalline thread
and drizzled
your golden honey down,
glistening and sparkling
in the light
of a spectrum unknown.

Weaving with mine
and spiraling quickly into
a complex warp and weave -
that long lost
something,
that thing we know
we share,
but cannot
talk about.

Coughed an eyelash
in my eye,
turned once more
towards the sky. 

I was the muse
all along.

The Dance

The cosmic winds, they gust
shifting and shaping our granular existence
into sand mosaics,
mandalas of hope
spirals of fear,
eddies of potential,
always reformulating -
carrying us through rain-streaked arches,
quenching us upon the river banks,
and back again to the parched desert.

Within these gusts, we gather,
attaching and separating,
spinning upon high,
only to settle once again 
in hostile environs,
feeling our significance
and insignificance 
as one...
and so we dance,
and so it goes... 

Grey Night

The night is
painted grey.
Amorphous shapes -
the prehistoric bodies
of the foothills,
trapped in the murky waters
of the lunar wash.

I see them
in my peripheries,
movements and flashes,
brief glimpses
of those that rise,
like me,
to bask in the light
of this grey night. 

Pure Expression

How to describe with words, 
a place beyond words? 
Recently I traveled 
through immense cylindrical cords 
of pure nrg, 
liquid metal turnstiles 
stretching infinitely 
above and below me. 
They ushered me through, 
bending and twisting 
to allow passage, 
yet also moving 
within themselves, 
rotating inward and outward 
simultaneously. 
Beings of pure expression 
that shone gold, platinum, 
copper and silver, 
yet none of those colors.
There are no thoughts,
there is only information
throbbing through me,
slippery things 
that can't be spoke.   

Nearby my friend is lit from above,
the top of his head gone,
a cascade of buzzing nrg
throbbing through.
This is it, 
he is being downloaded. 
A horizon
stretches infinitely,
from the line
where his skullcap
is gone.
His mind is empty
of thoughts,
completely clear,
and yet he can speak
and he is soberer
than he has ever been.
He can see.

Beyond the mind
play-dough,
and the oddities
that guard the gate,
there is something 
that can only be felt. 
And we must translate
with rudimentary tools,
and bear the burden 
of its heavy load,
this thing 
that we can only
talk around. 

Wild Wolves We

Wild wolves we,
who travel three dogs deep,
the timber towering overhead,
the snow crunching under feet.

You're on point again
nose deep in a cool wind current
that will carry our prey.
Comet and I nip at each other's heals,
taking turns as the third one in line.
Your undercoat colors bleed through
the sunshine bleached fur…
darker than obsidian,
richer than Orion.

This season pushes us forward,
provides us time to grow roots,
from which we will harvest our fruit.
But for now
we must relish these cooler days,
this lack of light.
"This cover is really camouflage"
you say without opening your mouth…
the Moon speaks for you!

And then,
we're off,
canine legs pounding
through the crust of white,
three mouths salivating at the sound
of crackling underbrush,
and the warmth of the kill 
close at hand.

You reach it first,
fangs and fury up its spine,
forcing it to the ground.
We aren't far behind,
but we let you take your time.

When it's all said and done,
and we are fed and fond,
we sleep three deep
atop the white canvas,
our symbols still steaming,
drawn in long crimson arches
over the snowy terrain. 

Tormenta

Galavanting clouds
with rain sarongs.
Misty gowns sweeping
the scrub-studded plateau.
Hitching skirts high
over mountain protrusions.
These mysteries 
we marginalize
with words. 

Awakenings

When your skin lifts up in prickly peaks,
and your fine hairs shiver straight
like antennas receiving
some anonymous transmission,
that's when you know.

When you see something inexplicable
out of the corner of your eye,
and you turn twice just to verify its origins,
that's when you...

When you experience a knowing
that goes against your logic
and the screaming siren inside you bleats:
PAY ATTENTION,
that's when...

