LITTLE FEATHER ELIAS VAN SON
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Copyright Š 2009 by Elias Van Son All Rights Reserved. Cover art and design by Adam J. Steinbrenner www.adamjaymes.net SOME BLAZE FREE press www.someblazefree.com
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contents singing lord god bless and curse the martyr who the butterfly little feather devoted to the struggle i was born in a black cave bravely walked the plank do you see the famous tarred and feathered primative bodies of water alive! eyes on the prize good man begin by giving dog a bone under the stars knee-deep in needing and kneading bred with the elegance of fire for robert and vincent cobwebs in our mouths cloud: sun nest: egg embrace new faces travel forth in that case i’d want to be an indian jitterbugs jigging through fabulous cavalry wild flowers wild wake me when the fever turns to fire americans we it is the women who talk endlessly we the people protest waves of wild horses the tremble of leaves as explained to the bird that i hit with my car we finally have contact gazing my love my art when i say you are my sunshine
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blind horses dream and gallop in the womb fireworks of bold upon wings of the eagle eye pulsing legs of centipedes exits exist standing cold stranded in the city smoking boston 08 19 08 photographed by she happiness is what they sold us but easier to build strong children watching geese by the masses little feather lies quietly documented BLUE HERON survived the night sky awed the dim crowd subway system acid test acer palamatum dissectum alabaster bundles in the tender a man picks up a lady of the night moonlit jaguars muted prowl conversation with a woodpecker a centipede like two lips sewn together when i am truly with you elastic potential the winged ones and i static is half the song flee the nest of rats, my brother haiku of the bedbug slow and simple caterpillars animal: i see its eyes uno welcome i imagine purgatory as the hush hush dragonflies
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seeking in my dreams i am a writer to be spiritually literate is we are on edge how do i follow the waves wind and wave obey with the beach slipping through my palms battlefish laziness and procrastination murder millions of my thoughts when his mother leaves the den the pup gravitational thought friend ship the center leaves the room as a wholehearted observationist you: Pity the moth wondering why some people smile honeycomb home audio art artifacts do let the firefly the thread moves through the needle redwood to be courageous and moving dear dad without its roots a branch can bear glass half full children have a wild wide open mind constantly seeking the best way to die i think they walked for days and once my older brother josh
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poems of subtraction steps ahead still catching up remembering things golden bee tour of the churches lightning orchestras created company recorded pyramid of thoughts bad teachers talk too much on the other hand worldly success in the scriptorium under wonder lust matter of intention Illa: only God lifting babies high into the air life is movement artists are clay unfinished business thoughts on orgasm as the peak of a god complex dream no more i note to my self pride implies that i deserve to know a man does what needs to be done first things first realized that my tendency for observation calculations
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L I T T L E FEATHER
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SINGING
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LORD GOD bless and curse the martyr who fell madly in love with his own reflection who [drunk with pride] dove headfirst into shallow water came face to face to face his sorry self and the bottom of thy swimming pool in autumn. [for he was]
who
lost in thought / buried by leaves / reborn into the light may the dog eared pages of his volumes speak boldly through the throats of future ghosts forever and ever amen
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the caterpillar is patient and preparing for change the butterfly is born as it bursts from a cage labbayka
here am i
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little feather devoted to the struggle for freedom song of voices speaking at their separate paces come together drift apart soft as a rotten strawberry the less we know the more we love put food into a belly holler at me in the streets filmstrips of branches fly by woven webs of fingers headed westward for the pillow of the sun
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i was born
in a black cave a white cloud
no
above a broad canyon yes a thousand wings for every step the last stampede of centipedes would take i was raised
in a web a fucked up
no
furious fang storm yes anaconda split forked tongue always kissing at my face
now you ask me where i go and i answer just one thing in a hundred different ways
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bravely walked the plank swallowed whole by a bright blue whale set to sounds from outer space floating in the vast beyond and you can’t even light a candle for the company you keep the dining room in ruins from unnamed wild children who wear wax masks of animalistic dreams awful rotten barnacles stuck to the cage of ribs seem ripe enough for plucking now this is how it is
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do you see the famous tarred and feathered the puzzle pieces forced to fit together do you see the face of folds and frowns the empty eyes and furrowed brow i am far gone from the child i was but i’ll make it back somehow
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primitive bodies of water alive! living in the art of living as two opposing arcs ever turning never ending circles in the dark watch the sun sinking out of sight like i do watch the fireworks fall apart like i do watch the clouds cover up the blue like i do hold the reigns of solar waves my tongue to hear you speak catch tigers in my evening teeth imagine while i sleep
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eyes on the prize good man or hands round a damp mop pushing dirty circles dreaming of golden days passed by wake up rise and charge the fences o scared sheeple of the flock set fire to thy wooly shell stroll straight down butchers block the sky is falling red coats are coming wolf wolf wolf chased a chick for fox faced future splitters scribbling telescopic writing in the dark
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begin by giving dog a bone with this classy clean conscience fences disappear for the both of you paint your flag and raise it wave it wag it but make it last
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pup
6 12 08
1200 AM
under the stars on the hood of my car eyes endlessly sway in the hammock of heaven
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knee-deep in needing and kneading bred two warm sons: shining piles upon aisles of used dentures hoarse throat wheezes and gallops on dry splitting hooves til this miss does become misadventure.
