tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90020048525051084982024-02-19T23:45:48.154-08:00Poem a DayExoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-91937866934601146432012-02-29T12:42:00.002-08:002012-02-29T12:47:12.910-08:00Day 16sunset land cultivated,<br />grow rainbows- harvest drinking.<br />Alcohol or not, no farms<br />for older habits-<br />no framing pictures on<br />these walls. They are rough.<br />They aren't straight.<br />There is no sunset here.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-35533823626039908732012-02-28T15:53:00.003-08:002012-02-28T15:59:07.497-08:00Apology/ManifestoSo I skipped a bit more then a week. Sorry about that- But, I have been writing. I assure you that, and I guess I'm inclined to post the fruit of my efforts. It's really long. You've been warned. It's called the manifesto.<br />-----<br />Manifesto<br /><br />The Manifesto<br /><br />pt. 1<br /><br />Bloated and swift,<br />Stilltime acrobatics bend round troubled curves and bounce;<br />Deaf, dead, dense, and moving, forever in multiplied,<br />growing undertones, we remind teenage boys<br />that forked twicks of carefree lightening<br />cannot compensate for a lost,<br />pronounced lack of grace.<br />Bloated blue, the rabbits turn heads and stare, bouncing<br />on acrobatics again, bounding into Ford grills and tires-<br />rubble rousing<br />country roads in the nightnoon lamplight stretched with<br />elastic power-lines.<br />Quashed, the null enforced laws of practice<br />were soiled the soil of these long dead amber grounds,<br />with bars of lead and<br />blue and red sirens flash, paused and repeated<br />droned and sung like a madman's parade of<br />dripped ether and canary enchanted voiceboxed noblemen.<br /><br />We got smashed like lifted lightening<br />on the November ground, clouds of kicked<br />meat bled red into some premature ejaculation of snow.<br />Carl Winter, that man of frost! Oh how he recited the funeral rites and biblical passages <br />of found homesteads sharpened to the bare ground<br />while rocks slung entered skulls and flipped a giant acrobat on his<br />clumsy head.<br /><br />Rocks entered skulls like missiles and flipped our acrobat,<br />while he balanced on this willed high-wire to return Dandy's underground<br />nukes with merely a spirit dripping of candlewax and spit.<br /><br />Half tuned lyres and benches<br />shot glares<br />and kicked dust at theologians who tried to accept<br />a certain point as absolute, while<br />Musked masked Rosa sang semen stained lullabies to sleeping teenagers<br />while mountains dried and fell apart-<br /><br />Ingesting mushrooms to feel a throat in a face,<br />Ingesting tar to feel a buzz of concentration-<br />And Sleep did not extended a lul of passage to those awaked and<br />vulgarized, and honestly,<br />Rosa, the drowsy maiden, hasn't traced my<br />outline me in days.<br /><br />Bit by beautiful bit we are destroyed- self destructed like<br />implosions of masked anarchy firebombing some<br />Berlin concert hall-<br />To feel a beautiful mind battered and fried in<br />some popped kernel, KFC breaded and ready to attack,<br />and to feel a generation overwhelmed by pseudo reality in which<br />all idols are synthetic and fated to feel as if they are universally fleeing.<br /><br />In a proletariat hospital seven men expanded the concept of over and done,<br />and strung out with the spirits, Carl rose<br />only with the sun, living in some urban trench- he wrote,<br />"I miss home today, and in some<br />sexual interest and enterprise, I feel<br />held to the concept of tomorrow"<br /><br />"To air!" the essence declared,<br />And in terms I'd never understand,<br />he declared a sonic philosophy of<br />airwaves and lifted new world orders<br />while the Devil melted a wax heart<br />in shards of fires fueled<br />by caches of bottled atmosphere and ATM withdrawals.<br />And soon, He, that unkind apparition, opened my bedroom<br />door and with long, scaly fingers,<br />clenched around my doorknob like<br />Death after three minutes and<br />opened my bedroom to his deeds.<br />He pried open my eyes<br />to feed me images of his malicious light.<br /><br />pt 2.<br /><br />Headlines, for you who eat a flittling!<br />Nifty and firting, seven overlaps of conscious were<br />Declared to quite insanely nulled sensical. Quashing<br />Severed mountains, he fell like a rabbit,<br />Mad, vlogged and swifted to bloat.<br />Cured Hitlers justified no good empty prisoners<br />and were promptly hung or fed cyanide thru containers<br />of neckled peacepipes.