July 5, 2017

what we ravaged of ourselves in the reeds ...

time and again we bent 
lent what is to what could be 
all our if only if only if onlys 
the sirens and harpies 
bore children 
of the trolls 
they roll called halls 
filled with stained notebooks and doodles 
most were composition black 
we lacked perspective 
and we were young so we leaned 
guiding light inside to out 
and turned then, a smile shouts 
who are you when eating your own soul to survive 

the stolen pieces of myself: 
a shell game fanaticism 
of a driven, by lost purpose, mind 
who is a product of what gives 
a slave to the sieves 
and funnel wombs 
event horizon-ed 
deviant intent 
the mutation 
of course, is 
always why 

I write 
I rite 
here from there 
where I used to be 
future and luxury 
of knowing 
not to know 



  1. I follow the numbers
    as they don't lie
    in wait as some do
    here, there and everywhere
    humans went there were
    and greed peddlers
    the streets were awash with them
    the teeming excuses
    for angelic chorus
    corpulent offerings
    we spend our lives
    wading these mines
    in order again
    not to know
    magic eyes
    everything ...

  2. "Magic eyes everything." I love that ... especially reading "eyes" as a noun ... picturing "everything" being made of (magic) eyeballs.

    1. I too like the way my mind slipped in and out of "eye" being noun or verb ...

  3. Fantastic line breaks:

    "as they don't lie
    in wait as some do"

    1. I think I don't think about line breaks so much as imagine them as edging a piece of pottery to the side of dinner table, am I able to care or tear that line's meaning, to feel it as potential or kinetic kin, do I want to hear glass shatter
      or feel the smile within ...

  4. I remember the composition books black and white
    wide or college rule, but when it came to writing
    I knew no rules

    Sometimes my words were written with invisible ink
    as they were hidden between the lines of capitalization
    and punctuation. My thoughts would linger much longer
    than that last word penned. It's the ink of the soul
    or so I am told...

    and Lois wrote about Superman while phone booths slowly

    How are you Edward? I've missed your writings.

    1. we knew the transmissions
      the snaps of bramble
      to branches as the crackle of things unsaid

      we sped fast past leeward
      and went diving the carves
      to play what once was
      and now is the empty space
      aglow with memory
      muscle and otherwise ...

      I am fine and finding
      that time is mostly illusion
      when one stays in the moment mostly
      each day, a new kingdom
      to remember ...

  5. Awesome blog, i always enjoy & read the post you are sharing!
    Thank for your very good article...!