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here, find safe passage through all realms


The Draught of Desert Wind
Allow us to begin this conversation
To be had aloud while within company
Of your choice of stranger
She says these hands heal many things
But you must see the man from China
Who works with the needles
You must stop nursing and cradling him
Curling up and around him
Falling asleep for it unsuitably cramps the shoulders
Laying freedom on the massage table
I was looking down but it was into space
Into the stars and I told her and she smiled
Whispering I want to go too
The mescalito man with the torch
Healed the pain in my belly
You want to know
What’s texturally fun is a bag of rice
And the backs of wrists function
The same sensitive way as lips
When bright red from crying
To be picked up and held
I fondle and see saw with a warm void
Before I open the lid
I make my way through realization
On the way out to the dumpster
Dropping diapers filled will old food
And on the way back
Thinking reflections
All one need do is penetrate
Deeply into the conversation
Constantly asking is this a projection
Reflective of what I am
I forgot that word
So much that I could remember it
When I see it again
As fresh as the first time
He wore his hair longer for his nape
Enjoying it curly wavy in his thought
More aesthetically foregrounded
Under a painter’s cap
Stetson leather cabby
He was the picture of an Irishman
Outside Dublin’s walls with no red hair
Striking green fields of vision
She hands me an ostrich skin with skins in between
Slumbering I see life fly by
In crystal balls with oceans of rainbows
Flowing and swirling in long carving curls
They burst into drops of fireworks
Into too many directions to predict
So we play croquet
Snatching the fortune telling orbs
Deep into the dark
Grey folds of the proper lobes
Playing a pattering tune
Break the last, he said
Break the seal in a child’s voice again
Sit in my house its too hot out on the porch
He says we’ll play croquet
Because who knows how to play that game anyway
But an imagining child in the shooting maze
Of his own learning swipes
I catch them as they surf along with the tip of a wand
Soaked and subtle pointed dangerous
Much like a sword but not deadly
She’ll be a good girl
And go after the Frisbee
If you let her be
Packages padded with dos equis
Bubbling opium of the light variety
Protecting compact scratchable thoughts
Sermons on my life
We pass around worlds
Within crashing webb-lined balls
Translucent in the sun
I see purple everywhere
Jangling voices in collars pass by
The couch on my front porch
It could be a bee talking he says
It’s not a balloon it’s a ball
I can kick at it driving in my car
Poetry is born not in the crossing lines of ink
But brought to life in panting breaths
But also in the lines of ink, again
A changing card consistently
In the shadow of copious accendo
She notices herself unconsciously
Put her ring to her lips
We’ve been meaning
To bring the old language back
Languishing too long
Into the spoken word again
And again in the tawny thought night
Napping faces eyes rays flying in fuzzy lashes
He sits on the edge of the cushion
In the position transitioning between rising and resting
Nesting at the moment where truth emerges
With easy solitude in myriad foam
The color of many manicures
And in between the waxy shrouds
Of crepe myrtle trees
The Bleeding Tree
Keep your hands in the towel
While you push at it from the bottom up
So the tips won’t get too cold while you wait
For it’ll melt a little, exert patience
He can’t help
But make faces at you while you stare into the star bursts
The golden fibers dawn
Can’t put her in with the door shut
Only since the advent of walls
Have we been able to sleep in the dark during daytime
Except when we were in caves chanting echoes
There were frightening eclipses
Showering us in a bleeding moon
We knew not to not stare at, at first
We then went ahead and learned
We cannot really fall asleep in the sun
But we slip into bright dreams
As the water does not know the hand that causes it
To wave so do we also when we are babies
Looking through poetic lenses unfiltering
Looking up crying
Mayday, mayday was the word
For when help’s needed for those forgotten
Who were lost at sea
When he wears a blue shirt he sees turquoise
The cause being broken hazel eyes
And the black shirts pick up the butt of black holes
That rest between them
For the course, I been tripped out
I been seen sipping me mate all day
Through our bombilla
Trading dreams for memories
He anoints the child’s hair
With oil-viscous shampoo
Lean your head back
While he kneels on a folded towel
I’ll catch the falling water
He reaches for the flashlight
Twisting it to turn
I like to move it
It is a father’s proudest day
When they learn to train for the pot
All by themselves first they distinguish
Between shadow and light
Then in between
Beings in many hues
Give him another banana
Eat your monkey food and keep quiet
Literacy is not the comprehension to read
But the awareness and necessity to inscribe thought
In the womb of the surrounding
Before it was a cape of a matador
It was a red wash cloth bent softly
Into lips that like cats declawed paw at prints
Patterning stripes assuming repetition
Is the fundamental aspect of pattern
Recognition of repetition assumes likeness
Assuming recognition within the examining concentration
Hands passing across the facial marks
Leaves over and over again as we see our feet
In the giant’s hands
And then on the shoulders do small steps
Reaching peaks of pikes of stalagtites
Poking out into the past ad infinitum
We landed in Africa and then the world changed
The boundaries of what we were willing to do
In order to cut out the heart of our treasure
So must learn to return to reaching at roots
With graceful palms waving buckets of blooming
Rain not flags and powdered fire
How else can we communicate without signs
Crushing symbols of our generations
Previously pondered passing correspondence
Reinterpreting old wounds
Through into wisdoms
We loved our second
Firstborn son so much so too
That we gave him a royal name
The pretty one, good news
Is we’re not still shitting our brains out
But the recovery is slow
Poetry is a state of soul body mind
Because Michelangelo would have shown much Logos
Had he used words too with wood scaffolding
Chiseling, unbounding ceilings and souls from cold rock
And dry pigmentation
Carving koans of flesh with stone hammers
The problem with entertaining entertainment
Is the thorough fixation
If we allow the disturbing unsatisfactory
To recede into the tangle of the trees
Loud moaning baboons, shouting squirrels
Vying for territory we will see two things
It is not possible to bury sand with more sand
Only a capacity for creating a larger body a beach
The muse meets me when her and I agree
On mutual terms mindfucking with each other
Without predetermined payment plans
We know we sold our soul in the right spot
When no one is asking for it back
Because there’s no reason
They’ve already come and here we are
And we both know there’s nothing
The devil hates more than admitting
Wrong about what he wanted
Having to go home empty handed
So he agrees to a tradeoff
The only thing he has left
Write it down on a piece of paper
And likewise hell be given the same
But this paper will be blank
My soul is for free
As only the devil is never owed the truth
And he is handed it anyway as I am
Standing here today to tell you
So we pass pacifying notes and tones
Between strangers in a strange land
Which is becoming in these fingertips
An ocean that was between us both
But is behind in militant groping along beachheads
