2022
My words are dissolving like an old, old man covered in mud hunched in the corner unexpectedly brooding - lazily, he fades into nothingness.
In life, the semantics are drawn out, slowed to a tangible rhythm. Sentences pass by like a leaf in a stream, meanings are sucked out of damp stones, tongues course, jaws entangled - Inside in parallel, wet leaves flow through a winding mass I have only stepped in once. But as my mind clears and the clinging hand loosens its grip, leaf and river becomes scenery, and gently I reach into the stream and shape a human form from the mud.
I Am ImmortalCalmly following the relaxed ebb and flow of the waves expanding and
contracting over mossy stones - gnarled pines stand proud and tall
overhead, bathing me in their ancient wisdom - I am immortal.
Four figures twirling and dancing, the bass drum mimics the beat of the
universe, guitars sing beautiful melodies, and contorted lips form a
chorus that tugs at the heart - I am immortal.
Loving so deeply until you and the beloved become one, suffering so
deeply until you and the suffering become one, it all coalesces into the
infinite - I am immortal.
Two Poems about the Intuitive Heart
Trust the gut of the universe: It knows all because it has consumed
all
Everything beyond the veil is also veil
Until you focus on the intuitive heart inside
And watch it get ripped apart
Just to lay open-
Trials by fire.
Ah.. so
So here we are:
Empty of our separation
All ears for the lover
Listening close to the pitter-patters of the intuitive heart
Swaying this way or that, gently tugging, an open brochure
Read the fine print closely
All the instructions are there:
How to find a home inside
How to hear what it is
This body must do
While I’m sitting here
Just sitting, so lovely
And watching the dance go on, the wheels turning
The old man’s hands withered and decaying
just as they should be.
Driving the car to go visit friends and also destroy innocent
lives
in places that just so happen to be rich with oil
Man of oil-
He has many faces and limbs. And all of us,
Lost children
Running straight into his open, loving arms to horrible endings.
Every possible pain
every possible scrutinization
are all ours to share.
We Are Open!
And I’d go so far as to be
totally convinced that any
words I write down could
possibly explain how the
all-pervading light reflecting
across the lake and melting
into your face amidst total
darkness means anything
other than what it is-
And all the funny poems and metaphors
all mean the exact same thing
You know me and you know exactly
what I was thinking as the heavy
pounding rain folded up my green
pants and the celestial skies merged
into one great circle commanding
the rest of the night-
And sprinting
home you read my mind as my
senses all switched off
Sopping and dripping I
looked inside.
And I’d go so far as to look at
the drawings on the wall and
be convinced that I drew them
wearing a face that vaguely resembles mine, then
Laying in the grass I would re-recognize
everything like how all of my friends are Gods.
And given an opportunity to
learn from your heartbreak and tears
I know
We are open!
Aimless, dreamlike
Aimless, dreamlike.
Whether unnamed urban street
or endless fields
of glass, I keep on ending
up in the shadow of the
same view; glinting sun reflecting
on something tall and illusive like
a tree or tower or mound of dirt.
And craning my neck to get a glimpse
of the light, I stand on
tip toes unbalanced and unruly. It’s
the stretches of sand on the beach in November,
it’s burning the eyes on a stone
by the pond, it’s the blinding blue
vision that surrounds the
landscape up on the quarry behind
unfinished concrete caverns - when you realize
everything you know is dissolving. Ahhh… so…
it always circles back to that
moment of birth. That
moment that never leaves even
with three
deep
breaths.
10/16/22
A knock on the door
Reverse engineering the hysteric dream
It’s constant mania
But through the plethora of swirling colors and motion
I burn my fingers in the flame
I touch something Real in her hair
The tension rising and falling and rising again
We are all open here
No place for secrets or thoughts of my own
It’s all shared journey
A place we’ve all been before
And here we are again
Walking ourselves back home
Butterfly kisses
Take me to the place where we would plant butterfly
kisses on each other’s lips like the little kids we are,
Burning holes through our ocean skin,
Never quite understanding why we rejoiced when
the bright flame licked up any sense of meaning.
How our heavy feet made the world reverberate with
every slow step on unnamed streets-
And dissolve completely on sloping dunes.
And when we buried ourselves in sand from head to toe,
The waves,
With snow-white uniqueness, ever-changing-
But still waves all the same,
Would lull us gently to sleep.
Take me to the place where snakes writhe hidden,
Beneath our checkered protection-
On which we lie unaware,
Tugging on shining blades of grass.
Where our lazy fingers would draw random lines in the Earth.
And we would scream every obscenity that found
itself parasite to our bleeding tongues-
Never questioning this unobserved will,
Never wondering just how far down the water
reached under our outstretched, paddling arms.
Take me to the place where everything we touch
turns to flame-
And kiss me as we douse ourselves in gasoline.