<br /><br /><br />Crazy, although, deep inside, a<br />scale collapses and does never level<br />out-<br />hair greased with dyslexic desire<br />dies and scrambles in motorcycled combat.<br /><br />Read it. Books<br />smoked salt to pavement while machines cut holes into<br />wrists. Give a bitch a movement,<br />rebel, lather, gleam and shim aimed to reduce, repeat-<br />and she'd want to famous<br />for tearing up a paper towel in distain.<br /><br />Never make a wave, dear childish hands, for water<br />unreliably breaks and spurts. knocks wind out of thrones-<br />No casual theory- no importance, no great minds<br />would pull out of pajamas and face a world.<br />Nothing but pleasure could cure a teenage brain and<br />flashedfoward motion penned, constant scribbling to idols<br />or maxed words,<br />vainly split open for the inside of a candy bar for the hope of<br />some narrow future.<br /><br />This bar's poet laureate,<br />stoned worsed tossed beat battered and spayed,<br />took some paid lessons from a man of God and<br />roads less traveled-<br />aiming to maximize efficiency while<br />traveling on broken bicycle tires to the epicenter of<br />down and out, stuttered and sprayed, he reached for<br />a payphone call to his scrounged home for meals.<br /><br />A flight attendant makes a phone-call<br />and flutters an eyelash to duke of airborne,<br />carnal indulgences-<br /><br />Paranoid and left behind she<br />falls asleep to sing song gospels and barbed words, tearing<br />saviors from the velcro dreams of fisheyes,<br />cut and bled for God<br />in some parted center.<br />Obvious, she muttered, obvious-<br />marked blue for slaughter and withdrawn, wooden nails lapped<br />for breakfast lunch or dinner-<br /><br />carrot flowers poke through the top<br />of a hill, grass burned brown from sunshine<br />against the backdrop of some hard sun,<br />while all the local rabbits hold and swing<br />forks of dried tar from<br />the nearby pits,<br />as Koi fish float,<br />asphyxiated and writ<br />to the sludge furnace that is the top of the<br />Androscoggin- <br />electric owlets hoot howls, perched on the wooden plateaus<br />built to burn grease<br />in the attics of some wildlife preserved in books,<br />given to extinction gift-wrapped, for the sake of building<br />progressive business-<br /><br />turn your head 360 degrees<br /><br />Not malformed and misrepresented,<br />B.K lounged and Wendy sat on a ketchup packet,<br />while many miles away someone loved a shifted<br />proletariat girl on a painted blue park-bench-<br /><br />360, back to start<br /><br />kept from falling, a redhead plumber<br />ate chinese food from the bed<br />of his pickup and would <br />have loved to smoke a cigarette-<br />"I would have loved to do it," he said,<br />"but god has yet to craft people so small,<br />as to fit comfortably in such a pipe-"<br /><br />Love you, everyone! So good to me, love you too!<br />I thought I'd not want to so opposed to sleeping-<br /><br />Blicked down to black patios, khakied old men spent<br />hours eating dried culture and fast walkers,<br />speaking of old times disappeared into air<br />like sawdust memories.<br /><br />One such elder<br />struck at Art with his blue upholstered cane,<br />capitalizing on his bottled frustration<br />that bubbled from infancy,<br />inflated from delayed flights and skipped songs<br />or halftuned pianostrings that strangled halfloved brides-<br />Confronted and ashamed, no words in my mouth but<br />harsh shouts and condemnations,<br />he mutters some busy apology,<br />rubs the bust of Aphrodite<br />and smashes her plastered spine<br />against the top of this tarred interstate.<br /><br />Not long to say ungoodbye and bad morning<br />with no such song daunted by a roseate sleep,<br />snow comes to growl<br />in his limited white vocabulary-<br />Men,<br />Attack! Attack or die! We are too deep for god, too deep for passion,<br />spawned in the crags of submerged rock<br />where the loaded harpoons glitter in the bloody folds<br />of some whaled skin-<br />leap, jump the gap or feel a chest under rock!<br />Crush skulls under some lipping tide!<br />Attack! Attack or die, see or remain blind!<br />Manifest! Expand!<br /><br />Flat waltz off a globed circle,<br />pace round some papered world,<br />I'll be at the center of your footsteps,<br />wishing I never existed.