a nation's child spat out

from the echo womb

of mental masturbation

 

 

the low roar on the factory floor

a mere workweek substitute for

neurochemical castration by mundane

sunday conversation

 

 

gives us another alarm

a buzzer screaming

for all good prussian schoolkids

to let go of childhood dreams of freedom

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hope is a bloom bursting

into the noonday sun

 

a breeze that lingers

and piques the senses

 

saltwater welling 

behind unblinking eyelids

 

a moment of silence in memory 

 

and another page waiting to be revealed

in the chronicles stretching from the cradle

to the place where so many wordless prayers

are offered 

 

to home and a place where the hear...

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eleven hours and I can't stem the bleeding

 

the machines of men are blinking in the sun

their best laid plans in stop-motion

and their minor gods on the run

 

Inside is the day with no light

and the slivers of sharpened desire

diffuse among the grey matter

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"What seems to be your trouble, my child.” “It’s Irving Loon,” she said, sitting on the bed and playing with the empty highball glass she had brought in with her, ignoring the irony, “he was so happy back in Ontario. At ricing time, you see, all the families are together, everyone happy, Togetherness in Ojibwa land. Blasts, brawls, sex orgies, community sings, puberty rituals. All kinds of ...

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mudpack my eyes while
the honey bee's still dying

and lovers' smiles like golem
take up lives of their own

with single-slit precision
kill the two with one stone

drowning babel in slow cataclysm

and the scaffold burning fast
the angels used to get to me

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on the trapeze

we're birds trapped in the lashes of this perfect beast

weaving the gossamer filament

of infinite light in the great loop of time

 

we stab ourselves in the throat

to bleed the cherry waves of the Sun

compressing all our mortal dreams

into dying pulsars gushing streams of cosmic dust

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ancient wisteria vine

laces through trees

still waking

from winter's sleep

 

binds the dead up

with the living

 

but this cold sailor heart

is still

 

out of place and time

 

an anachronistic device

running down the clock

 

running all these nowhere roads

keeping the wheels hot

 

until my ship comes back in

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here I go again...

 

the moon is not so full

but the night air

is cool and sweet

like I remember it

 

one hand on the wheel

tied to the fight

 

the other sailing

on the night wind

like a bird's wing

freed for the flight

 

if I weren't on the lam way back when

would you have loved me like you did back then?

 

my life's a funny thing

 

--it...

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too many years

the man inside has struggled

to crack the mask

 

that fragile face

that forms the words

taken to task

when unburdened from

their unassuming place

 

now, times are hard

and many labors are

begging to be sold

 

now, the inward man is stolid

he will not bend

 

the crouching tigers remain hidden

and many fortunes stay untold

 

...

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“I’m sort of glad they’ve got the atomic bomb invented. If there’s ever another war, I’m going to sit right the hell on top of it. I’ll volunteer for it, I swear to God I will.”

 

--The Catcher In The Rye, J. D. Salinger

 

back down

face up

sun shine on

lung implosion

 

the bluffs

are anglin’

countdown’s on

to brain explosion

 

air lift

in flight

mid...

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touch the downy red petals

in the heat

 

see the swell of high noon sun

eclipse the blue sky above

 

for now we are oblivious to

the dew of our mouths

kissing the concrete of these ruins

 

and the oasis in the distance is become a sea

that has swallowed our hearts

yet the waters will not move

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all itchy skin and anxiety

leaning on my bleeding ear--

a picture of self-containment

 

lucid dreaming of the carpet

of clover my father laid for me

 

fresh in the dew of spring

before the tall grasses grew

 

before the northern breezes

blew the summer seed...

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"I wish to thank [them] for enjoyable discussions which have contributed greatly to this article. Needless to say, these people should not be assumed to be in total agreement with the scientific and political views expressed here, nor are they responsible for any errors or obscurities which may inadvertently remain."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fj0xYjsxyEY

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I read the old farmhouse burned down--

reports blamed local kids who’d gotten carried away…

 

 

I remember the places inside

where we teased its silence like mice at play

and imagine the smell of dust in flames.