Doors wide open
Constant non-attention
A plethora of ‘isms
Fragile ties to emphatic non-discretion.
See me
Lost in a sea
Or don’t see-
Textile granulations
As I touch on granite.
Leaves no marks but burns the hand,
untethered, but twisting
Wrings an owl’s neck
And suffers my addictions.
Fuel for the flame
Animalistic scavenging
Heavy, heavier
Let heave my holy lungs!
Imagine:
Indented in
Snowed in fields
Snuggled between gray cabins-
Once filled sections
Printed, patterned
Aloof and dragging
Like crust-filled crashing waves
Piano chords
And
Swaying in the wind,
Rebellious insufferable purpose
Doors wide open.
Would you listen?
The grey smoke upside-down drips thick
The surrounding air plays no tricks
In, my breath
-Out my exhale, the script
Pages I tore up and left
as litter on the street.
If I don’t play for no-one
What is left on set?
Costumes, props, backdrops-
The actors all quit.
If I’m a lonely observer,
One seat away, stage left,
I’m here to show the stage
I’m here to show myself.
If I’m a lonely observer,
I make no effort-
I am no change.
But the play goes on,
And no one is there to hear it.
If I’m a lonely observer
Consuming all sound,
filled with it, frothing at the edges
Would you listen?
Uh-tendencies
What’s this discrepancy?
My tendency to my tendencies
A non-conversational complacency
Of informal formalcies
What’s this discovery?
My sly shadow turns its back
Mirages I clench and expunge
Expanding secure un-securities
What’s this redundancy?
I am a moon revolving habitually
Un-forming liquid light mercury
Shapes, faces, phases,
(Uncomfortable company)
What’s my immunity?
Exposure of darkness, expulsion of light
Tear this bandage off the moon
Re-evolve me, resuscitate this orbit
(Left, right, up, out)
Lava lamp
My ears are all plugged up
-Who are you talking to?
Look at me
Sway your hips
Milk a cow with your hands
I have
No place to be
Or so I thought, watching your crescendo
Rise and rise and rise
Adversary to the sun
But-
You don’t come back down
You’re a song that never ends
A lava lamp set to boil
Until,
It bursts into flame and pieces of goo
And terrific shining glass shards
Peelin’ it aside
I used to think that darkness was
The natural state of things but now
My state of mind has changed and I
Am just where I was again but still
Somewhere completely different I think
Now that there’s a heavy wool blanket
Draped over things simulating obscurity
But if you happen to fall in love or
Get really high on stuff you can gain
The strength to timidly tug on just
A corner of fate-fulfilling warm
Illusion and peeling it aside you see
The bright mind-numbing Sun and it
Burns your face and eyes and dries
Your lips up like a fire and all you
Want to do is scream at the Sun for
Disrupting your pretty little nightmare
Place I think that anybody can really
Get used to anything even though
Change causes the worst of suffering
Is dissatisfaction just a part of me
Or will I ever be able to-
Look into the brightest lights without
Wincing and yearning for how things
Were before?
9:05 Katonah train
How could I be anything
But totally and completely
relaxed-
As I gaze out the window
from my seat on the
train, and observe
the fleeting landscape
of graves?
Across from me the seats
are empty and full at
the same time.
When I close my eyes
and chant I am dead
and alive at the same time.
Open them:
More graves, more peace.
I’ve died so many times.
And lived to tell the tale.
Ah!
A beautiful lazy river-
It’s corrupt.
By dirty concrete and
pollutants.
Graves again
Oh!
A corrupt lazy river
interferes with concrete.
So:
I sit on my train seat
Uncorruptible.
Do ya need an explanation?
If I give it to you it
won’t be explainable
Anymore.
The most I can say is
this:
Rusty iron statue!
Flat, to an extent
Of mother and child
holding hands.
A Beautiful Refinement of the Decline
I wasn’t ever able to get rid of that feeling of being left behind, so I just had to wait. But now that I’m finally here, it seems that everybody’s already gone. It’s a generous give and take, tugging on the pressure points in my ears. This must be what they meant by a beautiful refinement of the decline.
Another Poem about the Breath
Breathe or get
High either
way I’m there
at that place
where it’s all
a beautiful screen
Reenacting
the full color and
character of the
lives of actors in
un-skippable advertisements
Who did you get this
time? Which set of
die did you roll?
I’m curious
as to how you
managed to pull
the cards this
type of way?
Breathe out and
I’m sober.
Universe
Universe I know your face
universe you look just like me
The aesthetic leaves me quite enamored
Who is this poetry-writer and do you do something like I do?
Do you see me like I see me through your eyes?
