Sargasso Sea
Somewhere East
Sargasso Sea
Atlas holds the tide for me
Alas, there’s not the faintest breeze
Logistics drown Romantics
I’ll fix my sail or a short reprieve
…Swimming to Atlantis
Bad Feathers
What used to be bad days
are now good days with bad feathers
Does it mean bad days are now good?
Or now good days fly better?
If I'm in my right mind
at this ungodly time,
to debate such a nonsensical
question in rhyme
Good days must be at their best,
whether indeed or in jest,
Let these wilted wings fly unto forever
EGBDF
When tears hit keys in a cold house
Every wasted Christ pretends
He can turn tears into wine
Every dog slips on his own drool
Every good boy does fine
Fine-tuned fingers slip on cold water
When years shit
they tease cold corpses
Pepper and salt may suit
the needs of the assaulted
Tears may be the only hell that separate
apes from bastards
Reason to speak for melancholy
it's grace for the acclaimed
A Legion for hell and hell-folly
It's a strange play on rain
Strange Play On Rain
Wake to the reign of the apogee
Come the cruel cold tricks I'm ravaging
And the meek mold tar for the heavenly ghost
While the Greek gods sit on their featherless thrones
Break down… my liege
I know… I breathe
Coal lust… for steam
Stardust… for sheep
Nightmares for dreams…. I'll wait-
For the carpet that gravity amends
For the sake of an apple on top of my head
For the chains of an angel I see from above
For the wake of a mangled beak of a dove… I'll wait!!!!!
Grace at the pace of the white rabbit
Grace at the pace of the white rabbit
who wins the race?
I'M NOT A SHEEP! I'M NOT A FUCKING SHEEP!
STOP COUNTING ME! STOP COUNTING ME!
Insight
Something behind the rambling
Between the ranting raving
Don't know whether to call it "purpose" or "providence"
incessantly teetering
on the edge of nihilism
I am going to throw it at you
Every sentiment here is multifaceted
Find a reason
between
the
dead
lines
That feeling when pragmatism defeats intuition
Ever try to decipher an action
is it propagated
by instinct or insight?
Ever attempted to define whatever it is that propels you
to ask?
If mother nature writes the code
she's the guide
is there any room left for will or divinity?
Does socratic method lead to any answer
other than "undefinable?"
Yes.
Yes
Yes, I do
I believe that I'm creating my existence
My existence persists and insists
I write this bit of bliss, hit or miss, tisstiss
I sculpted my mind
To make one eye see clearer
The bits bat their eyes
And the bytes ping satellites & bing a mirror
Luck
God tiptoed up the back ladder
With an ostrich on his sleeve
His heart got caught on a rose's fishhook
So the doves made their own wings
God fished till he was a master
He caught hell and made hearts bleed, he said,
"Put a corpse lily in your canons
Fly the ostriches for world peace"
Fish were pleased to be on Christ's platter
The dish walked over fermented firmament
Mashed grapes trickled back down the latter
Acrophobes found temporary permanence
Blue
Burning blue blood candles from inside the manhole
From medieval flannel to first century sandals
Creating stone tools from finger-length regency
Bashing brash knuckles through second-hand frequencies
From pints to handles again switching channels
Licking up spit from a photosynthesized diabetic
Flung feces on fleece canvas for the new-shit-aesthetic
Anchors
Right... Cognition is a novelty...
I love staring at walls.
Vigilance is prominence
Lividness is provocativeness
When you are who you are
The block is blackativeness
You don't like...
mother nature's keeper
You don't like me...
Well me neither
I’m leaving it up to the aether
The dark side of human indifference.
Then we fought, not like dogs, but like anchors trying to swim.