 

 

I long ago escaped the gravity of that planet

and this new knowledge doesn’t make a dent

in the universe I’m livin’ in

 

but there’s something ab...

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Put down the weapon

come to me

 

my head is swimming and I’m too gone

to save you from yourself

 

there is an abandoned nest

of baby birds I can’t reach

 

and I’m done with thinking words

might be just the thing

 

the thing I need to save me from

inadequacy and first-world guilt

 

my brothers put their arms around me

they haunt me in a lucid dream

...

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don't take it too seriously 

 

inside of these minds lie

the Graveyards of Empires 

 

the smile on the face betraying

only irreverence and irony 

at this meeting of disciplines

and athletic hopefuls

 

the game isn't nearly over

 

and many ideas are yet to rise

and be lost to the recesses of time

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serpent track the path

along this tattooed skin

 

greasy fingers flare to touch

dirty hands that reach within

 

blackened verdant earth to call

the cry of silenced swan

 

a million silent hours spent

to choke the dying song

 

There are reports that say there have been 320 thousand children who have crossed the US southern border and have been released without fa...

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search a face for signs of time

and sounds misplaced in every line

the recompense of discontent

the losing race of running mind

forsake slow dance for quicker gait

death’s open door we seal our fate

 

 

--welcome to the machine...

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7S8wllPmazM

 

“She had arrived at ten in the morning. Irving told her to wait; she waited. The...

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down here among the ruined and the rising

I am alien
and the children cannot understand
tears at the comic absurdity of hope

nor the sight of skin thin like paper
covering old peoples' hands folded in prayer

they cannot comprehend
the ferocity of newborn cries

nor the fearful stillness of expectation and Waiting

down here among the glowering bell towers

the silence is apoplec...

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I have pierced the skin of the earth with the spear
and it bleeds beneath my feet

I have honed it on history and fables like fire
and I know the bone-coloured summer moon will not soon heal the wound of my desire

 

My Darling-–the tattoo upon my heart, my memory and silence–-remember me upon the dew in twilight and know that we are there…

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“you got ur mind right, boy?”

 

I got this fast car and the whistling wren

don’t know what to think of me

 

an’ I got a coin in my pocket

lain up toward the day of thunder

 

an’ the wind whispers

the cries of the great raptors

 

come, now, the hour of trembling

 

the mother of my understanding

suffers not to stay her hand

in my hour of need

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turning to the great expanse

back turn to the land

backward from the shifting sand

the sea keeps its secrets

 

the heart like drifting time

leaves the uncertain shoreline

unleashed unto the silence

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"All freedom is relative—you know too well—and sometimes it’s no freedom at all, but simply the cage widening far away from you, the bars abstracted with distance but still there, as when they “free” wild animals into nature preserves only to contain them yet again by larger borders. But I took it anyway, that widening. Because sometimes not seeing the bars is enough."

 

~from On Earth We're...

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show me the place where the fire started

let me touch the black and the damp where you’re buried

 

don’t make me stand on traditiion

I want to make this incision

 

and watch the light pour from you

 

I know you’ll call me lustful and greedy for freeing you from what once was lit

still I’m gonna make a wreck of what’s left and put my name on it

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daytime excursions and factory tours
peacetime incursions and factional wars

ground floor maneuvers and industrialization
backdoor intrusions upon weaponized nations

what the barrel’s bore reveals
the native assembly conceals
through baseline fluctuations
and cryptic enunciations
of what is dead and what is real

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in our hands

the wings of doves

flutter then disappear

 

time moves a muddied river

 

the head packs dense with silt like concrete

 

50’ deep and rising...

 

a hydra hides from swords

of many words and bands

of horses run inside the echo

chamber of the herd

 

my fingertips to eyelids

I press to reach the daylight

behind the wall

 

 

 

...

