seraphemera: diamonds to dust
20 entries back

Date:2005-06-14 23:59
Subject:convergence
Security:Public

do you find many people here
at the convergence
of sensuality, technology, spirituality
where the ladder being built takes one toward art
the space that comes with such freedom
and the possibility of liberation to follow?

there are still a few of us out here
we know this for certain
beating in that corner of heart
where that which is never understood
(no matter how close we convince ourselves we have become)
resides and waits and laughs -

this is why we continue to wander
wondering whether or not
any can walk the road for such a duration
those who have kept the flames burning
for so many years of life
who have not let the world
frighten us into silence
somewhere around the age of twenty 5

but when we have yet to meet
and in this endless travel
come across the plains of white birch
(the illusion of a zebra's world to the untrained eye)
we walk haughtily into this forest
with the expectation
there is no need to come out alive
until the snowstorms fall

they say
in the end
we are all dead men
but somehow
those such as us
refuse to believe such a story
and will die finding a way
not to give in

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Date:2005-06-13 23:00
Subject:to catch a flight such as a cold or fire
Security:Public

in the lands
far apart
where the living
miss the dying of the dead
we are saved from the images
of transfiguration
that grasp the face in final hours
and render ourselves absolved
from memories
that are filled with horror

for if we are so untrained
at removing the images of media
burned into our minds
toward a melting corrosive consciousness
how can the moment
once the lightening has passed
be ever dissipated
from the mantle
that sits right behind the eyes

this is not a field that is level nor balanced
and to scale the hill of bones is to set sail
through a mountainous storm of aeons ago
that speak endless endless words
against all that one might dream to possibly
become that which is true a generation or three from now
yet certainly not in time
to remit the contract for our own demise

for here, as the harbinger of death watches
sits next to us in movie theatres
sings along at our concerts
graces age after page of our novellas
we have left our fate and neck
bared to the mercy of the whim of players
who are of a game and plane
we are yet not so certain of

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Date:2005-06-11 22:58
Subject:11
Security:Public

on a darkened road
that leads into the backwoods of the town
the headlights shine upon the face
of the only sign that knows you have returned home

here, where the population
is measured only by numbers
you do not expect fanfare or a band
and without any to do
you are driven to the p(a)lace of showdown
long ago determined
the game of chance no longer in control

a sigh of relief
is breathed upon windshield pane
and for a moment
in the reflection
there is a memory
of that which was dared to become

yet this is not about nostalgia

the years-before metaphor
of arch-angelic promises to the gods
that they who must be defeated
brought to justice
for the subservient service toward those sub-servient
will be tried and convicted
before the laws of the land
(though the laws of the land
are not the laws of the living
or those that make promises to the gods)

this is the place where life shifted
from the service of that which was a higher power
to a seeking of one's own power
the realization that to serve
one must already know some greatness
to serve in the presence of those
who have already back-traveled
this same road
and bid adieu
to the headlight sign
for the final time

with this a second sigh of relief
washes away the fingertips
this breath
a gift from the gods once angered
allowing
the breath that should have been
to be tucked away
as a gift
for when another
requires
though all gifts from the gods
being double-edge swords
will ask something great in return

this is the bargain of forgiveness
not found in basement stores
or in the towers
of temples
where only the holiest of holy
may go

this is the deal
once made
never unbound
traveling tattooed to the back
and ears and toes
til the end of the contract made

there
where the bodhisattva
must kill to outshine
we will not be governed by color of robe
or act toward man
but within one's own design
of judgment
not judgment of design

this is the glimmer and glimpse
of all that was imaginable
when the keys were handed over for the first time
the year before metaphors
when all that mattered
was a mattress to sleep upon
and a dream upon sleep

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Date:2005-06-09 22:55
Subject:essence and effort (begun)
Security:Public

the consistency
of personal history
is the rewriting
of the order
in which we can claim our realizations
(as if knowing in youth
could have saved any of us
from the follies
we played forth upon
our supporting cast -
those who we so dutifully chose
with an attempt at perfection
rather than precision)

this
is where
we sit from here
unseen
the inevitable theme
of the fine line in between
knowing and feeling

out there
when chance is enough
for the road trip
and we achieve
the dissemination
of metaphor and meaning

here
at the starting punt
of the treasure hunt
with the personal
contemplation complications
who arise
long after sealed fates
revealed
turn and wheel out the doorway
through the field
only to collapse
and drown
in the hay

to all this
how is reaction formed?
with a circling of the lips
a turning of the wagons
a frown of arrogance and a place of impetus
where the woodwork
vomits out the care and sacraments and tidings
of unnamed and long forgotten foes

to tell this tale
any tail
due to some brief shimmer
(or shimmer of briefs)
that the warning
may be useful to another
is to defeat the telling of the tale

to tell the tale for purpose
will change the story for worse

thus, find no conclusions here
no completions
no complications

no tidy ending (yet)