While we noodle and build washaway castles
Almost missing the sun setting over the shuttering clarity
Of the indefinite picture of lake
The ultraviolet bends lilac hugging the stratosphere
A little during nearly tangential descent
Admitting this is all that happens
When one stares into the infinity of the now
It’s a fun club of the most exclusively open
Refined membership
Tending to see what I am was moment to moment
The Wall of Rust We Were
If John Lennon hadn’t died
Suffering wounds on street corners
Little boys wouldn’t be able to ask for explanations
From their father in heaven
Everywhere I go
Sung in a child’s voice
In his or her respective eyes
Through many windows do we the windows look
There is always so much more
Which can be said before donned bedcaps
You can cut behind someone in order to cut in front
In traffic we establish walls reacting
I only want tattoos she said
So that when I die my body may be laid
Before the sky describing life
With hibiscus ornamental carpets
Coyly my body may be painted
Beautiful for brief minutes
The point of the source of all is to identify
The brightest highlight in the given plane
When we land and close chapters on constellations
Crossing paths like Martians from Mars
But friendly and joking
With and without children
Reality from two very different balconies
Rich plum dripping blood floral sweet
Sticking in the soil seeds desperate
To manifest more singular fruit
We cannot be enemies for we have shared bread
The year of his passing was never an important matter
Matting seasons upon seeking reasons
It was a simple August
Mountain quail brought him back under boughs
Bowing two eyes before a feast
Reluctant to eat to satisfaction
They wept together with the forest floor
When he arose his feet carried
Unexpected rain moving welcome into the valley
Did you hear us today
So I’ve got caveman teeth
So what can I say
One body evolved enough
To serve with enameled patience
So I obliterate time
Remembering everything passing
So quickly as to be imagined
A thousand aeons worth of different ways
As we see in the body we may only access the now
Butting in pure spirit body mind shows all moment
All states possible with in the spiraling focus
Of any given point
It was a dual in the water
Each showing down
A throw-down of bones
Splashing to keep up above the tide
The webbing we cannot escape
The food we have eaten
That we are about to receive
That receiving
We do not retrieve
For which we will see in the future
From what we understand about déjà vu
Our brains are already wired in order
To know the feeling and perception
Of knowing the future
While we predicate the present
In so many prophecies
Such it is that we all know the same
The experience in the same way beneath
A context never the same
A pattern emerges in the texture of our collective reality
It is the picture of a bright bold red
Downward stroke zagging into a widening fading
Into golden-white through an infinite spectral wash
In deed I have walked this road many times
Before the breeze was not a hand
Lifting the pages before me in differently
Bookmarked poems written on them
Between my lips
All anonymous letters
Written for the opposite side of we
A key is to walk one eyed
Open staring into infinity
Moon poised the edge of peripheral
Invocation of breath filled nature of being
I hear Gregorian chanting
In the distant highway
Slow with long pauses
Eyes closed one and then the other
Draw me into induced dreamful awokeness
To have access to consciousnesses a field of wildflowers
Before shrouded lantern’s painted surfaces
Can be petrifying in that body
Taking properties over time, micah
It is now the sky of deep blueberry
It’s either you read it like that
Or you read it with all eyes closed
Past present both implied
Implicating a future tense in both sentences
A balance is not struck but invited
The only set of horns I could get
Were off the top of his head
So instead I left them there
So I could see them all the time
How nifty they looked
Frozen jello forms nifty crystals
In glass custard cups in the icebox
He was out there on the street
Cornering in on saying he just wanted
To be brought into the fold of things one way or another
She had the Ferragamo shoe blues
That day in Manhattan
We trained ourselves to look each other in the eye
Popping pimples in the mirror
There are porcelain rabbits breathing
Crouching next to jeweled elephants
Quiet trumpeting on shelves
Around the house of night
Learn your fear of sliding down
Is merely learning to enjoy the ride
Perceive the arising
Complete and total liberation of being
We feel the light inside
Like a lumpy shadow
Box with nooks and crevices
Of water pillows
Standing atop drops fountainous
Duck bill and dragonfly
Unearthing a sea of wood chips
And cedar needles
Telling us it is uncomfortable
More than a bed of nails
To enjoy the creaking swing
With a thick wallet
Pressing a gun tip in your backside
Collecting armloads of cones to become
Incandescent transfiguring roses
Chili peppers hatch on a blank palate
Fiery ribbons
They turned themselves in for money
A price on all men’s heads for wind
To blow by
We strum strung for immortality
This lyre called soul
The Appointment With Sight
I guess I was just one of those kids
Who was unable to exterminate the novel form
I sat beguiled internalizing many mixed messages
Rolling them all up into little balls
Huffing the scrollwork like glue
To the sequestered benefit of my style
That is to say I have read much
Memorizing very little
So much like the rest of us
I find twice traversing tired passages
Are not found
Remembering the divining sayings
Of sages in their sleep
All stages present perfected development
Mage mythic-moral mysteriously melds immortaly
With dynamic logos-motions
If we were to turn those lights to shine
In any given direction on said Sundays
Bent but not bleeding
Ignominious issues disappear clearly
Into unified perspective
Deciphering how many degrees there are in a sphere
What happens to light passing between
Event horizons equally balanced on both sides
So to my girls and boys I read
Aloud for now
Until they begin to read it back to me
In tonated overtones
I raise them like heirs to a throne
I tell them so before I put them to bed
Before I stay up
Progressing for them
Stepping backward for them
Before I sleep my bones for them
Before I wake up for them
I crunch the words
I haven’t written anything down today
Pulverizing mint candy
When demons come demanding their daily dose
Of dreadful dreary
I lighten up the heart blowing smoke
Love right in their fucking faces
My father forgives my foul mouth
For the cause of the thing my soul was unwilling
To do in the deepest dungeons
Was blaspheme against him or his
Creation which creaks and chirps
In foggy shrouds to the multitude
Of taciturn doors dwelling in the fighting
Forest I find none wandering afoot
I dug my knees in the tarry gravel grains
Digging for jewels crabs saltwater washing
My eyes while wild eyed I got lost
Looking for my own reflection
I was unwilling to look away
From everything going on for far to long
I am unwilling not to speak
I am unwilling to hate
Unwilling, unwilling to despise
For any reason much less
The winds of seasons of revenge
Peering into granite pores meridians
Soaked by blood
I am unwillingness to succumb
To fear for safety
I consider my kinsman kismet relations
Closer importantly to Zions
Dreams and in but merely physical need
And I bleed
Light from holes in my hands
I am unwilling necessity
When weak at the knees I’d ask us kindly
Speaking to please be seated
In a silent sweat lodge settling scores of differences
Over undershared traditions stories songs
When electrical currents ground
