is it up to us how to feel?

as the dust settles

ground to bone shouldn't mix

to give up blood to sand

the fabric of time does not apreciate death friend

so choose happiness instead.

the drink we shared as the sun settled

there, further, up, on the horizon traces

mere replica but it felt quite real.

the frustration grinds like a blade to skin

slices away with abandon known reversed to the Sun

and those lost at sea. 

a half baked therapy consumes air like toxic waste

makes the very ground shake with weight, a hurricane we nickname catastrophy.

the word feels final, the ground feels wrong and somewhat that weariness is familiar. 

stranger things have occured outside, the open door a warning sign I suppose

we were unsure where to step and we must have step something Off

should it blow will be it close? am I too late to turn tail without conseguence

to go without It. the very saliva tastes the bad type of funny

a mercy forsaken, a wave that bounced into the sand only to be swallowed:

do swallow everything. 

today i sat and counted time

i do mind and it took a while to keep perfectly still and numb

to crawl back into a darker hole where futility has met tranquility

in pefect harmony

the burden cracks under the tear of fear

or so I believed, lost in the memories

that twinkle, blink back and cause me great confusion

blurred emotions, some say we cannot quite quantify reality

but this sure feels pretty darn real to me, stripped of dignity

what is left is ugly and contorned in shapes I unveil forcefully

mea culpa;

I broke my croocked guardian angel neck,

torn apart, didnt bother attending the funeral

I wore red today

no more torment in the basement, it comes out on the weekend

I estimate the remainer of my sanity free flows like the wind

that calls a name that is stuck both ways

it comes and goes like treasure that we easily abandon and forget

only to immediately recall at the 11th hour we crave the teddy, the lover

that now trumps gold,

this suffering for vanity

is unjust, unworthy of the blind

those deaf to the calling

fuck off shall we

I am going home, my bed my throne

rid me of this games, gods and lords

humans and the likes

for this is not how I choose to feel.

my mood is grey today, everyday.

drink to good health,

every once in a while

platinum on my window sill

below the nest ring and all

misaligned by design

though understandable so

some talk of imbalance and particles

like apes can be made of atoms,

criticize, disconnect the power at the source

differ the light, take the fire back to the gods

the struggle was not worth the cost

I see things in a want for desire,

flashes both bold and white, blinding.

riot was the cure, my bed the bait

hear me out like the flow is gold

tore apart by river flow, chasing after

brutal only made harder by finding out

the shine comes undone once you drown

for you never let go of the mighty heavy weight

a pour down from a sober man to a fellow fallen soul

a castaway begotten by horror, I just had to make it through gravity

do define agony.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

MY HOUSE  CARRIES ANIMALS BONES

UNDERNEATH THE GROUND NOT THE CELLAR

THE ATTIC KNEW DECAY AND DESERVED BURNING DOWN

PRIDE WILL CATAPULT US FARTHER THAN THE RAG FATHER

BUT ONLY IF I DO NOT REACH OUT FOR THE NECK

A COLLEAGUE MOURNED A MOMENT OF FLEETING CRISIS

A GOOD SOUL IN BENEVOLENT SADNESS

TAKING UP ARMS DESPITE THE SOLITUDE

A TRUE DIAMOND, CORE AND SURFACE ALIKE

MY FEAR HAS TRANSMUTATED

I NO LONGER FEAR WHAT YOU WOULD DO

BUT RATHER WHAT I WOULD DO

TO STAIN THE DISTANCE THAT I SET WITH THE PAST

IS A FLEETING DAGGER, A TRUE DEATH SENTENCE.

I recall a wiser friends words, soleem in the wisdom

of how powerfully he apologized despite not being at fault

a vehicle for change, arms at the ready, open and welcoming

I tried and therefore failed to get away from myself,

my mood is grey today. everyday

you repeat my words in a timing that cuts

deep,

sharpen stones that erase what I owned and gave

freely, at ease, once

spoken in tongues familiar,

now distant, now gone

array and returned wicked,

now poison, now lost hopes

slowed down expectations,

upside down and out of control

so do be original if that is a choice

I command thy so, kindly:

a driving seat can be shared at arms length,

the gap shortern by stories that came whole,

here we go.

that is

good

form at

it

wit, will, wiff

a space, a sense (a danger when reflected in light)

between

us

i suppose It

is

shared

recognized, understood (in) faith

the same

brother, sister

who else stains the bed

blood, piss

what else dissolves

so well?

what else is worth taking

in this game without a forseeable conclusion,

I beg thy

rain down

on

me.

implode

fibers rearranging love

lost to oneself hip towards bone

ripped from spine along the side

no siren on sight, spit have to hold

I am commited to see this story through

so I kneel, crawl and implore take another's soul

I am that petty and count the years with tremendous avarice

wasting day after day with abandon that sun alone cannot purge.