(and maybe a cheap causation at a sequel)

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Date:2005-06-08 22:19
Subject:sport
Security:Public

turn this journal
into a drinking game

every time the words
turn
too serious
take a shot of something

you will not make it far
but the seriousness
will surely cease

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Date:2005-06-07 23:29
Subject:the rotation of the ball in flight
Security:Public

within a glimpse of the grasp of the moment
the decisions that are made on what must come next
is no more than an equation betweeen
numbers statistics and patterns
somewhere in the midst of pi
rather than skill or chance
or even the fated luck which seems to drop in
and allow itself to be beaten on the rare occasion
that the proper sacrifices are made
the proper superstitions followed
the proper maze satisfied
and free will becomes not the question but the consequence
the solution if you will
to equation of choice and chance wherein even variables
are absolutes

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Date:2005-06-05 21:11
Subject:extinguished
Security:Public

these fires sneak within us
only to be extinguished
(though we did remember
to leave the gates unlocked)
“to satisfy the longings of our pores”
feeding on air, not only to breathe

while climbing there are no questions
just drive, directions forgot, a lack of hero’s plan
speeding through thought unspeakable
the magic is lost
as the words are spoken

thus it is:

the bowl of pasta
turning the stomach heavy
wanting nothing but a nap
when the story of a lifetime
begs you to ink it away

the smile of another
lifting the body high
at naked
there is nothing for which to rise
not even to wake for dream

the night turned morning
when sun brings sleep
the whole day through
fearing the light turned back to darkness

as the cycles fall we will fall to you

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Date:2005-06-04 23:40
Subject:traversal (version 2)
Security:Public

he smiles at cobblestones talks to walls
walks slowly not quite on this side of madness
or silence never screamed so loud as when he sat
alone for twenty days with fourty others just like him
they sat together each alone by fireside forming circles
not of prayer, communion or friends singing into the emptiness
of still night air warmed by flame some turned to warmth to let her fall
upon their face while others turned their backs to feel her warmth without having to

look
[nevermind seeing]

as they had come to this place to circle in upon feeling
at least as a beginning a deeper less spoken role to be that of a place of seeing

seeing beyond
[nevermind the simple eyes]

up and over and not the in-between pushing through
two walls having collapsed on either side there is still a way out
up and over to something that had not been thought of before
and that is what these words are for those whose minds are not yet closed
sealed in stone and can think of things never thought before

so the mind may move from two dimensions passing through third dimensional thought into the place of ten forming from sound where music art
and words falling from fingers and tongues of the ancients
find life in the breath of the men who live giving life to these things
within giving them form not defining them
refining them by fire and circles and cycles
of life and death of thought as it once was
bypassing traditions as controls that we have set upon ourselves
to keep things simple unchallenging
as if what we are is all that we can be
and no more not a drop more not a moment more not a possibility in sight
and as we would wish to be remaining forever at some place in a wilderness
thinking that the places of beauty are but legends of false prophets
sent back from tribes of mirage towers of bricks that translate only as lowly heavens

there are no promises of better places if only we keep our feet and hands clean
there are no promises that can be wrought from any iron gates
there are but possibilities and insights and cities to be built of our own design
not wrought in the stones of history but given breath to be known that the breath must always change for life to traverse these sands to move in the direction of our will
in the motion of our spirit as we too must evolve or grow stale bitter and crumble
ourselves becoming ancient ruins our words becoming responses
when all that is creation falls when we falter and follow when the first word
and the last breath are the same force and our stories are left to legends
of campfires and midnight skies beauty lost in the translation
of those who failed to understand