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with the elegance of fire works in bloom these elephants they tear apart the room tusk-scratch murals on the walls swing and croon through trombone trunks of umbilical bamboo who could help but whistle with the mesmerizing tune
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for robert and vincent prowlers overturned and burned with much rejoicing kept close track of the unusual the forgotten on rolls on the great freight train of human flaws expertise ghost movement through rafters and floor boards cracked mirrors and thin walls we will set upon the trees who push their fingers through the dirt with limbs turned up side down
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cobwebs in our mouths spitting spiders out maple syrup breath exhaled against the glass fingers trace the name of she for palms to brush away skeletons of trees fell victim to winter and the first sign sometimes seems the only very few things like cigarettes grow lighter in your hands responsibility is love is a burden the frayed wire whips and dances in the street
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cloud: sun
nest: egg
exhausted tongue dragged upon a ribcage in the sky nothing done in love is waste thunder being wonderful keeps his knows his weak with weak with
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distance stuff is giving and the desire to give
embrace new faces travel forth before i comprehend complete the task of TILLY how i love you is quiet and unrelenting i feel your heart beat in me scotland yard lies in the distance dogs are licking for the salt
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in that case i’d want to be an indian live hungry on the plains stand steady as the cacti spoil my eyes and change my name we as brothers band together paint our horses speak in smoke and as the white men ride toward us slowly spin the heads of spears or should we choose the life of whiskey look for red men dawn til dusk fuck our women hunt and raise the walls somehow civilize this pasture for our children: thunder looming at our hips
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jitterbugs jigging through dark and narrow crevices toward the light away from the light as if that makes the difference we are all of us warming like beat dogs stretched four legged by the fire let us lick our wounds and dream of the outdoors together we are proud doves planted on a wire impressed by how the others coo and whistle letting time slip past while staring at the sun together run madly into the arms of one another toss up your caps to the haphazard emptiness we long to fill ride strong some lightning bolt to its end touch the world with crackling branches explode and ride again let us spit in the face of good fortune grind ladybugs with our back teeth together build homes with our bare hands and rest our weary feet let us be the truth we speak together
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where’s the click-clack of the fabulous cavalry the harlots and the heroes mister media promised me we see those aerosol gang signs crossed out and covered up by CNN headlines alley 1: the rich are rolling over in their beds of 20 dollar bills. and the rest? alley 2: they drowned like rats! we watched, we saw, we taped it from our digital hills we’re still listening for the sugar sweet sounds of swimming in concrete we’re still digging through the trash and glass that avalanched our streets
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wild flowers wild when stereo speakers finally learn to speak will they tremble in treble? when hummingbirds spin a slow swansong don’t you think it means trouble? flowers gone wild swearing at the sun and pulling out their petals hyena smiles melted to each face and stems made of metal these tv sets are so turned on by green tongued priests still rambling on and that strange shame skirt must weigh a ton if it’s such hard work to keep it on all our wings are melting off and all our beaks are mouthing off the waxwing sings through cold wire coughs these death machines are turning off
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wake me when the fever turns to fire:
technicolor flames flowing from new flowers twelve fingers shook with laughter on a belly to slay a giant is to become one whispered david to goliath
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americans
we
who rode the broad shoulders of our fathers and never learned to walk who craved effects in excess bones of white hearts of gold who sold our firstborn children for the dream it seems has vanished.