I only have a minute but I’m not a writer like that
I’ll go skinny dipping and lose my shirt and lose my wintered
youth
I’ll wander and catch the wind with my arms if only I have the strength
to lift them and grow feathers
And my heart will break so many more times
And maybe in a couple years I’ll recognize who exactly to blame for you
going to prison.
The exact words fade so quickly
How can I care?
When the significance is a shining something in the sand
Breathing in
Crashing, white existence
And breathing out
A happy return to nothingness.
Pity party
What is this overgrown pity party? A tangle of snappers, trippers, pointy bushes and roughened hands indefinitely loops in a mocking trail. It’s a bird with a huge beak and glowing, putrid eyes flocking in circles high above your head, shouting and cawing. Left wondering how such a large beak could ever be supported by wind and air, the cold handed slap reproaches.
Once again slipping
Look,
This man sells his poems. They are original and on-demand for a few
dollars. Here’s mine:
“Once again
Slipping into a
Translucent dream.”
Burning desire lines
More and more burning desire lines. Oh how fluid boundaries feel when
you don’t believe they exist. I’m one here, twice nowhere. Nowhere but
inside this calm relaxed center- Disinterested, totally involved.
Once again
Let’s begin:
Haven’t you heard?
The dogs are dead and there’s devils in the streets.
Disinterested, yet totally involved
Disinterested, yet totally involved. The true mime portrays not just
the glass box but all the empty space in between. The prison, in which
is filled the very essence of freedom. Because the first step to
understanding total unity with the universal consciousness is an
acceptance of its passivity. Liberation is not an escape from the prison
because that would entail a desire to not be in prison, which brings us
right back to where we started, trapped in duality.
Letting go even of the desire to be enlightened…
The fragile line of infinity
Tip toeing on the fragile line of infinity…
But what about all the other states of mind I’ve either never
experienced or simply
forgot about? Racking my brains, I can only seem to come up with three
boxes of
imagery all connecting to a certain drug or substance or activity. I
wonder if
I can disconnect experience from its subsequent feeling. What is an
autonomous
feeling? What is a raw experience, free from all forms of charisma and
sharp edges?
There’s gotta be a) a lot more, b) nothin’ there at all, or c)
something
incomprehensible.
Three boxes of imagery:
Inconsistent
Incoherencies
Rambling and Muttering
Alone and Disjointed — Cigarettes, Painkillers, Bad Trips
Present
Involved
Disinterested and Flowing
Qualities of Water — Yoga, Learning, Weed, Meditation,
Instruments
Itchy
Interested
Active and Looking
Seeking Eyes/ Wandering Limbs — Coffee, Love and Relationships, Sex,
Icebreakers
What have we got going on here? Experiential exposition… always a
slow rise and a slower fall. Ah, here it is again!
The style changes every year.
My Melancholy Grip on it All
Soaring through colorful skies
My melancholy grip on it all loosens with each subtle interference.
Beautiful day! Not too fast, not too slow. My legs feel just
right.
Beautiful day! Not too heavy and not too light. The air feels just
right.
Yes I am light
Yes I am light
Diary entry
Dear Diary,
A discussion has commenced. Recognition of un-reality and frugal
inhibitions. A thunderclap summons two strangers, and the bat’s eye
eclipses the night. Silently ignoring the Velvet Underground poster on
the wall, my eyes lock onto the rain sneaking through the slits in the
air conditioner. And my thoughts keep going back to two nights ago’s
epiphanies. Two nights where you can’t tell which had a better full
moon. And it really was a close call. The kind that might leave you
feeling weak in the stomach… Drunk like the toddlers all lined up and
clutching a rope with their tiny hands wearing bright yellow reflective
jackets. Smiling and waving to random passerby and insects - give them
little hard hats and they’ll be workin’ Men and Women on the site, the
type of job that works up an appetite and tucks you into bed at
night.
Hail who you think you are, fragile pretender
Hail to the guy in the funny suit,
And to the creeps, to the inviters,
To the teens and the shade —
Light rain now…
Hardly a smidge of reality to this air inside the air.
Just before walking in the night
It is all so seemingly unreal
Pull me back from this pathetic observer
Searching for meaning in the waves and crushing weight of my past
actions.
Overwhelmed by the cacophony of my own creations-
Otherwise left to their own ramparts and delusion
This world is one of distorted bass and occasional screaming
And everytime I jolt myself from sleep to take just the smallest breath
of fresh air-
That hint of a whisper in the wind,
“I’m home”
I’m home and it’s gone.
It fades into impossibility again.
There is no moderation in my faith
I am paddling in the ocean surrounded by hands reaching out to grab my
wrists and pull me ashore but my eyes are shut tight and I don’t know
hand from demon and my legs feel loose and the world is spinning-
I’ll go walking in the night.
Katonah train ramblings
Old man
Hat man
Little kid
Wait!
Up high
Down low
Too damn slow!