___________________________________


there is no human nature as if we were some unalterable beast sprung from seas and plains or heavens and creationist theories that has not the capability of an upgrade or evolutionary concerns or transcendant feature sets that include the ability to only love or hate, go to war or let live in peace, choose black or white for the landscaping of our planet as we choose christian or muslim for our interior designers.

truth or lies and mirror images cast from the mold of a god or his evil sidekick his brother once upon a time an angel

until the day he wanted more than that which he was. aspire to evolve only to be cast out. eternity in a lake of fire for reward or retribution. so we have been given these lines of mathematical division invisible lines in spiritual sands creating sides and original sin requiring forgiveness before even a breath [much less a thought] has been formed

so here we are standing

[much less a thought]

at a crossroads as it were and i ask you if the only image you can conjure in your mind is that of the guitarist standing by the fenceside waiting for ‘ol Lucifer to walk on by and offer fame for soul, death for life, and all other sorts of trades that have some sense of equivalency doled out over time as if the now were really the most important as if tomorrow might never come

[much more than thought]

give me blue skin and yellow eyes or a choice of paisley and plaid with a trade-in at thirty years or three hundred thousand miles on foot that allows for a paused game and a player change and a game that does not quite so resemble a race. this is where we bail out and take the plunge into the clouds for we know with a feeling and an insight (which is not so different from your faith - just that it is not a faith in anything particular) and a thought that even if what we seek does not yet exist we will wish it into creation on the way down

[not to be confused with descension from heavens]


these creations of ours are not those of your god or theirs. not given under directives of obedience adherence to our ways or commands to suffer for our glory. do not sacrifice your children on an altar bearing my name your worship means not to me what it does to your father, his son, a prophet or a spirit given the name of holy. it is the creation which gives pleasure not the control. it is the expression and formation of that which is ours that you witness

of things that are not simply
[black or white or shades of grey]

creations not classified in control groups [subsets] heroes and villains and scripted foils and all things part of the Plan in place long before we arrived on the scene

strutting in across the canvas spreading color over black and white changing the landscape in a way it was said things could not be affected. sliding down black mountains in red pants while laughter flies coloring birds in brand new shades with songs never before fallen upon your ears

[to these sounds one ought to listen]

or get caught up in the devolutionary ladder as if greased and ready to go we slide down thinking that this is some new form of playground game that we only find access to at 25 after the drinking and smoking and porn and car rental timeline-landmarks have been passed and all that is left on the path of birth school marriage kids death is the downhill slope (leave it to you to decide where the peak of the meter begins and where the ascent ends)

for these are the chain-link disguises that read no adults allowed without a legal child guardian’s accompaniment like some sort of orchestral open-mindedness that one is required to have not simply in tow but implanted fully into the system and unscrupulously a part of all intents purposes and acknowledgements of greetings which become either salutations or cacophonies of inquisition - not in the sense of the crusades that we have imploded upon but under the terms conditions and warranties herein that are not so much a caveat but a disclaimer that says you can not buy your way to wings and thus beware we promise you nothing from these books and songs and lessons without an equal part sugar butter and effort put back in

[check this then at the foot of the stairs]

and decide whether or not you believe in the stairway to heaven or the escalator to some floor higher above in a high rise with no escape route and only a few who can sift through the buzz of what might be on those other floors that one believes cannot be achieved without a key although the simple defense of having a keyhole has stopped all those from trying when a little secret to let you in on is this: the door has never been locked - all you have to do is push where it says pull and all would have been granted to you - though if you take this too seriously you won’t ever try to find your way back there to follow this detailed map that you still cannot believe was so easy to track down because it actually has walked right up to you

[where it had waited for some time]

while you continued your search through over and around for it’s appearance was not as you had anticipated. standing on the level awaiting the repairman who might come to fix this esacalator frozen in a moment of ascension never realizing that an escalator is never out of order

[it just becomes stairs]