Cloud to cloud from friction of water droplets
Comes singular strobe resetting
The receiving rods with baths of lavender
It stokes omening coals beneath the steaming kettle
Infused with the oncoming tea
In the universe of relativity
Simply put to the test of time
One as ever presently vast as that at hand
Strictly seeing the infinity of a moment
Is smaller than the smallest particle
And as unwilling to be held in the palm
While reading its marks on said pads
Paddling through unfamiliar lines
There is a lantern lit
Across the street
And one eyed focused into eternity
On it I gaze through it
Stumbling upon a rainbow-golden piercing heart
Radiant gleaming needles in every direction
Beating in rhythm after rhythm
Surrounded at the center of my being
The laws say that the light from my hands
Is slightly younger than that from my feet
Depending on their position
That is if I am standing looking down
At them looking up at me
Everything seems to happen simultaneously
Natures feminine forces always seeking
Often overwhelming labial attention of beautiful eyes
I am grateful for the patch of sky
Behind the rough torn cloth I am also grateful for
Anything which seeks stability will find it
Perfectly resting in motion
Anything which seeks instability
Will also find stability
After a few falls
Into rested pieces
I was going to purchase a shirt
With a picture of a poet
Painted in copper spiraling leaves
With napping sack and bird
Perched pointedly upon his shoulder
But I figured
And upon figuring we didn’t need it
Here with us today I refrain
Tall tales and tongue twisters are treats to eat before bedtime
The Model Figurine
So what happened was our nation
Has dropped the grocery bag
So the spaghetti jar has busted
Sharp to step on
All over the kitchen floor
So what, so we don’t break out the mops
Because we’re too lazy glued to sport
The sporting theater of dramas
Will it be for another four score
To go with the seven before
Before we begin to grieve
Past angry feelings
I don’t do it for the pot of gold
I do it for the lucky charms
I had on my wrist
It’s funny whenever I see the American flag
The empirical theme from Star Wars
Floats to me from five points and stripes
Texas our Texas meant don’t tread on me
And I promise not to kick you back
So it should be America our America
Not surrounded by sick dichotomous conventions
We haven’t lost our liberty until we don’t
Represent ourselves in the eyes we ray
She trained us for a revolution, y’know
Sure she’s spying on us, y’know
Drained and unresponsive
The girl needs another lick of the bleeding juice
Sure she can’t provide y’know
What basic needs do you need if necessary
Sure you’re overworked and underpaid
Under-rested and underestimated overtaxation
Sure your money goes to mass killing
Surely the elite wealthy control the assets
And therefore the market and there forwarding government
Sure the international endless war
Is more sophisticated than ’84
Sure people are depressed it makes sense
And as ever present Huxley had it right too
Vonnegut, Bradley led echoes toward Catch 22’s
Not so easy to buy into
Surely Marx had a point
That was really the problem wasn’t it
He was too narrow defining class struggle
Missing the struggle with classification
We too always determine the next form
Of societal bonds
Hoping one day to see the freedom
Beneath a sea of sound
Stripping through the hourglass
It’s a riddle wrapped in an enigma packed
Into a thumb trap inside a Chinese puzzle box
Some guys they just love to go back into the shit
So the boys ain’t got to serve another tour
For the babies in Babylon know not what they say
Nor doing at the center of the labyrinthine
When I say all good things come to an end
You’ll know I don’t mean they cease
But that in their passing they leave meaning
And eventually always arrive at a goal
Media’s love of replaying past mistakes
With aggrandizing polish teaches drama
Teaches children to cling
The only thing faster than light is time
That is the transformation of this multi-verse
In all its dimensions happening momentously everywhere
Gliding on its unpredictable property
It must be observed in its wave form
Both stable and unstable
The most stable element in the known universe is iron
That is everything tends toward irony
Stably every atom contains and infinitesimal small
Set of infinite possibility
Much the same the single point in mind
Every atom a universe of particulate body
Which also sheds
A watershed is an event
Which fundamentally
Alters every perception anywhere
Either directly or indirectly
With no return to the original state
Except in memory there are treasures
Our flesh can never know
Except vicariously through our soul
Ah to feel seventeen again
I wear an AIDS awareness shirt reading
Doe eyes upon me
Waiting for the eventual question
Answering remember to think
No duals I can’t wait to teach the kids
I am merely a student
The earth to shield the passing winds
From hellfire heat
Its stomach turns over
Speaking with the Shaman
There have been many more the Christ and Buddha
Seeding than the clusters of them blossoming
Magnolia tree in petals and palms before me
I don’t tell anyone how to shave their beard
Her center of gravity was perfected balanced
He was the salve
She took a top down approach
He showed us the ground of our being
Image of the reverberating Amen
The cedar seed is remarkably similar
In one movement of its revolving button
All our keys the same noise make
He was never any of those things they said about him
We near approach a truly transmutational
Era where not only are all cultures
Information and contexts be available
They will be as such frankly
All states accessible
In any flash collectively
Colored crayons lay strewn on the pavement
A shopping cart that never held anything forever
There is always going to be
A part of perfectly happy
Sitting here witnessing this exerting nothing
Doing complex into perpetuity
Relaxing masterful witness
A gang of geese chatter fat
White and gray feathered nibblers
Flapping their feathers squawking
Around the yellowish one cleaning
Belly down back at the ground
Swoop black beaks and orange
Matching feet in neat suits and dressage
No rhyming intended
Sitting at the foot of his writing bench
Moving toward the water
In surrendering swaddles
There is no shade on the beach
While we reach long necks to drink
Exposing glowing necks in the sun
Sky shown in naked lining
The hair tousled by the flops of hands
Tangles it is nothing but mane
The Wild Sagebrush
Poetry is the shorthand composition
Of the mosaic already moving within
It helps to say suchness to sing it
To see how it flows
It can be a lot of things I suppose
Causin’ ’cause s’possin was good enough
Show enough to many a dark body
On a hard corner largely invisible
For the both of us for too long
Slavery of any kind ain’t fly
Some stranded roadside
Make glares at compassionate provocation
Y’know you think if anyone’d have the right
To drop faith like a bag of bad memories
It’d be the Jews the Muslims the Christians
The universe of church
Even atheists and Buddhist brothers
It still figures centrally
In all our traditions
Two old men eye a pool cue
With equal satisfaction
A caramel twenty-two year old
Fills a mowing engine with gasoline
Handling it as though pouring blood
That one there he will be a priest
You can see it in the way he moves
Floppy hatted fungal caps slide mercilessly
Casing in amplifying staircases
Around the living compost called bark
Nebulous clouds of vaporous matter
Folding fractally out and away from gravity
Seed starry crystals in the cold falling
Wet starlight on children’s nosing
Who’s to say who
That the laws of this creation
