Saturday, December 7, 2013

Stasis (Ephemerality)

There is no such thing as time.
Never-ending.  Never-beginning.
Always There.  Ever and Ever more.
What is now, is also then and that is also what has been.

{Cue the neat opening credit theme music.  Something that gets the audience in a particular type of mood, say unexpectedness, something that preps them for what’s to follow, and we want them to think that the future is profound and deep…if only to eventually slap them across the head with what comes next} 

But of course, only if what comes next is
Something that’s happened since.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Of The Eye

Eyes awaken,
Right first, then left,
Stardust clinging to the lashes,
Refusing to concede
That wondrous moment was but dream
Leaving me alone
Comforted only by the memory
That this is all but a part of reality

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Long Division: Strains Of One

Dainty figurines, collide-expand
Upon the altar, knotted-stained
For which they stand; warped and dated
Like the mores buried, still, straining to inhale
Knee-deep down, beside, within—
The Laundering of time pronounced, for without
Borrowed—procured ceramic, forgone—
As it is with the stuttering of art, from in,
Unknown qualities emerge, myths and absolutions
Laying bare before the mantles, and within
All illumine beneath each face it makes appear.

        Strength bemoans the martyr, as the power of fear, is concealed within each face before you here—those of strangers and Judases alike—whose stones are visibly clear, not in hand but in the discoloration within each their eyes”

Monday, November 25, 2013


Body on an axis, a plane all it’s own—
Vertebrae stacked, aligned,
Proportionate to the space above
And the depths below we hope never shall we know

One arm—let’s call it right—
Up and out, down and in—
Stretched and placed
Cutting through—
     While palm collides
Over coursing, invisibly aligned, the metacarpal shifts, turns, turns, turning,
     All the while returning in, unnerved yet unnoticeably misinformed…it’s only the observant eye, the kind that can catch the ghosts that live between and through the chasms of the breath…bearing a structure;
An angular procession; with pulling tension, culling
All about, contouring what connections
The body feels, as it does, until the cycle
Spurs parallel, another action pushing further,
Away, and out, delaying all that could have and may still become—a semicircular pattern; a crucible undone, leaving only milliseconds before the symbiosis shatters all the ills that never were, yet thought had been, completed sums…Shall we…begin again

HOW many breaths will you choose to take in between?

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Infants Amongst Mortal Fabric

We are all and only infants amongst the veneers of mental fabric, attracting disassembly and partitioning expansions
Of cultivating emblems of character—

We’ve been bred as monsters, deliberate and persevering,
Ignorant of only the appetites we’ve supplanted as we whet the gullets-unyielding path towards gluttony

Significant atrocities are dissolved by wanton blindness and the coercive language used by those voices chaotically attuned—voices which have been and always shall remain, a reflection of the debasing melody born within

DESIST the purge and CALM the seas beneath your storms.
TREAD for relaxed states; exhilaration breathes a crisper version than what typically expands our wearied lungs

And in the midst of cacophony, upon the din of tumults, a smile still gleams it’s graceful vow—a promise made to a brittle child, one whose scowls surfeited the aperture of imagination—and herein, that child is revealed again, for portent dreams have a way of coming true…