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it is the women who talk endlessly, squawking like hens who have spotted the fox. men are the cattle, calmly chewing on their thoughts. children, the eggs, fragile and full of possibility, are smothered by such hens while they turn blindly in their sleep. the fox then fills its belly, which is louder than its conscience, and the chatter of those hens provokes a smile.
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8 17 08 we the people protest with heads high our loyalty waits in its nest on the bow warm and warn the wet wicks you’ve got to shine before they snuff you out
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waves of wild horses could not move you from my mind lying naked writing music to the rhythm of your breath
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the tremble of leaves at your deafening reply love will know my name
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as explained to the bird that i hit with my car some sad snails salt themselves flat drunk on whatever instinct draws the insect to the light to spare themselves of pain pale worms drown in puddles from the rain the groundhogs dig to snatch the bulbs of tulips anchored yay deep in the dirt sleep so hungry that it hurts
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we finally have contact an inhuman voice rides the airwaves to gnarl the hair of she loud fingers shred soft curls while you cling to the hull like a cat catch your breath save the strength to let go with the fish [sirens and flashing of lights
howling dogs]
out of ink
pools climb ten octopi
wrapping up swing them in
young sun bathed bellies arm locked hammocks shitless brothers load toy guns while eighty twisting arms merrily slap upon the water
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gazing at that steel steam engine stitching on the baseball that is earth the lovely corners of your lips begin to curve the ground trembles as a virgin i speak to you the truth too softly for the passing shells filled themselves (muzzling clamor overbearing in its stay) on plucked young words before you heard and with thieving rusted laughter rolled away.
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my love my art thou art my love o most natural ability in its multitude of forms many things done well without an ounce of satisfaction no one knows how well i love for when they do mere quietness denies it
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when i say you are my sunshine do you know what i mean? you are the most beautiful center of my everything the reason i grow and dare to explore the mystery of space between us and i might spend this life circling yours a constant reflection : sadiyalleluia yet who am i to love you in a language with no end?
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blind horses dream and gallop in the womb long backward equations explained rather harshly by frontward! onward! yah!
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fireworks of bold red birds born starving for the sun in a gentle breeze no words describe truth bursting out of beaks at last alive
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upon wings of the eagle eye sore my steps once less blessed a worry no more calm seas call dry dust to grow green around us and carry us off to the shore can i live without the love i know? does each wave crave the undertow patiently waiting to roll in and carry us away like children sleeping in the arms of oceans our eyes are closed our minds are open
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pulsing legs of centipedes massage soft eyelids in their sleep in day light knock incessantly on doors or what appears to be hello nice to meet you for the hundredth time as i told the hand before you i hold value in my dreams
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exits exist as avenues of endlessness there are no fitting words for this forest full of emptiness and empty nests survival of the swiftest in these sudden bursts of brilliance antlers lost now artifacts
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standing cold stranded in the city smoking self rolled cigarettes saw that we line the roof like icicles slowly lose our lives to spring no drop is lost for long all land explode with frozen blooming hold new shape and are born again awake with eyes shut tight lying in bed through afternoons we stretch our legs for night is coming soon
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boston
08 19 08
some smart mouthed young tongue laps up most of the earth’s surface some overdressed understudy picked up some plumes forgot his purpose some cats keep leaping roof to roof looking for a lay that’s worth it old dogs drift off on dirty porches under sunsets wild and gorgeous never caught a thing poor paws pursued but every hunt they dreamt was perfect an angry ghost now floats toward us
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photographed by she my brain all over the dirty city sip hot chocolate laugh with music
while i paper and paint while i smoke cigarettes while i ride
my lady drives it’s a getaway eloping over and over sprinting smiling it’s a rush to the altar rolling in glue oaths in broad strokes it’s a honeymoon an an of of
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afternoon evening memorable poetry criminal inhibition
happiness is what they sold us they kicked our shins and set our hair on fire now we are all of boiling with rage glued to the page content with what
but
us or or moderate magic we have
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easier to build strong children than to repair broken men he said and so i grin and bear it grumbling in the language of botany forsythia leatherleaf viburnum with the faith of reddened spores clinging tightly to the fern in the form of a golden comet crash landing in pure wilderness