Cannot bend at will
While still presenting with the fullness of truth
Coming full circle is the next realization
That in deed not all things are illusory
For the affirmation of love clings
Too in its endless formulations
While the one who suffers eternally
Does so for you too
That you may appear unscathed
Forever timeless unaged
Surrection in all things
The first thing to do at the place on Seventeeth Street
Was to get a gun and put two shots
Into the air and down the hatch
Keeping the hatchet close by
Fist fighting still by that fence over there
Where does the need to arise arise
From what I am
First there was awareness
Before which was not nothing
But no thing rationed
Then came the question of what
The first question of am I
And saying so subsequent revelation
Particularly constrained to give
Voice in the many ways
The only rational need of rationality
Is assumption of meaning
That is one is always one
Not two, which is also one more
Just as zero is a contraction
Also seeking equilibrium
Until it is found again in all things
One over the infinity
The ability to re-cognize anything
Speaking into his good ear
It’s the best way to get through
The divisioning mind gives way
Under the weight of its own argument
Still a form of mutual communication
Of multiplying around one
And so on and so forth
To finding guidance hiding in plain sight
Around and before and at every corner
Of the fully faceted gem
But then we were born seeing everything
In exploding clouds of color
Forming statements we all agree on
And then making deductions
From that point
With only an experience limited to practice
Specific to tradition
Without new conception we have
No way of perfecting toward an ideal
Already achieved
Unable to spend the principle of this place
Only consuming the interest and dividends
Pledges restricted until criterion pass
That is the dark matter
Held in asset until the right
Conditions meet to unleash
The potential endowed
It is the response ability
Of the organization to fulfill
The intention of the donor
Perceivable while the strategy
Of the organ unknown
Who wants to donate to keep the lights on
There’s no recognition in it
Sitting here, shedding papers
In laid in rings of oysters prospering
Around a grain of topaz
Screening a table, rocks of scholars
Weighting paper beneath Buddha hand fruit
Diamonds inscribed with poems for the I We
It the imperial thrones still remaining
A gulf of hot wind betwixt a perfect opening
Between clusters of wine
Clay boxes with circular corners sealing
Banking on the fine incision in flesh
Unrolling in scrolls before the pair of them points
That brush against the dragon mist
Reflecting refracting fugues splintering radiating
Fungus which stains another facet of stone.
A lion-footed dragon reclines
Eyeing his neighboring
She with an eye shuttered to the world
His gaze penetrating the blurring line of entering light
A broad halo surrounds
Empty air empty shadows pouring
The sky of webbed carved wooden borders
Trees made in great qualities, mahogany
Drum beats in rosewood tones
Pearl drop fruit hanging just, below
Jade wings dangling in the fractal
Mosaic tongues fluttering the smoke
Of rebounding birds curling feather tips
Over ocean’s salty blood
Boiling in the mind
Scoping to scour the stone of reduction.
Water sticking amid cloud washing design
Across the wrists of chairs of bamboo handling back end
Landscaping assortments of resting
Where buffalo once grazed knee deep in the bathing
In the revealing in the meditating in the river crossing
Carrying pots clanking chiming reminding still
Life by still life
Shuddering in bird form with an open grating
Scroll worked over in patterns allowing
The rising incense arousal overhead
In hooking detaching finial rungs of smoke.
Climbing up down to the unwinding spot
Compassed shadow map at night in the garden
Listening to the creatures of the evening tell stories
Told by the things passing in the day
Neither fallacious nor malicious
Folk between the east and west
Must be two turtle doves somewhere
In a distant Christ mass
Harking chimes
Married with resonating breaths
Sending the one body we’ve ever known
Forth with the one sunrise we’ve ever seen
Appearing from the vaporous mouths of monks
Baring soul in conchoidal fractures.
While she painted my back with softly rounded nails
Stroking my cerebral stems coaxing the freedom
To flow with maple tingling pulling
My string my automatic watchful movements
Cutting colors in oil, slicks and drags against linen
Watching textile faces emerge from pigment 
Breathing interlocutors in conceptual drops
Falling away in time projecting a photograph
Of the imagination in mage piles to be framed
Spelling out experience to be held unbound
By a happy medium
Electric concerts are a ruse and a cover
For the mystic leaders of a rolling temple of rotating joints
To exist unlocked and mingling on a more perfected vehicle
Making quick trips around feathering headsongs.
There’s a tube of Jimmy Dean wedged in the couch cushions
And the dog brought it in the living room to have a snack
Finding the refrigerator door open
We know how he feels
We’d do the same thing if we were the dog
Because, in the word of William, do tell,
We are sometimes shaking the spear                
Thinking of new definitions to describe the realization
It’s Kaleidoscopes!
We’ve become almost, almost completely
Desensitized to the violence
The rubber hose beating us about the ears and eyes
And stinging us with angry wasp venom
Twinging the swollen sight of impact
With each relational step
There is a gavel, striking violent re-actions
In a lawless court
Wherever there is one accuser-judge
With out likely minded peers like twelve pillars
Standing ready to dismantle themselves to build new homes
Laws ultimately written to be broken by lack of necessity
Forgiveness consummated.
What is more important to the human being
Reading or writing
Journalising in one form or another
Recreating the story in every moment
In so many words
We find inspiration or motivation in all things
Bad and good both can be misleading
As twigs get lost floating in a stream
Without the ability to splash
And so we read too
And don’t just watch too
Huxley, Hunter Thompson and Hemingway
Under cover of spines, standing the American Dream
And the reality of waking-upness
Glitters often in caustic images
Painted against an immovable canvassing past
We find Tolstoy
Speaks to us from the pages of his diary
While we whittle away revealing statues
From branches in our hands
The Williams of the world
Proffer ponderous passages
In prosaic poetic
We sleep on the sheets of Mozart
And look through the lenses of Warhol
Listening to the commercial clatter
Reflect the babbling brooks
Those polarizing glasses
Revealing how colors bend around the lenses
Showing cardinal directions
And a Hundred Years of Solitude
Does not erase the dream of history
With all Catches and the singular Twain
A relationship with all things considered
It is a be somebody else party
A young lady in the grass with strawberries
Henri and Claude and Pablo
Enveloping many facets on a plane
To reveal impressions of cubic mirrors
In paintings large enough to get lost in
With the finger paints of children
Who are the most important to read
And write for.
A pastiche emerges
From the cut and polished liquid gems of ground.
At the point between night and day perceptions
When Orville met Wilber
Right before our kind met the sky face to face
We pissed our pants on the brink of awareness
Passing through states like grains of wind
At the hands of an unyielding flexibility of invention
Sculpting flying forms of beauty
From all the little parts of camouflage