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the road’s rolling out

in front of me again

showing me the exit

 

say something quick

and make it stick

I’ll soon be gone

 

I’ll set a candle at my back

to light the path I’ve traveled

I’ll burn my skin with the heat of it

with still no movement ahead

I set my sight upon the distance

 

look now into my eyes

like you’d once done

smile and bring the te...

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"murder your darlings.." that Endangered species every addressable last one of them they have never seen the sea smile but once Heard the Sun howl then swallow the Waters so words would not swim away the last Stand is restless in the heat there is no haven no home the dead know more than the living there is no mercy in silence

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one by one

‘tween finger and thumb

 

I pull each light from the sky

 

switch all systems to sound

engage rotors through burial mound

 

and it’s back through the tunnels I go...

 

the weeks from now

will run down to days

and one by one

I’ll erase all the ways that I’ve been

 

and not long from now

not even I will remember

the weave and wend of my p...

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We all must learn the art of rebellion the filmy cover the sheen of sweat borne of the drowning pool of unspeakable dreams spat out like seal pups disoriented and innocent of the cost of new freedom-- All we know is All we see and hope looks just like A lonesome street lamp We never quite reach...

 

--Independence Day, 2020

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v...

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"Look at the sea, how beautiful it is,
it inspires so many emotions,
like you do with the people you look at,
who you make to dream while they are still awake.

Look at this garden
and the scent of these oranges,
such a fine perfume,
it goes straight into your heart,

And you say: "I am leaving, goodbye."
You go away from this heart of mine,
away from this land of love,
And have you t...

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my tippy toes on the tarmac

I'm light as a feather

heaven bless me heaven take me nothing outside the blackbox is real this is the fake me no more bending down to tie my shoes no pulling the draft up to overtake me

 

prologue

scared for the future
pushing through the drag

suture up these wounds
...

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shafts of light like low frequency laser sight highlighting fine rotating specks --all the matter that's escaped the magnetic field of dreams… I greet the morning like a specter and, somewhere beyond my periphery, there is a voice that queries, How Am I? I turn to search the face for eyes to find if I will utter truth or lie and decide summarily "It's still too ea...

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if twilight stir me to reason

and night then move me to passion

 

the daylight burn me to ashes

and darkness come without season

 

then this is the hour of patience

 

–I know morning will not be withheld

either by faith or the faithless

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hands that do the

strangest things

 

wringing life from

resting covers

 

wrapped ‘round ‘ur thin

legs like fatted animal skins

 

the red bells refuse to ring

but don’t think twice my sweet

the landing party’s on the street

 

collect a feather from

the nest of the yellow bird

 

and light a candle

for your timely lover

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Technology is a vehicle. Forward. Forward. The car is moving Fast. Elements in passing are a blur. The steer’s been wrangled and strapped to the grill—a fresh wrack a lamb of sorts to keep us on our journey. All signals move Forward Along the Spine of time—direction is pre-determined. Autonomy is an Illusion.

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stand here now
while I search our common armory
of smiles flipped upside down

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“..the ship is anchored

at its last Harbour,

never more to depart,

 

for no aid is now forthcoming

from either wind or sunlight;

 

Captain Eudemos, taking leave

of the light-bearing dawn,

was buried there

 

and his ship with its lifespan

short as day, like a broken wave.”

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larger-than-life moon fills the sky

 

a band

connecting forefinger and thumb

I can’t miss tonight

 

dew cast from the disappearing sun

coats my lashes

 

touches the round

knoll of my cheekbone

 

conditioned by the wet sensation

to take down the giant

 

I’ll close my eyes

and we’ll both

rest in peace tonight

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I am ghost

staring through the window
to the ground below

to shadows of birds of prey

to hawks at play

in silhouettes deflecting light…

I watch and wonder does the Sun seek
to bind the winged to the past--

does Mother chatter riddles
to capture flying bodies
inside darkened preform casts?

And, do they return
to search over ground they’ve once flown
seeking long-fled shad...

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