<br />I could do nothing better than bathmats<br />and preying hawks that dance round the tops of palm tree fringes,<br />flittered in terms of dead sidewalk garden-snakes.<br /><br />pt 3<br /><br />Comfortable constables sat on<br />cigar chairs, hardwood working<br />with portable kindles and firewood zapped,<br />alight and arrested from a falling everything.<br />Dog eared and dugout, some special spectral spirit<br />lay like a coffin, inert in the company of god and<br />clinical poisons.<br /><br />He lost a suitcase and literature was changed forever.<br />She slipped a cigarette and burned down a barn, while the<br />naked absurdities of man were made electronic-<br />The day she died, buses were fishlipped and flipped<br />into fiery rains.<br /><br />We realized, kissing under the moon on her front-lawn,<br />that we all will lay inside sawdust forever.<br />Remind me, once, would you?<br />Today is not a special day.<br />Today is no tour-de-force wreckingball.<br />Today is an existential crisis,<br />shifting halfway towards tomorrow in some infinite limbo,<br />always under God and always changing focus.<br /><br />Crouch on air before you fall, will you?<br /><br />A 757 breaks the billowed crowns of<br />reupholstered clouding,<br />the top of some miracle seen through a Coca-cola<br />eyeglass, the pyramid prisms of<br />alcoholic perception blurred.<br />Knifeman said, in song,<br />Don't murder me, but come on in-<br />everything is perfect, once again.<br />For favours, knives, all fucked and shamed-<br />we await the fevers for our names, and long ago<br />in concert halls and wooden theaters,<br />I talked of that famous napkin.<br />Now, now we talk of a renaissance while<br />tracked and cultured cancers search<br />for burial rinds and epithets.<br /><br />Movement is constant.<br />Life is temporary.<br />Nothing ever stops.<br /><br />Some cleaned runway pushed snow into<br />gentle side pockets.<br />Never run easy,<br />sweated pigs shaking from turbulence-<br />I have a pistol for a brain.<br />I shatter mirrors in abstract violence,<br />I am a passenger.<br /><br />Automatically brought to knees,<br />I felt sized and alive with each placemat found-<br />Acid tipped and lipped with water,<br />chased down perception and time lapses,<br />bottled or glassed necessity providing. <br />I'd snub you out if I could light you up.<br />I'd write a poem for the cost of blood and pirates<br />smoked and shown<br />in a menagerie of fucks not given,<br />worn like trophies<br />and paraded to a crowd of<br />17 in some unincorporated township.<br /><br />Sweet liberty! Sweet blood! Take up arms,<br />o'billowed energy,<br />how you rise,<br />pulled like a handkerchief<br />from some pocket's corner.<br />Life after death, or death during life?<br /><br />Never stop, oh spraypaint idol,<br />never cease 'till you read the burned pages 80 years later.<br />In high school, when the appeal of cyanide suicide<br />was debated with a democratic boy named Connor,<br />he said he didn't want to die,<br />but no street would mind if he did or didn't<br />jump the rope-<br /><br />Bloated and swift,<br />today chokes on the dregs of yesterday.<br />Nothing was made for us, anyway.<br />Nothing was made for you or me.<br />Today is not a special day.<br />Today was not made for me.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-12540693871953265282012-02-12T15:28:00.000-08:002012-02-12T15:30:19.203-08:00silly ambassadors shout obscenities to frozen lilacs and green eyes,<br />while we guzzle bottles of red wine,<br />labels coated with rolling papers <br />and freezers opened to<br />half eaten gallons of ice-cream,<br /><br />we don't sleep, we chant, still awake to count the strands of darkness <br />as we pass gladly beyond pure minds and into convolutionExoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-52536975335978820462012-02-11T16:19:00.000-08:002012-02-11T16:21:37.980-08:00Day 14Broken arms and skinny legs,<br />sad daughters frightened, stay pegged<br />by the rising tide.<br />Laced with leaping apparatus of darkened hide,<br />flashlights shine down <br />to those starlets who jumped and died.<br /><br />A broken wife depressed <br />from some broken loss of faith,<br />Waters petunias <br />in some sunny garden, half open gate<br />left ajar for fear of disgrace <br /><br />what a peculiar way to end this silly day-<br /><br />For someone more, we pray for less<br />Some kind of savior who jumps and spins, I guess<br />the thought is just as unkind as all the rest;<br />the sawdust does not matter.