Rorschach realities in streaming blots
Convincing the realization not to be afraid
Of a little distance
Tasting the whole forest in the open mouth of a flying mind
Touching everything, emptying each tree
Of its radiating breath.
I open these gills, like a fish
Taking starlight in my throat
Veins open to the heavens or hells
Emerging transfixed with a beak
Skimming across open water’s reflection
A lake seen in the shade and shape of midnight
Leaves set between me and the streetlamp
Illustrating these few bouncing bones
Swinging loosey goosey
My own ghost projects, a shadow
Showing off a full figured gray blank
Seeing too many deeds and demons
With out a touch of soul
Walking well enough
Waiting and wishing for another body to change into
Before the light struck the entire structure of his eye
Then there was the story about the man saying
Parts unable to exist out of the whole
Resurrected now, resurrected now.
Even art is form is illusory
And by that only changing
And so must contain the necessary seed of its own evolution
Around the existentialist abstract impressions
The last important movement in American Art began
This subconscious surreal, technical, technique defined, anarchic, emotive
Pursuing a means of pushing the viewer off their seat
In strict order to turn the head around, again
Left a groundwork for a new motive
A new means as well as the movement
Still vibrating in the hearts of a revolutionary
Orchestra refusing to stop turning under the bright canopy
Harmonizing aware and motionless on a point
Resounding with a transcending rubber band
Snapping with Montoya’s guitar strings
Cante baile in the distant reaching
Interactive with the work with the viewer
Rationally directing the free technique
Ovals, like crossing spirals like halos orbits
Around the merry event horizons
Taking it all in
The meaningful must now contain an understanding
Of the whole of history: all perspectives are present
In the orphaned actions and context
Of nihilism: by the act of containing nothingness as a concept
Allow for its rendering to fade into the one same textile quality
That each other concept contributes
Full of meaning
To the conscious arising of the real surreal
There is no surface abstraction in this expression
Merely a literal appearance
Not unconscious but fully conscious,
Rationally understood while yet separating
Continuously from the artist who becomes immediately the viewer,
Witnessing the development and also perceiving
The bring me the head of “painting out the name here”
On a platter like the sun but not yellow
Intuitively, which is the next appropriate stroke. 
It’s why you shouldn’t smoke but you toke
Because it reminds you of who you were once
Back when you were a kid butting heads
With the dunces of aged perceptions
Not with principles, but ideals
No yolks and stoking furnaces
Out in the hill country
Still fresh with giving a damn for the bona fide
The gift, tripping out on the world
Seeing people in the tree leaves
Wrestling one another with embraces
And panda bears dancing in the embers
Of a low sleepy fire
Harlequins cajoling
For rose water from a bartender
Tonguing ice chips
Nectar of love juice
Trading stories for smiles behind paint.
Boats, bright fast moving eyes
Drift across the silver foil
Damp air fills the spinnaker’s thrust
Flaring in the front
Kindly guiding the vessel’s movement
Racing in the white heat of the afternoon
Pilots on the brink of falling in
Tipping the girl for full velocity
Dumping the wind into channels
Staring from one to another
Makes the connection seem directly linear
When this is but an illusion on a circular plane
Or a vibrating spheroid humming
To the long tune of time
Shredding slipping scales with sharp teeth
Envisioning the awesome beautiful
Allowing for its continuous arrival
Parallel with the current manifested.
We view our history to know how we’ve changed
To understand now when we’re stuck in the mud
Of our own making
We need all hands on deck on this one
Or else the wheel won’t move
And the caravan will rot in the sun
For the children of our consciousness
To have a place to play with their own
That last cigarette left without goodbyes
A cold lover moving on
I’d have been born in the Forties if I could have
And I was, during the droning of that other
War machine driving for the dominance of every one
At the beginning of the end
Of the stability of the atom
As a block and not a flow
At least the guy seemed like a hard up dude
Just looking for a stable place to put his energy
In the forming womb.
Beginning without the positive or negative
Good or evil, pride and hate
Begins with the mission of the awesome beautiful
And merely this: the perception of all in terms
Of motivation and inspiration
Because, Spoke, Will
All things temporary
May be seen too in their changed form
Those not fitting the projecting light
Wheeling and dealing as motivation
For delivering the previously mentioned stage
While providing another perspective in audience
Helping hands to refine the vision
Vowing all things too, as inspiration
Both ugly and beautiful in the senses
Full awning in the yawning shared monologue.
History and present and possibility prove this
The beauty of poetry is catching the finished piece
With the first thoughts of word
Polka rhythms take me back to Monterrey
Swallows cross paths over the plastic and aluminum
Striking the hollow deck hull
Whistling grips the flags that twist about the mainstay
Caribbean steelpans come into the background
No white light without a black sky
That is no music without a liberated company
Between bells invited to sound.
It is our job to constantly reinvent the wheel
Beyond the span of marking rings of expansion
Too self-identifying to identify our society
In terms of its adolescence
This view of it as immature is incomplete
Is not rooted
Deeply in the knowledge of its maturity
So in its sapling stage must be
To become a tree for us to pick up and tender to
Taking down new fruit
We seek not new heroes
To lead new old charges of lighter brigades
Vaingloriously reaching for glory in blades
But supports for the direction in which our branches grow
Without destroying each other.
Bringing the sexy back
A headgasm into the transcendental monologue
In a pen point sitting in the heavy seat
Motionless above a destining path
She was a night elf, a nymph in the willow
This story has been told in the old country
Red hooded figures from tales before bedtime
Reborn in a new frontier
Hollywood giving birth to the freedom of dream
Making up where substance lacked in plastic
We’ve been re-winding them
Those transitional feelings
From when I wasn’t thinking
About going home from work
Wanting to breathe at home
During conversation
Knowing that the moment passed
We are watching the liquid crystal digital mirror
That one that flows over itself from wood
To polished obsidian and glass to sky
In all ways a mighty motion
Rippling emerging
Descending receeding
All things when released follow
A programmed field accordingly
To the programming of the action
Accepting the task of arising with all things
Held in the mind tips eyeing her neighbor.
The coffee is strong it’s today
I love this I could take a bath in it strong
It’s the placebo effect.
Taking in without neglect
The energizing facilitating
The immune calm
The flexing radiant
Opening complete
The constraints therefore must
In nature leewardly fall away
Down in the wind
Giving way to the right just thought
Be it one
Which inheres more power
From all values
By the lasting nature of its inheritance.
I open these gills, like a fish
Taking starlight in my throat
Veins open to the heavens or hells
Emerging transfixed with a beak.