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watching geese by the masses as they fly from the water i picture the parts as a unified whole as a whale taking slow winding flight the bald eagle screams and i smoke from my pipe paddling quietly toward her
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little feather lies quietly amongst the lions watching waiting on a feeling he calls it faith he calls it to question with ink and a pen and then to stretch the field of play his fears into the ocean filled the bottle sank to bottom baptized with bravery
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he walked
little feather rides again
documented BLUE HERON survived the tonawanda on God given stilts flying off with a grace i still can’t comprehend PRIZED PIKE trolling the weeds punked out accidental trappings SNAGS on our flowing floor
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the night sky moonlit masterpiece mimicked by fire flies an owl wonders aloud
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awed the dim crowd graduates in color even socrates the wise knew nothing
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subway system acid test we (program interrupted by look good newspaper fiasco) i do not want only to be aimlessly in love with you we (laugh and laugh and laugh)
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acer palamatum dissectum pressed o change o set sail upon the sea of love letters made from bubblegum tree to new dome manes on even bluer mountains says the old man at the hot dog stand chocolate milk for the chocolate boy and strawberry for the man
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alabaster bundles in the tender grasp of storks dive like bombs through bedroom windows broken babies breathe the wail of sirens and father folds his hand over a dream
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a man picks up a lady of the night pays her to lie in bed beside him cause i’m afraid to die alone says he pulls a gun from the pillowcase and paints red their rented room he said she says his dog don’t like loud noises
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moonlit jaguars muted prowl on swift paws pure as violins
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conversation with a woodpecker marco knock on wood
polo
bare knuckles calling for a rhythmic reply . . . . . . . we don’t know one another . . . . . as well as we should
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a centipede like two lips sewn together staccatos silently for the door i trace the lines in the hand that cradles me
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exits exist
when i am truly with you nothing can stamp out the fire when i am but two steps from you nothing but smoke (and i can see no reason for living) blessed and cursed am i to wonder blessed and cursed am i to wander the immeasurable distance of those two steps between us how fitting it is that we still sing the same sad song of i cannot help who i love while meaning very different things swim into the depths of desperation or stroll smiling on the shores of self defense
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so when each smile is stopped short and nights grow longer than they’ve ever been remember: i may lie awake without you but you sleep alone with him
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elastic potential beyond recognition i grew tired of storytelling under all names but my own sailing ships to foreign shores when we could be sending signs the lot was lost the worst was yours as lasting laughs were mine
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the winged ones and i are of tangled minds as we see the light in the light
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static is half the song should i sing about sunshine as i sit through the shitstorm? does the coalmine canary dream of thickets and sharp thorns? o child of the mother ship steadily sinking it is not too late
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flee the nest of rats, my brother and i will fight for you before any other where there is water on the hills find me there where the earth unhinged her jaw find me there when my sons grow proud and tall when my eyes rest far too still find me there sleeping in the softness through your suffering
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a bedbug with fangs and a poor disposition grows tired of the couch
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slow and simple caterpillars never meant to bloom are now wet and hungry vultures crawling from camouflage cocoons
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animal: i see its eyes ovals among Xs those glowing declarations of death sentences on trees
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uno welcome guest gust ghost in a foreign land brash young birds with yellow mohawks flaunted their findings just a few hops from mine they chirped and chased me from my tree stump perch if it is any consolation i thought philosophers wander in wondering while explorers get up and go and so followed deer tracks until i found dos two curious doe led me deep into the throat of the forest where i understood many more heavenly signs how grateful are we for the sun when it shines
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i imagine purgatory as the hush hush ward of a mad house mad men doped on medicine stroll in circles growing smaller they mumble to themselves o my darling
o my darling
bright birds with clipped wings on a hopping parade are tossed through a tire swing as it spins in the shade they fly for a moment from the cumulative human roar tiny existential clouds hover above your head caved in by a brick and all thoughts spill onto the floor