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-37400239818613036722012-02-10T16:37:00.000-08:002012-02-10T16:41:02.497-08:00day 13This hat will fall every-time time I look to<br />the ends of dorm room memories<br />tipping hats to cracked beers and cracked <br />memories<br /> that would fall apart when provoked to <br />feel differently. <br />And i'm sorry,<br />but it's time to shut down<br />so finish your wine <br />and leave for somewhere else.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-47495140613887141462012-02-10T16:33:00.000-08:002012-02-10T16:36:54.436-08:00day 12I apologize. I had this written on day twelve but had no access to a computer.<br />____<br />Hardball apologetics pray to gods of sunshine<br />while drunken priests eat words of therapy to<br />likewise messed preps who shake cigarettes for <br />the threat of stupor and <br />rousing flags of rebellions<br /><br />whatever the teenage do when they dream<br />is painful, <br />correct?Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-25224110118736350612012-02-08T19:49:00.000-08:002012-02-08T19:50:58.830-08:00day 11For eastern winds that blow,<br />for echoed plateaus of risen snow-<br />life is everywhere, <br />simplicity is goldenExoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-50093694587613294352012-02-07T12:14:00.000-08:002012-02-07T12:45:25.144-08:00day 10A gently tilted day is not much to awake for,<br />for if pushed to the side,<br />none would like to half-ass a triumph.<br /><br />No knees would like, in a particular sense, to <br />bounce about and walk as if mimicking a pinball;<br />falling, pushed from bumper<br /> bunker to bunker with flashing<br />neon scorecards and chiming audiotags-<br />points for concrete bounding-<br />points for breaking urban bondage<br />in terms of city blocks with freezertinged<br />homeless haired vagrants screaming,<br />admittedly, they are past due, but only <br />half late and are, as it turns to be,<br />three terrible mistakes down the road from relative success<br /><br /><br />An alarm, half ignored and fully basic,<br />sounds for hours, scribbling in appropriately low tech<br />notebooks that would gladly scribe humanities' <br />cruel secrets in the margins and log, in<br />perfection, the way in which <br />several sleeping students should awake,<br />like a long walk home from some metaphysical afterparty<br /> in the dark to arrive at a flicked light,<br />eventually falling asleep to the humming mechanics of<br />the wistful thoughts that pertain to freezing to death.<br /><br />Red eyes, half black, drawn tight and forced,<br />sunshine stains the shades in an attempt to<br />hide the daytime from nasty nighttime sins<br />while all young buck against the flow to <br />perpetrate errs. Articulating an ignored passion inbetween <br />stories of vicious <br />individuals<br /> vicariously living through empty <br />cyber skeletons, I<br /> attempt to carve some simple life into <br />these half awake forever bones-<br />for even some self destruction may suite me,<br />jumpstart waking up. In sleep I walk the dead halls<br />where religion becomes folklore, where these days become<br />history, where vacuums steal virtue and significance from<br />those who passed mildly into some fair unbecoming:<br /><br />For every tilted day will cease to be.<br />Every artificial moment will die, <br />and transform, rebirth to clouds of<br />alien skies and organic manipulations in some dimension-<br /><br />For every pinball game played <br />mayn’t be won, but in terms<br />of bondage, when the game ends<br />the chains break-<br />when the basics implode, explode, magnify,<br />and loop around to pat God’s back,<br />perhaps our specks would be to small<br />to be recognized by the impending nothingness.<br />Perhaps we’ll hide in some cosmic corner to disappear like<br />crumbs in the darkness.<br /><br />And no joker, big, small, or beheaded shall<br />play me the fool,<br />unless every gently tilted day<br />lies, speaking in generic hostility.<br />Urge the several<br />hallucinations out of hiding and coax them<br />to become tangible, No <br />playing. <br />Nothing studied or calculated- <br />everything Alien and beautiful,<br />no stars, no moon,<br />all perception.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-86397989149496288092012-02-06T19:42:00.000-08:002012-02-06T19:47:11.809-08:00Day 9Do not forsake wind,<br />or snow that crests the ground-<br />for in empty beauty<br />this life is realized and found.