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Date:2005-06-03 04:38
Subject:traversal
Security:Public

he smiles at cobblestones talks to walls
walks slowly
not quite on this side of madness
or silence
never screamed so loud as when he sat
alone
for twenty days
with fourty others
just like him
they sat together
each alone
by fireside forming circles
not of prayer, communion or friends
singing into the emptiness
of still night air warmed by flame
some turned to warmth to let her fall
upon their face
while others turned their backs
to feel her warmth
without having to look
[nevermind seeing]

as they had come to this place
to circle in upon feeling
at least as a beginning
a deeper
less spoken role
to be that of a place of seeing
seeing beyond
[nevermind the simple eyes]
up and over
and not the in-between
pushing through
two walls having collapsed on either side
there is still a way out
up and over
to something
that had not been thought of before
and that
is what these words are for
those whose minds
are not yet closed
sealed in stone
and can think of things
never thought before

so the mind may move from two dimensions
passing through third dimensional thought
into the place of ten
forming from sound
where music art
and words falling from fingers and tongues of the ancients
find life in the breath of the men
who live giving life to these things
within
giving them form
not defining them
refining them
by fire
and circles
and cycles
of life
and death
of thought
as it once was
bypassing traditions as controls
that we have set upon ourselves
to keep things simple
unchallenging
as if what we are
is all that we can be
and no more
not a drop more
not a moment more
not a possibility in sight
and as we would wish to be
remaining forever at some place in a wilderness
thinking that the places of beauty
are but legends of false prophets
sent back from tribes of mirage towers
of bricks that translate only as lowly heavens
there are no promises of better places
if only we keep our feet and hands clean
there are no promises that can be wrought from any iron gates
there are but possibilities and insights
and cities to be built of our own design
not wrought in the stones of history
but given breath to be known that the breath must always change
for life to traverse these sands

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Date:2005-06-02 22:36
Subject:fortune/fortunate
Security:Public

there is fortune in the wind i fear
and there are hands stretched in mourning sleep
grabbing letters on wings in air so sheer
that there is not more than a moment meant for each
to reach to the sky
and cry out thinking that heaven is above
with a hope and a prayer and a flag waving “Here!”
as if to speak some call to a blind omnipotence
who may be everywhere in every passing moment
but has not the eyesight
to go with the job

so men and children wander alike
each alone but for the one “watching over” them
in their wanderings meandering searching for the one
who should know where they should go
the one who might tell them
which path might lead, to eternity

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Date:2005-05-31 23:35
Subject:the janitor
Security:Public

every temple has a keeper
whose feet meet the wearing away
of the stone floor
with an awareness
those who pass through yearly
can only feign

to be, he, who knows the echo
of prayer halls silent
not the tinged on edge dread
us visitors portend
where even the rustle
of this pen to paper
has set someone away
from their predetermined sight

instead
these words
decipher symbols of youth
where metaphors believe
they are as new
as the skin they dress each morn
another generation in which so few
will carry past initial misinterpretations
and continue from childhood again

yes, this is what passes for innocence today:
the willingness to tear down all that has been
without concern
for whether or not
such convergences
might rise again
(this is not to call purity a spectral justification
for an unfulfilling life, although
the path around to the shack
of the tabula rasa
requires more than just a
determination of pretends)

however, with patience
a sense of convergence
might occur
in which all points do not converge
upon oneself
and the freedom to breathe
rhythmically until the heart's contend
is within reach

this is how one wished to portray the janitor
he with the key to all places
the sacred traces
in which only seriousness
dare cross over our faces

yet he,
knowing no other may enter
from sunset to sunrise
that through the night
his care is priestly and divine
dances
barefoot
across squares of stone
upon which we
only dare softly
to tread

thus, in obviousness are these words written
a templated answer
for future worlds
tucked into the cracks
of walls within chapels
where a nod
from the guardian
understands

to he, who is the living key
sweeping away the presence
of that which need not remain
tending to the space
with the skill of a seraphim blade
keep this hidden for the day
our line reconvenes,
a child's curiosity
leads to dreams,
or the walls
of our beloved chambers
crumble to dust

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Date:2005-05-30 23:16
Subject:chef in prophet's robes
Security:Public

where there is a spring of comfort
our parties inevitably travel
building bridges
to carry companions onward
burning bridges
so none will follow

to dissipate such companions
as protection against population
is a harsh, thus successful weapon

yet the lesson to be learned
in setting walkways aflame
should be the impossibility
of going back
an assurance that newness
is the only direction
to travel
no base camps to return
as we are not going home

instead
all that is acquired
from birth to life to death
is a crutch
entertainment value
multiplied by familiarity
attenuated to a summation
of what percentage of the day
one might watch their sleeping smile
rise and fall yet rise again

such a revelation is not new
these rhythms have been turned
through and through
tightened by the screws
planted in winter's ground
to test that which might rise again
next summer
when the difference
from year to year
is no different than last year
in which that which feeds
still feeds
and starvation
still threatens alternate lands

onward
then
into the unknown country
where wheat is threshed yet barren
without the knowledge kneaded
to rise above

onward
then
past head-tall fields
while leaving behind stories of bread
in trade for shelter

onward
then
to the places
where dirt is all for the eye to see
search for those
who dream visions
of the ground
fruitful
only then
can one bring forth a teaching

for you can bring forth a recipe
but only those with the fire
of the sun
in ovens stoked
by the desire
to be
keep the fields tilled
in the ways
of evolution