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the only end for me would be to be dragonflies whose wings beat in perfect and effortless syncopation toward a torn open hole in the sky six legs wave goodbye hauling down monuments to the tune of our instruments blooming but still asking why
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SEEKING
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in my dreams i am a writer the words flow through me in perfect sequence down the river between left brain and right sometimes i realize that i am dreaming and try my best to remember what i write i never can every morning i wake but do not rise every morning i experience my dreams over and over and over again sucking every drop of heaven from a cracked coconut held overhead
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to be spiritually literate is to see the signs vision is a gift from God and a skill to be cultivated o citizen of the world rejoicemmanuel
rejoice
cognition is for all of us recognition for the few
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06 30 07 we are on edge two distinct habitats the diversity and quantity of the ground narrowly escaping the four arms of death life:
web of decisions
left right go go stop left left right go go stop left left right go go stop left left right go go stop left passive:
stop right stop right stop right stop right
allows others to make decisions
aggressive:
not afraid to make decisions for others
the world is run by those unafraid to make decisions in the face of disagreement backlash and rebellion but if you keep very still you can hear the end of your life ear to the ground hooves in the distance
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how do i follow the waves without falling in love? amongst ships lost at sea i am happy and free awaiting that nervousness insomuch as embers see the fire as its origin questioning the validity and risk of the voyage how do i immediately recognize this as a flag of loneliness? a face to which i similarly to a child will reflect contrast and shape my own accordingly seeing my self at a considerably younger age my mind was open and willing to believe my interactions and offerings with most anyone i met were simply brief intermissions in my work my play my desire to love and to create to try a new thinking position again again again
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wind and wave obey relief : as calm before the storm, He speaks to wild unbridled waves and there will .STILL BE .PEACE we fear He sleeps in skies of silver sheets once throne upon the ocean bed or floor the mouths of clouds are fed once more our vessel settles on the sure as the day grows young & warm He weeps
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: belief
with the beach slipping through my palms i am thinking i am where You’re not but to sea crabs within shells tiny beasts trapped in hell tidal waves hold the face of God.
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battlefish had a deceptive name as he was unjustly the household pineapple seemingly content to sit on the windowsill waiting for the whole world to walk by moving in waves with the inward rhythm for there are men and wo men who follow others rhythms to the end
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laziness and procrastination murder millions of my thoughts tabernacles of modern philosophy great equalizers the end of distinction molding willing minds into spender role capitalist shapes shouted zappa mandela
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when his mother leaves the den the pup stares after (sometimes forever) and learns nothing outside the changing ways of hunger and he calls out her name (sometimes forever)
in faithful attempts to lead her home
her name
my only sound
catharsis anamnesis coyotes howling out their loneliness mistaking others as echoes
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gravitational thought friend to no one death plays the end all be all great equalizer taking exception the moon yanks its daily rays the endless tide obeys
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friend ship meaningful commitments to one another if only in our minds interpretation a sign of life was created with care full lives within and language is my avenue to you after i am gone hope
a heart beat
fully
so much is said and done in one day the signature is the effort the twist of the lime and to the half loves in my wake i appreciate your gesture your recognition of the mystery that is me but i am green and growing your nest may move upon my branches
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this door
the center leaves the room our eyes drift now in circles lounge in quicksand the beaches abandon ab and on a b and on an introduction to the alpha bet escapes to the mountains over seeing minds matter for we monarchs in the making along the shores of lake sham plain young lives spent waiting for the truth to take hold finding driftwood frail and beautiful (not unlike our hospitable host) humbled in this frame this over flowing opera this ever growing garden as an introspective form of self where any passing moment may hold infinite importance
as observed by an observationist rewrites the dictionary speak a new language with
who to you
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as a wholehearted observationist i lack the american instinct to immediately interfere i pause in watching a tired moth and yellow jacket fight to the winged death give a prayer of thanks for both and gather moss in the shadow of their struggle how very bitter it must be to mix yourself with each thing you see
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you: Pity the moth (as if aesthetics drenched in sunlight outweigh the gift of flight) but i am here to tell you blessings are built in the quiet of the night i am here to help you rid your self of shame and shell for the brilliance is in the blooming not the fluttering about.