<br /><br />Several hours later,<br />bibles clutched to chest,<br />we sing of rocks and seasides<br />we sing of the life kept <br />neatly in our heads.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-84690131868835554742012-02-05T12:20:00.000-08:002012-02-05T12:21:32.608-08:00Day 8Why not slap some DNA into her and make her more organic?<br />Because, you know, each and every one of us<br />could be dinosaurs someday, colossal, empty bones underneath<br />layers of soil, <br />landscapes in some alien world carved<br />entirely separate.<br /><br />So why not have some fun while it lasts?<br />Because the ends of things <br />bring alien worlds to a tangible paradox,<br />because<br />unknown colours shed <br />some fingers to this perceptive universe.<br /><br />And humanity, no river sweeps over the same dam twice when it all goes<br />to hell and<br />breaks,<br />and no prescribed or doctored<br />mannerism could prepare you <br />for that moment <br />when your face twitches at the <br />thought of becoming sour, <br /><br />tweaks at the <br />mere thought of becoming worn bones<br />or silvered and rectified in some corporeal attachment.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-60916519879477685822012-02-04T16:44:00.001-08:002012-02-04T16:44:12.256-08:00Day 7and in the smallest mornings, <br />with red tips streaked across a loved sky<br />i dream of you in the wide strokes <br />measured by a colored intelligence, <br />while He, the same, <br />paints the future dot to dot, and universe to universe, with<br />thin black lines connecting souls to bodies, <br />shells to await displaced substance,<br />while thick spirits transcendental of smaller thoughts <br />touch corporeal beings and lul them to a fine-tuned slumber.<br /><br />I dream of you because you are gentle,<br />and fragile <br />and lovely.<br /><br />I could cup you in my palm<br />and protect <br />painted bones,<br />project these skinny hands<br />from ever faulting-<br />but, <br />I could dream a million dreams, and miss you no less.<br />I could see your eyes a thousand times <br />through photographs and<br />portraits <br /><br />you could be a sun to me, and warm my bones, <br />but then I could not look in your eyes.<br />Still, I would. I’d gladly go blind <br />for you,<br />and crushed powder refined to sprinkle over iced wounds<br />and open the stems of closed hearts,<br />heat the chill of forgotten want-<br />gladly, I would go blind.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-77272504104186677432012-02-03T15:16:00.001-08:002012-02-03T15:16:45.166-08:00Day 6wouldn’t you rather sink sometimes,<br />darken down deep roads and<br />gain black tinged dreams with every<br />pulse of life? To sleep and gradually gain<br />sight, like colour dripped, filtered, smeared, and feared<br />trickled down<br />to sightless creatures, <br />beautiful, made of shadows<br />and thirsty for nothing?<br /><br />Of course bottles emptied would help you <br />lose, <br />and of course<br />downfalls <br />would be enhanced by <br />smoked guns and <br />sandy chambers,<br />cracked and emptied into <br />store windows and grey <br />apartments- Like officers of the law, we sit in silence and<br /> observe<br />all the candlelit crimes the emptiness perpetrates, <br />skewed and bearded his smile is a <br />kaleidoscope built from plastic<br />paper, constructed in classrooms and brought to life in<br />tossed slumbers, and the worst thing is he doesn’t exist.<br />but he figured he wouldn’t like to sink all the time,<br />but the times he was real he wanted to be<br />artificial, and whenever<br />he shot synthetic plastic into his <br />head he nearly died, crumpled like a standup doll<br />against pillars-<br /><br />caught in a flux, drowned and sunk in nothingExoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-34522732303170653362012-02-02T18:05:00.000-08:002012-02-02T18:06:47.406-08:00day 5Nobody could have prevented the downfall of the urchin,<br />the downfall of this slick enterprise; <br />broken now it hangs half-detached, soon to fall to a shattered reality.<br />The excuse is<br />uttered in the low, vibrating notes of the<br />civil, kind scratch of some slow song<br />played on looping values <br />and echoed in dead testaments to broken tablets, <br />cracked and misused.<br />A thought is a thought, even if mislead;<br />and silence is empty spare the knowledge of self- <br />while we talk, these empty walls decide<br />that there are worse things we could always<br />be doing. And better things we<br />could forget to do.