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Date:2005-05-29 13:19
Subject:up, out
Security:Public

of those
with dreams of death
how many have been suffocated?

where
instead of the clock's dire ticking
sparking flame in each finger's dance
the resignation to the cold stone fate sets in

out here upon the frontier
past the lands of decay
the village and the veil of reckoning
up
out
from the doorway of a linear demise

what chromosome has been tinkered with
the bugs left in and seeded to the world
a release in which youth are impatient
the elderly sit passively by

how obvious the lack of logic in this programming
to be young and running only to deceive

shouldn't we scream
as our ends draw nigh
our fire fighting
as suns do die
to burn in orgasmic nova
leaving ripples in space
as our only remains

thus now this code
written ages ago
stored on the drive of a shaven head
beta tested through years
of tedious life
is now set to screen
is now set coursing through veins
coming and going in arteries
blood flowing with dreams

all of this
that which is set to true or false
that which is set to cascade
that which is carried from one window toward another
that which returns unexpected results
that which returns undocumented paths
that which returns irreplaceable words

is shared simply for this:
that we make it past our date of destiny
to live on
up
out
beyond

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Date:2005-05-28 21:49
Subject:where the wind whistles absently
Security:Public

there are these packages
call them burdens
dug out of the heart
with a shovel, pick, and switchblade
wrapped with a hand
knowing no schedule of holidays
and thus may never be opened

this is the damage
from the unattainable
(sic) peace(s) of broken glass
placed gently against the minds
of those longing to roll over, discover
embedded in the centre chamber of the hall
that light still shines
to the bottom shaft of night

these are the fascinations
call them alleyways
with wrought iron stair
and brickface facade
(as if the architect had turned worlds
inside out)
a destination
toward which we descend without purpose
not willing to believe
that the journey is everything

this is the shelter we all have inside
this is the world we have to get lost in
this is the labyrinth to which only we hold the map
(even as borrowed and as tattered as we may become)

here, at the end of the possible
once one realizes
that the verge has finally become
a world to escape to
is based
on the secret predilection
of solitude
(thus the dissipation
of the world
depends
on the decadence of companionship)

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Date:2005-05-26 21:45
Subject:a vert eyes
Security:Public

that their eyes, avert eyes, meet eyes, catch eyes
avoid eyes, see eyes, see through eyes,
wide eyes, wandering eyes
wondering eyes
as passing ships decide
to dock the next port
and trade stories
of stars misaligned

that their cries, sad cries, joyous cries,
dancing cries, ecstatic cries, blind cries, silent cries
cries in tongues of dying tribes
abide by the rules
set forth by the ancients
only until we have set this destiny astride

that their minds, flying minds, passioned minds,
glory mine, evolving and encompassing and enlightening minds
tearless minds which don't mind
that the times may pass them by
for their tireless pursuit
of the timeless sign
enlivens their cry
through the thousand word drive

that their tries, still to fly, wings to shine,
height so high
quiet lies in rhythmic sighs
of dusty sides and the drying of the prize
which causes us to seek alibis
in these trying times...

here, where passion buys so little rhyme
we waste away night after night, wondering why
rather than just tasting the ecstasy
that is built for the mystery of the secrets of time

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Date:2005-05-25 22:22
Subject:the intuition carries the day
Security:Public

somewhere remains of a circle are crumbling
shattered to dust at taught-call of a rope
listen! the canter of horses asunder
dragging me screaming away from lost hope

now we are out on the darkness of prairie
hear the cold sounds of a pack still to feed
gather ourselves to the fires now friendly
forget what is conflict, stand tall in our need

rise up with the sunlight to find all is sacred
the night brought no bloodshed no death no new fear
find that the watchman abandoned his post
yet nothing brought harm nor enemy near

continue the journey until voices remind us
this is the land you promised to sow
whether the hands to build will come calling
this is our question, this we don't know

tell all the stories while rocking in silence
on a porch that encircles the sound of the drum
with a slight touch of longing, of memorabilia
not for who we were but what we've become