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wondering why some people smile rocking slowly in their sunset chairs, the wound ones buzz along patterned path. soon they will pack up their chatter and speed away in that cartoon cloud, an irreverent clusterfuck retired and replaced without knowing for a moment what they’ve missed: each is scenery to the other, only eaten up at separate speeds, strategically timed so that as one scrapes his dish of every detail to make room for the next, the other sips cool lemonade savors the sky and smiles for the busy bee who has lost his sense of taste
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honeycomb home to the glittering drone we are one in the billions of furiously grown assembled in piles or dining alone meetings of madness and the natural wonders: buzzing ink in clouds above her tidal waves of typewriters headlines golden glaze from pollen stems devotion like pulling storms from oceans the always changing always without you nothing left but business in my bones lines drawn where birth and death paint brushed elbows killer bees in corporate common clothes burial plots of blueprints less followed with you nothing left
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audio art drum with paints alternating colors while keeping the beat square canvas fit snugly within circular head playing naturally noting results painted piano hammers pedal powered spinning machine moves spool of paper through piano dangling rhythmic brushstrokes put on display by worker bee until you see the sounds of we
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artifacts are the facts we live with what we can’t forget yes yes
a small child’s thumb can black out the sun the elephant minds the elephant gun
like old men with wet eyes that sit in strong prisons they take what they’re given and there is no lying in them
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do do not let the firefly clench a neon read your fortune fist in anger
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the thread moves through the needle knowing well that the needle will move the thread. neither would serve its purpose without the other. such is the Immeasurable Trust completing one another until we both find warmth beneath the same shawl that we will come to know as
Love
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i have come to realize that limitations are self imposed therefore once the seed has shed its shell the redwood begins to grow
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to be courageous and moving through the frontier in wilderness finding hope for love when plants are cared for they grow to grow with my arms grasping for the sun sinking stead’ly golden face still shining
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dear dad whose companionship through the effort of leadership led me to my penmanship thank you dad i love you be with me in my movement this bridge is always open this way is always good
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without its roots a branch can bear no beauty mother i still feel you in the comfort of my times our likeness is that which drives us apart a mirror in the water eventually rusts could not have grown could not have bloomed without your love here is a thank you i find hard to share the vulnerabilities i seldom bare you know them
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glass half full children your teeth fall out and you grin with those gums wide spanning evidence of an award winning sleep know that i know something you don’t know a window washer on the scaffolding of life i find comfort in helping you to see more clearly
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have a wild wide open mind and a steady patient tongue for none will lend an honest ear to hear those songs already sung
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constantly seeking never accepting too often am i turned from the treasure churning the waters chasing reflections i weather the worst while knowing much better
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the best way to die i think to be hurled into the night quite truly a one way ticket on the final frontier even the closest to God speak labbayka come nearer those last moments cherished most
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they walked for days to hear Jesus Christ speak drunk with the wine of men holding captive no audience my life spent spinning a web of such an intricate pattern that you might be proud to be tangled in it i dream of nothing but your movement to shake me from this sleep may we rest in love and peace
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and once my older brother josh got a set of real shoulder pads for fooball it was my civil duty to assist in his at home tackling training program (with couch pillows stuffed up my shirt and a red plastic motorcycle helmet set upon my head) SMASHING into one another without any doubt of its necessity
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poems of subtraction poetry or prose with key words left out these missing words when compiled are completed poems themselves
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steps ahead catching up
still
loneliness is a symptom of powerful imagination i am so convinced and satisfied by the idea of what could be that i lose track of what is
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remembering things is my responsibility because i am the only asshole with a book
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golden bee the exponent of flowers apostrophetic pecking at the gums of hippopotamus
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tour of the churches once a week for fifty weeks i will visit a different church take notes on the sermon message scripture worship conduct casual interviews with officials and attendees learn every thing first hand
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lightning orchestras composed pre orchestrated lightning storms as compared to the played out planetarium experience
113
created company drawing the eyes first when sketching a face as a symptom of my loneliness it must be somebody’s birthday
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recorded pyramid of thoughts piled one atop the other longhand composition played too fast to be deciphered without text subliminal love letter transmission seeking those who seek themselves i pile words on words build homes and bury us beneath good worms gentle as beds