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-43714483828175272042012-02-01T12:54:00.000-08:002012-02-01T12:55:23.509-08:00Day 4Our hero was tossed in a gutter <br />with fourty pounds of latex face paint.<br />When it rained, the paint ran amoung<br />the water like it was seeping through some<br />cracks, and carried by force, the two, combined, <br />moved through the sewers and painted <br />the underbelly of our cruel city red.<br /><br />Meanwhile, among garbage bins, a man with an<br />abstract, almost bending smile <br />sniffed sawdust from<br />the cracks in the brick while<br />a woman with a black umbrella <br />and ruffled feathers <br />gawked in disgust<br />as she pushed her <br />stroller carriage faster still-<br /><br />those who do not obey or <br />understand the verminExoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-44620749843781370492012-01-31T07:45:00.001-08:002012-01-31T07:45:49.353-08:00Day 3We fade like shadows <br />cast once upon the midnight snow.<br />For no sun could produce <br />such artificial beauty alongside<br />the dark places where such <br />pretty young things break.<br /><br />Lamplight moons will forever<br /> illuminate fresh fallen white,<br />so soon to melt into the <br />sunken cold of wet ground.<br /><br />And no willed conversation to a doomed man <br />could give the night a tangible thought of day.<br /><br />We fade likes shadows cast prematurely,<br />without thought, once upon some midnight snow.<br />Soon to regret in the context of<br />some simple, sunrise, melting morning.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-17444152554959943712012-01-30T18:59:00.000-08:002012-01-30T19:00:20.134-08:00Day 2Silence now, forever moving<br />bodies of electric currents<br />sparked in ebbs of dying silence<br />now is forever. <br /><br />For those poor men who lie in flames<br />to die is just another game.<br />Played for those who live in silence.<br /><br />And for the second day I feel<br />a insecurity tangible, real.<br />For those who meld in melting times-<br />for those who live, those who die-<br />For life is but an endless dream<br />and we shall<br />fade like shadows cast<br />upon the <br />snow.Exoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9002004852505108498.post-10628503998484851442012-01-29T10:22:00.000-08:002012-01-29T10:23:34.266-08:00Day 1This is<br />For those who dream of landscapes.<br />For those who dream of<br />low, rolling hills, <br />crests of tanned leather earth,<br />cracked by the abuse of hard rays <br />unfiltered, unadulterated.<br /><br />Pilgrims search for water, screaming<br />for some retribution or replenishment,<br />While my mind trades the golden exploration of sleep<br />for the terror of a starving voice-<br /><br />And sweeping movements of sand<br />carry thoughts away to end and rest-<br />If one would change, he’d<br />be a strand, a grain set to move<br />against the flow- one grain in all<br />to cause an improbable shift of consciousness-<br />one shift to cause an avalanche, one drop<br />to cause a flood, and as if god was merely a<br />journey upwards, logic bends and cracks to point, <br />and science would not obey the <br />laws of empty chambers<br />and the angst of dying physics.<br /><br />In a reality contained within infinite shells, hard,<br />baked solid by the desert sun,<br />we fall, slowly, to dust as these sawdust years<br />pass like mirage faded in perception.<br /><br />I search for words to describe the<br />euphoria that moonlit evening when<br />I lifted-<br />but, I was scared. Something was<br />pulled like a handkerchief from my<br />inner, and I lay comatose while<br />visions harshly divided and I saw Him-<br />In some energy, red and billowing-<br />and I did not deserve to feast upon Him-<br /><br />And forever parched and bleeding,<br />throats sore from endless screaming-<br />No hell, but those who never cease for seeking-<br />And for those who dream of dreamscapes, high and rising-<br />for those good men who fell from heights of lightening-<br />I despise those thoughts so frightening, but<br />who I am I to err for visions uninviting-<br />And several costs and bills paid later<br />I had a love but now I hate her-<br />For fear of loss, I’ll remain a savior <br />a synthetic instrument played much later-<br />And for those asleep, awake or dreaming<br />there's nothing more to feel-<br /><br />must be more to feelExoticfallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16380270799084764914noreply@blogger.com0