When the word coincidence
is a glass with no bottom,
and fails to contain the water of experience,
that's...

When patterns emerge like intricate ice crystals
from the random downpour of reality's rain,
...

When all things in life seem like vertices
on some extravagant spider web,
separate yet connected by silver strands,
that's when...

When hidden meanings leap
from the dry text of life...
when you hear not what was said
by what was meant...
when the impossible becomes possible
and straight lines become spirals,
that's when you...

When the totality of these mere moments
becomes a weight reality can no longer shoulder,
that's when you change.

Excerpt: The Whole Package Deal

Jules was sitting at a poker table in a well-lit casino. He knew he was dreaming. He could feel the players looking at him, waiting for his play. He could taste the sour leftovers of a cocktail on his tongue and smell the aroma of expensive cigars in the air. He had yet to check his hand and everyone was waiting for him to bet or fold. Turning over his cards he was aghast to see that the pictures on the cards were not Kings, Queens, and Jacks, but rather mutilated children, and the suites were implements of torture and death. Looking over the top of his cards at the table he realized that the chips in the pot were circular pieces of skull, some of which were spider-webbed with thin dark veins. He wasn't sure how to react. A part of him was horrified, while another part of him was concerned about his facial expression giving away his hand. A man directly across the table smiled a wide toothy grin. Jules noticed dark, brown chunks between the man's teeth. His eyes darted down to a small portable tray near the man, where a plate of steaming severed fingers was piled like some kind of macabre Halloween appetizer. The man eagerly gobbled the flesh from a finger which he had fished from the plate, taking time to first pry the fingernail loose with his front teeth. After licking the bone clean he tossed it back onto the plate and cleared his throat.

Excerpt: "Emails from Infinity"

Squeezing into a space between two walls, shimming sideways I become shrink-wrapped in cobwebs, a cocooned figure dusted with pulverized plaster raining down from above. Deeper still I notice an opening in the wall space ahead, a hard lean and push and I’m in a clothing rack at a shopping mall. Stepping from the hanging clothes I’m surrounded by bustling customers and blinded by bright halogen lights. Recoiling at the hordes of people and the normalcy of the surroundings I venture back into the clothing rack. This time there is no wall space, rather a vast defunct nuclear power plant perched on a polluted shoreline, where silvery water laps against soot-colored sand.

One Song

This ever-present moment that is now 
waits for nothing - 
neither struggle nor sickness, 
nor disease or dysfunction
can change this...
this moment is all there is.

This moment cannot be placed on hold,
eagerly awaiting a time in which
we are more prepared for its presence.

This moment persists 
whether we are aware of it or not;
recognized or overlooked, celebrated or shirked,
this ever approaching, always fleeting moment
is immutable...
this moment is everything.

The more we grapple and cling for control,
the more this moment begs our surrender - 
the calm horse that doesn't buck
as we throw ourselves to and fro.

We do ourselves no favor
by projecting forward, by regressing back,
for these apparitions of the mind
are neither here nor now.

For all our avoidance and creative contrivances,
for all our procrastination and self-pity,
the inevitable we must face.

Beyond the illusion of space and time
there is one song - 
we sing and are sung simultaneously.

Hold this moment,
this one song dear,
for it holds no judgment,
it holds no fear. 

Unvoid

Dogs sleep 
like old mens' hands feel,
somewhere on the brink
between life and death,
somewhere in the void. 

Unvoid...
where ghost framed 
silken images hang
like treasures to be worshiped.
Where antenna ears
filter beats from the now.
That ageless wonder,
that ever-existent instant that is now 

Cold black noses
tether teeth and lips,
and yet
the beast is not here,
not in skin or bone.
But again she breathes so softly -
gallivanting in that mind malleable realm,
the place where we've met
time and time again.
Sharing soft sweet kisses
painted with the sun.

Eyelids closed be beam inward,
where emotions speak images.
That ageless wonder,
that sweet dream taste.