book choose words of roses
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bad teachers talk too much good teachers listen and respond often with a question of their own think of it as a conversation an opportunity to learn from one another (this is also why dinner dates are not really about dinner and also why movie dates should be reserved for someone you already know)
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on the other hand worldly success helps to make dreams a reality thus rendering the imagination as an extracurricular activity rather than a survival necessity most of me clings wildly to childhood and its mystery nestled almost snugly in the many worlds i build
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in the scriptorium a priori a posteriori
can feel you can see you
angered in reaction and not by choice shadow self
we are shown something in another which we hate about ourselves
on we go on using enemies along with friends as tools of true refinement
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under wonder lust i have been ceremoniously disenchanted by the taste of grape juice something to do with weekly communion lining up for a shot of forget your guilt forgive yourself the blood of Christ fresh squeezed even now each sip unwillingly symbolic and refreshing as a kiss of fiery tongue
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on the matter of intention: i should not write for permanence for fear of being forgotten scrambling desperation leaves ugly footprints on the mountain i should walk now with confidence grow to know the unknown with this half developed sense of thankfulness scribble maps for those i love or should love disregard my wayward wanting
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Illa: la:
only God nothing
how much of ourselves is tangled with our earthly name the truth is not contained by any arrangement of alphabetic symbols the truth is not a cup to be emptied or filled at our simplest whim how much of ourselves is locked within a cage whose key resembles confidence the wisdom to forget some childish fear whose key lies in the darkest corner of our bodies reach out lead your fingers over every inch of the mystery too powerful to bear until you are free and nameless
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lifting babies high into the air as a subconscious technique of establishing trust the industry is dead mother nature fills her belly on we the rotting leaves
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life is movement artists are clay the others all are water the sun goes down in the desert like a barely burning flame mountains standing through our sleep never lie down with dogs climbed for hours howled at nature who promptly howled back small enough (at least) to disappear but brave enough to live at that i am pushing for the edge needing to grow and conquer self knowing even in the dream i am a symbol set to crash
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unfinished business tonight at the bar i noticed (which is something i do quite often) finger drawings on the windows and thought it the perfect time for a thrilling match of anonymous tic tac toe so it began with an X and while we sat and shot the shit someone countered with an O
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thoughts on orgasm as the peak of a god complex two lovers helping one another to the top where they clearly see the center as themselves
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dream sitting in an auditorium beside a quiet girl very comfortable after brief intermission opposite side
i’m
i find another girl on my
she is more confident and dazzling than the first laugh together
we
entertained engaged yet feeling badly for abandoning the first held in some childish plumed peacock the other is eyes full of i am staring my face back
unquestioning trance by a brightly
an owl deep brown everything at her longingly as the peacock turns toward her and laughs
and so i stand and hug my younger brother run swiftly from the room
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no more
i
everyone knocks, nobody gets in blessed beyond belief but i have learned to lock the door no more i will travel the world on a trustworthy steed and somehow help you see it as i saw it my purpose my gift the weight of my conscience bears down to lay eyes on the flag of a flower unfurled to water a well buried seed i will make language with the dogs bathe in star light fires fly fearless flashing ivory alleluias from the sky will the dream to be you see and someday i will die.
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note to my self: wake up as a dinosaur hungry to conquer crushing thoughts of avoidance hold down your poles defend the dirt from which we are best born wild as marigolds
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pride implies that i deserve to know what i am dying for to know whether or not artists go to hell to know when to be everything and nothing or something in between child often colors outside of lines finds beauty in the flaws and vice versa man earns and spends the day dreaming of escape
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a man does what needs to be done the learning curve of speaking cursive woven tapestry of tongue today is the anniversary of something we have gradually forgotten we are fighting all the time we are waiting for our time we are running out of time and the hooded monks set themselves aflame through waiting for change to be born within
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first things first a tree falls over exposing its roots it rests on another and begs her help to right itself
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02 23 09 realized that my tendency for observation was honed in the winters of my childhood lying on my back focused on one flake of snow at a time following each perfect dance until it settled on the ground dissolved into a sea of white hours of numbness moving nothing but my eyes and eager tongue
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calculations are based on the validity of memory habits and inhibitions stem from the very same bed in my mind the goal is happiness i feel happiest as a child unafraid to explore i feel emptiness without a friend in this exact thought at this exact moment it ends
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