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Date:2005-05-22 17:14
Subject:frontier
Security:Public

there is always the temptation to leave everything behind
fly somewhere else
find yet another beginning
believe that a new location
sweeps away the habits and the details
cleanses the palate
sets the tabula rasa upright and arranged
for the meal of the strangers to come

but from hills to mountains to glorified plains
something new to wake up to, look out the window
is not the guarantee of an evolutionary path

there comes a time to journey internally
find geography nestled between heart and spleen
settle into a final destination
within soft places
borderlands
unseen

and so there sits in the back of the mind
an image of the dakotas
a ranch populated by friends
where the circle of tender
is paid for by the work
of the hands
that together
mend

this is the reminder to check the mailbox
a silver-lined envelope
touched with a pen
drawn in capitals
with an invitation to join us

not quite there
but a reminder til then

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Date:2005-05-21 21:51
Subject:chapter four
Security:Public

the eugenics of the imagination has succeeded
what is left, lives like dogs, in the sun

sterilized for the sake of the immature
back to secret canvases
like the walls of caves

galleries built deep underground
clubs formed to admit the knowledgable
no chance to reach the uninformed

like a field of grass becoming a museum
a moment to breathe imagination
is a concept lost

thus a realization dawns
and chapter four begins

freedom is only the space to attempt art
but it is liberation which gives us the vision to create

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Date:2005-05-20 00:10
Subject:a third chapter
Security:Public

these dreams do not come as epiphanies
but as glimpses of destiny
one lonely piece at a time

in snippets of rhetoric anger
of quiescent fortitude
a relentless solitude
within a century of slow decay

thus when moments come and go
when but a handful of words will suffice
there is confidence if not apparent comfort
that the way of the wor(l)d drawing nearer
still remembers that a promise once was made

and even though such a promise
in some sense seems trivial
parsed and high-school english literal
without mystery or everlasting
these contracts come from a place of spontaneous desire
which renders a space
in the liberation halls
for us all

thus in moments coming and going
where the patterns and circuits and repetitions
haunt us like some coded message
in which only with the death of the closest
will the key be revealed -
i save disparate pieces of the riddle
with the knowledge that one day we must meet

a jigsaw puzzle piece bright red
found in the words of a poet
who barely even speaks

tucked in the same pocket
as a piece cerulean blue
found underneath a velvet leaf

these, from seemingly different photographs
of a time somewhere in our past or future

(however, upon examining the grain of wood
such opposites revel in similarity
reveal camaraderie
if not solution and a hint of whence they will be made?

what choice is there other than to keep running?
seeking something that there are no words for
but can be touched by the tip of the tongue
and brought to rapture
with the simple act of listening
a sight that is glistening
the solitary walk of the wanderer
whistling
to announce not her presence
but to dare that someone dream of her again

thus in moments come and gone
spun on a wheel in the heart of the machine
that is this mind
we must revisit and relearn
while not reinterpreting
for the bird carved into the wood
is a phoenix
no matter which creature
you may want the wings
to be

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Date:2005-05-18 23:27
Subject:there is no sitting still no matter what one wishes to believe
Security:Public

it is said
that at some point in the night
the boots must come off
leave the feet to defend themselves
discard the socks like a child's rattle
for something that seems more flavorful

the glasses put down
the vision becoming hazy
all devices off and the toys put to bed
the darkness covers
the silence warms
the countdown until dawn
quietly begins

however,
night does not fall for those of us
who do not slumber without purpose
for those of us who walk tall
into the empire of dream
for those of us who walk through the fields of plenty
try to carry our awareness past the moon waning thin

call me sometime and speak where to meet you
on a mountainside cave
or the green diner of chrome
let us sit and be common
in a land of our choosing
leave the chaos that's dawning
outside of our heads

or come without calling
and appear in the shadows
chase me down with laughter and aplomb
let us run to a valley that has seen no humans
for ten thousand years
and can not be entered
on foot or by sea
until long after
we have dreamed
our final dreams

(to be continued/revisited)

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