Neither the Day Nor the Hour

The final system beyond the locus of understanding

Unknown truths, unhinted hitherto, out of the blue

New paradigm, new aesthetics, limitless horizons.

Creases

Sleepy creases across the cheek

Rubbing the last flecks of dreams from your eyes

The creases lift by the time your ready to face the day.

Ache

Writing can be sublime, but it is much more a wrenching ache. An ache you feel beyond your body. Whatever part of you that moves your feet, flips through your memories, and forms the words meant for your mouth, hurts as you strain to pull words and ideas out of it.

Isolation

That frantic isolation

Drifting on the sea of the living room carpet

Piled high, your voice carries only

as far as the kitchen.

------------ "Sorry, that was a cryptic melange of symbols. I was probing blindly into an otherness, treading a liminal boundary, erecting a vertical syllogism.
------------Excuse me if I forgot all the details ------------ what are they to me anyways, except replaceable?" ------------

Speaking in Time

Rhythms laid down from the throne on a melody crushed when percussed

Look at me with gentle eyes and speak to me softly.

Eternity in a Minute

-------------------------------I think I spoke to you about my dream the other night, it was a steady flicker of pain that seemed to burn the whole night long. I was trapped it seemed in a movie I was watching my self act in where I had forgotten all my lines. I was mute and being asked to speak, and dancing a stuttering dance. Everyone expected me to keep the scene going and tried condescendingly to play along with my fright, the stage and its players would flick smoothly through various arrangements and I only froze more completely, and then the ground became frictionless and an exit impossible. -------------------------------

Melodious Chance

Avarice of fantasy, nightmares of thirst and hunger

Cowardly piping and stuttering dance

Song without melody, form without material

Material without form, Melodious Chance.

Masks, February 20th 2010

Ol'lymphics

In the Air

Everything is evenly warmed, I am only atmosphere

I am a warm wind laying, on top of the bedspread

There is no need to sleep, I am completely at rest

Liminally extant, In the Air.

How do you sleep?

How do you prepare your bed?
How do you keep you sheets clean?
Why are your covers wound into a knot?
What do you keep underneath, is it a comfort is it a pain?
Do you dream? Do you count the hours you lie awake?

My Pictures

The Horizon is a Blade

We have followed our path too far
Infinity is rushing towards us, to cut us down
Like the horizon it seems to be unreachable,
But the horizon is a blade.

Skin

Between pore and pore and pore
On a net, slide
Curving round a bent elbow

A Thread A Skin

Speak in emotions an emotional language
And a language of emotions, infused with language,
Language devoid of emotion a blind faith,
Hidden even from the true believer,

A thread of time a skin of a memory,
Just remembered,
Forgotten,
Leaving a thin trace as it recedes
From the moment,
To a dark crevice,
Where untapped dynamic energies lie dormant.

Nights Devoid of Ease

long long forgotten places
between walls and spaces
dim dusty and damp

forgotten boxes fragrant antiques
dovetailed tables and chairs
well appointed fixtures
in suburbia relegated to
a perimeter out of sight
an interior exurbia

infused with a latent light

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