Liberating Aesthetic

Those little canvasses there
They are not merely mirrors
Or the one who was or even the many
Unifying the artist, viewer
Beyond the objective
Of the remaining subject
But the tools to be which begging
Creator within, is freely agreed
As we speak mostly humbly
Respecting soundly original guise
Making a party of us all
The unadorned posterity
Each its own communion

Seeking within the branches
And their fingers holding
I found waverly candles
Future through the setting sun
Jinxing us with bless you’s
When we sneeze
Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall
Taking down spreads words round
Putting two together
Ourselves we find a hundred
Now we’re cooking with the salt
Of those old books

You were in that Trojan Horse
They didn’t think of
They thought was theirs
To look at in the mouth
Just who’d they think
Was on that other side
Of that door anyway
For each one drowned the more pop through
The new head up groundhog poking
The torch-bearers twisting
The go round of shadow

The road we walk has been scraped by the teeth
Of steel titans, ready to be repaired
A hand rises clutching a bloodied rag
Lighting fresh fires in the wild
Shouting, there is civilization
Still, to be had here
Till the bodies hit the floor
No more flailing corpses

It’s all about getting in front
Before for the right people
Because we’ve peered, so far
Rowing into the deep of conversation
We’ve seen so far
Where the current pulls
Where the stream is going
Because we’ve gone so far
Down the whole of water
We’ve watched ourselves come 

Out the other side
Still here to talk about it
Gulping in the wind
Because our feet are flapping wings
Because we are a bird in a cool place
Within the many shrouded wind
Because there is hope
Because we say
We say so we will become
Because that is how it has always been
Because our cultures teach us
Infinite wisdom does not erode
With the facades of the temple of power
Be cause, we know
What they might say next
Be cause, we can show them we do
They’ll be forced to change too
Or decompose

New roots rootless
I met a man bearing a lantern
Beneath the watercolor wash
Two gents on an otherwise silent road
One smoking spattering notes
Below the laughing crying face of Apollo
Turning night
Pressed into the great indigo skin
Imagine Fortuna’s surprise
To hear she’d been undone
He was the watchman, I the watch
The beacon, the shadow of the storm
Anyway the few exchanged breaths
May imagine them as you like
Two hands clasping incense
They were the bread of life

For our fathers, who ought to but haven’t
Their fathers, theirs before theirs
They all had the chance to make it right
And now we face the failing world
And we are meant to save it
One avenging self the other
Fighting for the rest
Not poised on mountains
Knees soaped in the blood of the weak
Sacrificed on the table of plenty
Earth soaked in the swamp
The descent of the sword of fate
Against the agent of change

Go into the streets
Inviting those found to the feast
The ancient Mexican devotee
Prays at the feet of roses
Against the bright sidewalk of America
What are those words
But the vain scribblings of madmen
Who know not but stick figuring
Graffito-tagged on a cavernous mind
Simple scenes a crude representation
Express repressed litanies first found
Shadowing stoic scenes by fire

Gold and copper sequins to the waistline
She the complex lace likening tiny black
Squares the rest of the way
To the torn buttoned underskirt
Yellow silk pouring out
Cork thick high heeled sandal shoes
Purple-fade sunglasses, varied colored
Headwrap, dry pouting gripping around the filter tip
Lips carrying an unlit beauty

Come over here and lie down
Over here beside me on these slats
Boards risen as bed for above
The nightly glistening subtle
Riveted wet around the edges
Rubbing harmonical darling
Dangling image of a light post
Dreamers sing to each
With toddling voices hushed
Before bedtime
Stations in the mist bounce tuning
Beats from keeling floating forks
They look through the same set of stars
Until they see the equal destiny
Shins held while they face back at them
Saying go to bed
Tonight well rested
From the days fishing your lures
Of love about the piers end
The world passes through the finest sieve
And yet still that within
Between there she lays stretching
Morsels of mortality moving about sheaths
Haloic, sheets of fleeting masts ever directive

Am I not the one who made the road gnarly
I carve pipes of briarwood eyes
There was a mantis on the bridge
I crossed that night over water
There next to the arrow
Spray painted on the concrete
Skylight the replete mantled waxing

I dreamt about you last night
Again and what happened
You were sitting across that lap
We were in that blue velvet chair
In that nook in the upstairs window
At your childhood home
Overlooking the shores of Amalfi
Was I happy
You were wearing pink satin
Transcending peach in the morning
The mystical of my fondest memory
Glowing from the sap shutters
Your skin and hair were the same
Smoothed oiled summer copper
Olive branches in your lips
Ripeness, you looked out and back
Into the room your waxing meridian
Watery enfolded beholding Mediterranean
Waves under the sleeping day
And I was holding you, we were embracing
I can feel the skin beneath the veil
Revealing nightgown in our daydream
You stood up and walked behind me
Following a gaze to a black box
Covered linen column for you to sit on
Before a canvass pinned to the wall
Alight in the studio of my brother
And you sat down looking past me
Through the windows then I woke up

I’ll meet you over at Keller’s
Where the neon covered parking
Is when we’ll park our bikes
And have hamburgers and Stella
You and I are parts to the same
Conscious staging wherever we go
Watching Klimt for as our concern
Is concerned it is the best piece
Out right now delivering powerful breath
Around the unique quark of Mssr. Malcovich
Capturing the soul of that artist
For the briefest golden foiled reprisals

I hold a sandstone covered in dried clay
Mud on these supposed fingers
Matchless, flexible changing patterns of lines
Saying both to it to myself
You have been this way
For a very long time now still
This way made up from the pebble
Of the first invitation
At bed with thrusting hips
Expanding into yet more than two
Ribs into layered bready egospheres
Yes, yes keep riding me
Until we both release
Got to love that woman all in all
It’s a womb thing, it isn’t a loaf
Really, it’s a self-developing egg
And we are but the acid
The nucleic oh the twin enjoining
Generation oxidizing the rickety wandering
So much so we melt into each’s others
Pores of bands intertwining
Flights rounding increasing circles
Extending upward through ticking tides
Into fresh air
I pose a preview and skip the stone
Having rippled skin tell the story
Well enough for now
You too will be here again
Some time from now, still here again
Saying this very thing
To new finger’s curiosity

Moving in waves away from you and me
Through time perhaps there is a space
At the center of every bit of building block
In strands of humming pulled in
By a massive vacuum
Keeping them from flying apart mostly
Tending to give each some specific character
Combining heaping bodies
We don’t want to destroy them
We need them at the table
Terrorism cannot be destroyed
Anymore than fear by bombing villages
It must be overcome in scarred hearts
As on a winding shaking bridge
The rigid impulse of each step
Is sent on wavelengths through the rest
Bearing evidence into the quantifying web
It is the notion of