Bike man
Windows
Train man
Three boys
Hanging out in the pavement
Stretching.
Bridge-crossers
The bridge being crossed
And powerlines.
Walk in when you need us
Not a second before,
not a moment too late.
Relax:
You will always be on time!
Suburban purpose
Suburban purpose is
A tanker full of oil
Burning itself up as
it shoots past a
replica of itself going
in the opposite direction.
Dead baby birds
Clouds or waves or
Dead baby birds.
Have you ever seen a dead baby bird rotting beneath a dusty wood
staircase?
The ants form very tight formations across its tiny limbs and bulging,
deformed belly like a clove hitch tied over a horse’s face. Its mouth is
wide open awaiting its mother to feed it. Never given the chance to lay
hatchlings herself and feed them desperately, dead baby bird is still a
mother of ants.
Mother of ant
Mother of an
Mother of a
Mother of
Mother
Mother
Mother of
All.
Washington Square
The illusion has started to dissolve before my eyes. The system fails to reinvent the same scenes in a beautiful enough package - Total strangers fill and seep into pre-existing forms, and just now a butterfly landed safely on my finger tip while I turned my head from the helpless in total humility.
Clouds
Basically:
Everything is clouds
They form
They dissipate
They form from what’s dissipated
We are clouds who
think we are clouds
Angry thunder
Sad rain
Calm air
Let go of form and become everything.
Bird is so busy
Bird is so busy only existing in such a state as devoid of
unnecessary brilliance yet a total prerequisite like color in a 1,000
piece puzzle to the non-compassing portrait of my vision.
The murky surface, unknowingly green, mirrors like a funhouse
Total fantasy.
Bird now disappearing, (the games never cease)
Other senses diminish the bounded eye.
And I can hear EDM reverberating a car maybe two blocks down.
Neon corner
Street corner pageantry
But still the green two-way is ever rising.
While neon corner
Or rather
Everything there ever was, is, or will be minus neon corner,
exudes light
Stolen for your sins from the constantly dwindling pre-conceived notion
of what dusk should look like.
Just check out
In deep solitude, one-sided voice of forgiveness pours deeply into
itself with tremendous steel ladle
Upheaves the churning definer, soup of the pointer finger-
That I know anything at all!
Concepts morals morels and definition
fade dutifully into the places between non-being and being
Well I get itchy just singing the songs of the birds and showing off
my wings like they do.
I get silly, holding the door open for Mind At Large,
Seep through this hand of hands
And entice me with fragile grace.
Crunch House
Cheap beer and cigarettes
Funny guy’s too drunk laying in a tub and tearing at the wall’s
insulation
Roll up with the dudes in the math-rock band
God I smell so bad
And this time Colin with one L lets you climb the ramparts and hang out
dangling your feet above the crowd on the catwalk
And you can’t seem to catch anybody’s eye
Totally in love with red illumination
$20 3pm to 3am and thank God the beer’s free for bands
We will check IDs except we won’t
Everyone’s family here.
LBI with Jake
So structurally sound this plywood stands yet I curve with endless
impunity. (Losing vision of the pencil in front of me) I leaf through
all my outfits and pick something at random.
Now listening to “The Pull ’’ by The Microphones and sinking into the
slow breath of unconsciousness, I consider the relative-ness of
ephemeral contact.
“The Glow surrounds you
And when you breathed in I felt the Pull”
I think I’m starting to get it-
Baby holds baby and burps baby’s back
Keep baby in the shade because baby will get scorched by huge ball of
fire in the sky.
Hardly a risk,
For the funny liquid Earth is so totally worth it
(to play in).
Here I lay:
Journalist of my own desires-
Totally enraptured.
Living-knowing
Knowing without living
Knowing yet living noncommittally,
I play my games
I am a million shining-sea-silvers of slivered-star dust.
Slip with dignity
Currently I am hit by waves of nausea relating to the stretching of my fingernails and knuckles as I slip and scratch off the cliff of what my rational mind calls reality-
Slowly
My breath reminds me
That the cold sea-water redefines
If only I jump in head first unhesitating!
And also
The fact that if I scramble my way up the rocky surface and stand
courageously with my back straight and chin up
I will be shot
Proud soldier of the firing squad
And the sheer force will propel me backwards anyways.
So with deep breaths
Deep, slow
In, out
Totally aware yet completely relaxed
Slip with dignity!
Premonitions of instability
Premonitions of instability
Reckoning with forces too obtuse to considered anything but
neuroses
Or maybe I’m just being silly
For example, the fact that it’s taken two years for me to really
understand that “two years ago” was a thing that actually
happened.
So that’s done, but I’m still not sure who witnessed those events.
Why do I think I should be okay anyways?
I keep forgetting I am only two years old- and growing.
A reminder
Reminder:
I have forgotten