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A furious darkness is the sum of all forms.

The equity of beings from across space,

dwindling on the breaches of failed time

so dark it is violent

so real it is unavoidable.

We are the sayings of simple organics,

living parables

falling into the future

and the definite loss of all shine.

No sun prevails in the bitter fight with gravity...

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1

She is beautiful and she needs me.

We are whole together and nothing can stop us.

Her eyes are white blue

like two tiny oceans

and rupture my soul when they look

at four in the morning

crying for insects

and packing a screen.

Her smile is a testament of bliss,

her kiss, a flowery touch,

an assuring thing

and all her faults are pure.

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Urge is the cause of all chaos.

If nobody felt then

the world would be perfect and without quality.

Properties are reasons for defilement.

No needs and

no search for means.

Calm

with purity of being,

to be free

of the need

to aquire, contain and control.

To relinquish luxury's distraction

and return

to a glorious form of preh...

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What if our total experience

is managed by forms that are

beyond our cosmic constintuency?

What if our lives are not lived but

adhered, negated?

Love and rage,

peace and imperfections.

Each of us may well be unreal,

contolled by some future government

or gaming company.

What if our hardware wears out

and leaves our skeleton wan...

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See

Who you

fail to

be.

Calm

ask for

the last

time.

You

full and

fail to

bruise.

See

you are

gone like

me.

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Still.

Perfume on the pillow

and

starlight in the wound

consuming

our forgotten futures.

A glisten of flesh in the moon

glow forming

in the soft place she slept.

New kiss, near past awake

on cold thought mornings

her mind, her skin,

the way of her hair

blonde on my chest in the dark.

Never the arguments

just the...

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Death is the final refusal.

It discards the giggle of time,

that beast with a stretch

the length of a universe.

The strong silent type of dark matter

and the blush of unfinished principles,

of critical strings.

Important as every heart attack there ever was,

some believe the concept

a messiah of numbers.

True freedom may appear as ...

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A fortress for us in the forest.

Sure, azure, a slur

in the blue above.

Soft, slight and shiny.

Sheer and sleek not shaking. 

A wake of wayward warlessness.

Broad and open the winged Earth breathes,

breeds a batter of lives and leisures

fed on silence, the pure milk of the forest

and the new born future learns indifference

and the tolerance of forms...

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Source of all cause.

A breach in original symmetry

authentic and unretainable

like the softest star

beating in the pulse of its end.

Swirling in a panic, the particles

slow to a nub, mute.

The absent whisper of a guilty galaxy

turning inward, a reversal

of energy released relentlessly

it peaks, compact, complete.

A shift, shimmer, a slight

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