The first bells imitated sprinkling playing
In puddles on the overhead leaf clapping hands
Don’t look at me, me’s getting out of the way
So you may see which way I come
Emptier than empty is humptier
Than our friend dumpty over here
He didn’t fall he was pushed
Having the ground to break him

Text messages don’t kill people
People kill people asleep still wrecking
This train we’re still trying to figure out
Who murdered whom
I’d rather our people be our gun toting militia
Than our military go out touting
Our candy stripe spangled poli-cock
All over the place spreading the wrong seeds
Upon sandy ground, log in the eye
The governing beast hates the idea
Of transformation, ergo the loss of identifiable
Pride leaving only unity beyond price
Here I am deep in toward walking
Under oaks bows heart

Day and night consists of two glass panels
Layered cross wise with neutral spackle
Again assembled in carving cuts of the palate knife
Erecting dark and light
Respectively putting on lark and height
Side by side at the diptych
During days portion’s symbols
Top, there is the head
Liberating mask back extended
Through into a camouflage of cloud forms
Above, translating to a seat of butterflying approach
The balancing parallel reveals
Two hands twisting a string
Which re-presented below the constant
Quantum tunneling of consciousness
Arising during the sea
With out external luminous sources
Seeming contractions remain a density shift
In the transmission flow
While bipolarism orderly recommends
A middle path of eventual relaxation
That’s end-event the long moment

Even the asphalt is a multiverse
Superclustered galactic swerving on your head
We want to get to the end of conversation
With that guy horrifying us
Because of who someone else is
Who we are
Pulling our hair out
Trying to kill him
When we won’t be able
To kill that voice
With gunshots
As was told me through the door
Through the keyhole
Through what I looked, I peered, I peeked
The superciliously silly circus
Of Everton Irie
There’s a cat and a cradle
In there somewhere for our kids
For images to draw on the chalkboards of minds
Mining: (draw a box here)
Circles intersecting over there
I think of most these things
Sometimes, all states all at once
A fat heap of wool upon a sheepskin
I forced a hair outgrown my chinny chin chin
And noticed a cockaroach on the turquoise
Painted opposite the nightlit mirror
I followed it quickly turning in my eye
Slow steps turning into seeing it smashed
Upon a Kleenex in a flash and soft thunder
It takes me much longer
To get ready to sleep than to wake up

I learned to sing that song
Smoking into my twenties
A watched moon always rises
The piece: a rising moon in three parts
Between veins of sky dew
Against a background of distant storm clouds
Passing over the great plain of memory

Messr. McCarthy awaits the bus
The answer to his many prayers
Alongside tarred potholes
There, over there through the night
There is a four part Tibetan mural
Depicting the protectors of the cardinals
Except in glass
Broken one-third the way up
By aluminum sills
Whereupon the screen shown
A man seated, white haired
Ceasar-cut caddy to her
Low hanging spectacles
Passing chords concerning the viability
Of their children’s future question
The marriage of life and death
Browning, the first layer in painting
Shows sketches of flesh from earth
Strapped and daring in the kosmic
The enlightening journey
To the heart of the American Artist


For Ewes in Ewe Cages

She comes up heeled in fire and threads
Light that lulls her face to me to you
Long eyes song kisses to bed to bed
Darkness pulls away the lace
Little babies listen closely
Toyland days and nights of loverly
Masquerades of laughter and song
Mingled fogs licking sticky tongues
Over head understairs over meeting
My blanket your playground
All’s fair this that’s hours
Romeo and Juliet at War

And then I realized I’d been the same
Thing for too weary to say shame
Far to the place to remember
Everything already written on your face
We must be careful what we cover up
What we erase naked stretched out
Wrinkles to say you’ve been about
Long enough to learn

Look at the face of the tired man
Quietly shoveling sand
The traditional form of the two party systemic
Knowing the gig is up
Has already risen two new faces
Beyond all past prejudices
But still sends presents to the blind
Who enter their booths
Their boxes of mind asleep
While crowing the carnies rob their pockets

The door awaits the sharpest
Those will follow scent to detect
The proper electoral who pleases
That truest sense the most
Enter the carnival ready
With handwritten nominee
Not teleprompted, telepathic
Es el ideal del representante
Noting all are names to post
Both the agent of change
Guised in le bouffon
The zanni writers write the lazzi
Huzzah huzzah we shall recall
Romeo and Juliet at War

We chug down the select Bud
After our battle tired song
Remembering missed compañeros
Childhoods in long locks
Taste for greener pastured lives
Than money gained losing our breath
Rough loosing gidding coughs
For those we lost into the wayside brush
Moving, brushed too close to the same
Painting ourselves, out of love
Chopin’s Concerto No. 2
Operating in minors
The final symbal crashes
Piano crying in wide angles
Gunblast through the fragile
Skeletal cage of a ripped mind
Divorced reality young adolescent
Heart pressed to too much wine
Unready pale lit tasting
Now resting between four walls granite
Mausoleum housing babies dream
Frozen between hung clothes
His mother’s matrimony dress
Stained by smiles
Lip red smiles we won’t get back
Nothing is lost to histories
Quiet pages from the Passover
Time wishing well
To quiet voyagers’ ears
I now refrain
From eating meat
After the Nihon beast film
Only non-linearly through time
As for several weeks I had not
But then I knew I could never go back
I found I never could go back upon the shelf

Who will bring hope back to a podium
A theater near you were no politician
I tell you, seeking power from others
To make change when you probably already knew
Everything is always already changing anyway
Zen voting put down the right name
Regardless of the whether
Sponsorship and party labels dictation
Media wizard really changing you
It is true though charming men
Can still make a difference
What people’s president
Having others to chant Mao Mao
Blindsided by polished grins
Heaven knows women charm enough too
Snakes lie in vibrant colors’ patchwork robes
Hissing around, the echoing vibration
While playing, Cheshire’s in trees

My memory begins to fade
As I look upon a broken ended pen
Which the platinum cap
Sharp cleaved the scalp of lacquer
Revealing the blood cartridge
That memory of who begat whom
So instead shall we start
With understanding what at least
Has been begotten and when and how
It came to pass the sun
Still rises above the good and bad
Ugliness meets self-disdain
Upon a crowded alleyway
When children forget they were once
That they were able to play nicely
As brothers and sisters at the placemats
Plenty for everyone glue sticks
And rhymes and riddles
Play worlds and staged songs
With no intention but connection
Rome in July was fine