think I may try

to lace the night with

temper, oblivion a triumph

matching the pulse that drowns

the feeling that sways dangerously

close to the ledge over there where beaty

is found. cloud 9

a different break, an incompatible tear

to scald the peel off my hand

to burn the coat of ear in order to peer underneath

a cleaner oversight in a ill men's attempt at order

finding confort in settling in calling it over.

the vision of the future a sickening shade of grey

blops of ink still wet mark the meltdown,

a fate left behind.

blessed this anguish we take stake,

a dark embrace warm felt

coated in loneliness and hallow scales

measured by actions well intended meant for disgrace

a tragedy in the making molded us in (shared) space once.

dream bigger sister: be all at once, brave, bold, kinder (for)

us united upon a star, 

wouldn't it be brilliant?

but fantasies do not feed the fire,

hell is aplenty with sinners with good intentions

and on both accounts we are guilty

dispute not, waste no penny on the fountain of wishes

for the boatman demands his charge just as well. 

on this lookout, the broken mirror reflects a difference

not a missing piece, merely how it was meant to be

an incompatible tear make us stubbornly similar true

alas, the mold does not fit. isn't it just typical:

born to be thrown into the lions, 

a stepping stone

humans are no kinder to the ants than gods are to to their brothers,

and me, I am the god of my own personal hell.

Pleased to leave to settle my peace over There

in worn shoes rubbing at the heels like a tick

a fevorish disease we cast a mean eye

a heavier shadow that we can forgive a friend

afforded he does not turn coat in clear conscience

no peeking through the rear mirror, tore apart by a notch of a loose elbow

a too common tale of reckless refusal to be guided by the hand

lost we found ourselves in the beaten path nevertheless for the valley deepens at the end.

 

what giveth, taketh

offense perceives A catch

named, read

cannon, over 

history naked, betrayed

His

form At prose, disagree (Able to speak)

venerable hate, positively necessary

sacrifice.

 

One day God was missing,

we took note late as dignity overtook

sight a dizzy spell enchanted by the notion of speed

a blitz from hand to sleeve, the horror no ghost

This is me telling you it is over and there is no escape should we turn back

we will only circle right back just as the sleep diludes terror

a settement without a doubt. 

it is that season (again)

a photograph, a captured soul

infused emotion cascating on the print

reflecting hurt because change has taken hold

of a shared hivemind,

of what, if, but we 'should have known'

and we are better now, no?

 

starving for the input to placate the tidal wave

the expectation titan and on the verge of fucking it up.

pride ties close the poison lace

shatter the codename for both our sakes...

 

is a fool a fool irregardless if eyes prey witness to the state

at which one finds himself out of sorts? 

does laughter become the conduit

do those in the know  serve as beacon

a safer port, a lighthouse and so much more.

__________________________________________________________________________

 Winters was a dame of clamor fate

sober stood her in the extinction of spaces

cracks those lost go to be driven

around in merry, in a magnificent ocean of crystal clarity

I felt like an adult once I understood the choice communion relayed

by the lack of timing in words spoken freely, with a pause, that childhood does not permit

marked by the remark that suffering is indeed optional

balanced in the scale of pizza for breakfast and cake for dinner

the sky awash with grey, a pale dirty yellow full moon discreetly illuminates a rare cloud

disguising the fact I am quite frankly at odds with what to write, what to say

so in silence we confide to the page and whenever requested words

we exagerate and blur out avalance for if I am to be swallowed so shall you.

in oblivion we fall apart, out of turn

the blood drumming my temper is out of sync with my pulse

I am out of touch with my own rhythm

my future has spoken and has me by the neck.

________________________________________________________________________________

Fall is a lover of fair game

notes the exchange of hands, held together

in frail first love,

it is the hand that reaches out,

for the fallen leaves,

in doubtful unequal prayer,

for those who have gone (ahead):

in furtive capture of necessity,

for want of the same fallen in hard times, harven steel tribulation can only separate 

turn the beast inside out: humanity concedes frontier, the cycle breached

sparse light in the divide

how can the tree survive disposed of branches?

how could prey and predator merge in a sickning union of outer madness, coincidence

a dance atop a broken shell, underneath a mountain broken apart just the same

a tale not familiar nor with want of belonging, 

a slip of tongue as the weary walker grows faint.

____________________________________________________________________________

Maggy

We met twice proper

We were young then

foolish and fleeting love That

naive I accepted guilt but fleeting was a lightness that stung the weight I was to carry

as I lost heart, for I bled and retold the story from the moment I heard your voice

and i understood at once an ocean of familiar homely skinship that i knew was too come

and occur it did as if i had willed it into existance however years ahead, however short and sweet

the third encounter was the change of season, the resolution that snow both softens the margins and conserves what is precious within. expanse and expand, space enough I suppose to grow.

the fourth i denied You for it stunk of Home. it was dole advise and proper at that

from The stories i pass along, the books i circulate amongst acquaintances and friendly strangers

you are still my favorite one, however bittersweet

i shall pay it forward with a gloomy grin

in the venture of another realm of fresh possibilities

universes where I am a stronger lover, a present brother

a better son.