Fear is the officer of authority
Mugging your dignity
While babies open eyes
Begin to melt and there are always
So many which will come
Eyeless chain mailed demons
Through the crosswalks cracks
No diddies crack racking pellets of lead
Leaving shells which crush
Under waves of singing boots
Creating new stones, dreading daily
Searching for bread without water
The training ground of the mightiest might
Make right of way for its own bad self
Yet to be seen self-justifying
Waiting to be shot
In the gangland of its own making
All swagger and big-dicking
Fuck you’s all around smacking
Other parts of your being and mine
Whether you like it or not
I refuse to allow them not
To be called my very-own
For I am called by the same fashion
As before just like the rest
I’ve had enough still having water

While some go nightly in the heat
One hundred thirteen degrees of weeping
In American dollars I think
Whatever they’re worth these days
Costs more of them than context can spend
Environmental wasteland of the diverse human
That is, there’s no rent being paid
On this place and while the roof falls
Still for your’s and mine to make
Taken in hand it is not
What up on the block
Where eggs can be thrown more easily
When feelings begin to seep
Who whispered in the hearts of Jinn
It were no man
We all know when an ego
Looks to be taking over, don’t we
What do I see, what do I see
You probably already knew
What I was going to say
Next to go to sleep say
It’s another long day tomorrow
You’ll know what I mean
If you are awake and reading this

Juxtaposition destabilizes the receiver
So as to begin to see the truth flow
Through the many channels of in-between
If this is not a dream can someone
Please turn the house lights on and off
For a long moment or two of eternity
So we may all see this empty room
We must fill together
And would still be awful boring woeful
Without everyone else
Being here as well to notice
Romeo and Juliet who are

We are in time beyond death threats
Where lay two sided arguments
Simply enough disassembled
To be reorganized, canon
We are living beyond the post modern
With its great contributor
The deconstructionist attitude
Taking itself apart
My face squeaks like clean linoleum
Under fauceted hands
Sleeping we cheated on her dream
Thinking I wanted it to be my own
A few hours is enough to learn
To portray the painting housing spirit
But not enough if polishing veneer
The temple her skin ever thick
Subtle tempest of strokes
I tried you at your mother’s
But you’d already gone
Left for home
Before the nonsense stopped
And we found something novel

There was a stoic toad
Polished obsidian eye
French grey speckled coat
Of the adjacent ornamental road
A rug he is hunkered
As a lone weathered granite in a summer field
Salt water whisking air of Greek gods
Ashore he asked
Contended we are only what we know
Or I asked who is saying that
Making those resemblances
She is on the next floor up
Centerpoint of a room I know
I have never been but always termed
I pass all her lips going each the next
Faring ample spate cambered
Your back upon your mouth
We flattened ourselves
When we were younger thinking
Ourselves as haughty among men
Created equal
Realizing as we grow along
Was the other way round the arrangement
Most non-threatening position
Sat on your haunches
Atop thick cushions of enchanté
Gestures of no fear
The book is written to teach
In words and working rhythms
The divining of inspiration

Putting most perfected labels on the labialess
Tacking mirror’s silver lined posters
Pasting the payment of posted bills
Uncensored proposing props
To gander or respond to
Out in the square
Which is where we go
To gather round new messengers
Ringing our perceptions together
Seeing the multiview which removed
The appearance of vanishing points
Which arise from the single eyed weaving
Tire the clear speak
That washing ether of smooth hypnotic
Which shares the cup at the altar of supremacy
The tower of able babbling party noises
Below the hand of defiant Gaia
Rogue gypsy pirate pillaging as necessary
Setting back all clockologies
Defining saying nothing
Not that I want to hear
Don’t tell what we already knew
But I want you to tell the future
Because I see it too
In so many lit pictures in the mind
Who cannot see that come and speak
Should be better to put it in writing
Do you catch much out here
No not today, ever
Not over here, much the more
Over by the bridge and under
Braided embellishment flutters
Floating hairs cranes sweeping
Gives justice to hands paddling
Oars embedded in those thighs
Migrations of the ethereal

Who you are? And where you go?
Tell me who we are and here we head
The one thing ego cannot be
The witness keeping tabs and tabs
On what its looking like these days
He was a man in a mask of iron bristled beard
A sharp young Hemingway
Who did return from Vietnam
With one pointer digit missing
Veterans cap spilling truth on the spit
Curbside peninsula while we stroll
The tolled road away automotive
Romeo the pimp makes Juliet a whore

Bald eagles peer from fate’s height
Away from the schemers’ dregs
Amidst the shriek of answering calls
Looking down on the powerful
To serve you better this drier
Has been installed to limit towel waste
Mountain of spreading able disease
I’m ok with dropping butts on the sidewalk
Walkers-by may stare in stale disgust
At what looks to cover your ground

If you see me drink or smoke or toking hope
Please believe, I have already completed
The daily wages of my obligation
We put our feet to paved Odysseys
Running bare chested sitting still
Hopping from the small things
Which do matter along with the big issues
Formulating we tease more slowly
All our ultimate favors promised before
They came to be

Here is another rung to make your ladder
When you’ve got it high as it will go
What will you do with all your larder
That you have stored for when you row
Out in the brambled wildeness
Where we tread shoeless

You are a terrorist too
And who can say why
We stake each other
In our hearts the answers
Lay dying beating by beating
You see a model airplane
Strapped with see-four floating
Across the White Housed loaner
Kaboom-boom he said fighting
For her life under moonlight
The word government is replaced
By the word you have the potential
Always already there
The idea of a truly democratic
Body is only scary not palming
Faith in the abilities to arise
Consciousness from the deadened
I wrap all those disliking thoughts
With cigarettes and scraps of paper
Found in the park we both walk
Into the recycling can they fly
Romeo and Juliet must die

Your governing body is in collective
Not any individual shadow and it is afraid
I demand you wake up now
Of par the course of the steady cause
You want to blow it up too
When you don’t know what else to do
But we too find togetherness still true
Headstart upstandishness would make us fall
As shining we are covered in tar
Of wars against inhuman foes
Not even sticks and stones
Warning you to fear the unknown
shakedown of those in power
It’s the biggest fear of failure
Case I’ve ever seen in history
Talking about the perfected democracy
Said the doctor to the patient
Sit quiet and you will not walk
Whatever you do
Do not grab another crutch
It too shall pass and perhaps the better
Without muddied influence and more credit
For the debtridden mind telling you whats what
You will go slow and unsteadily at new starts
Hearty for speed that will stick around
Past about your yolk
Dont worry sometimes turning of the TV
Finding input elsewhere helps
Reduce the influence of the drugs injected
Into your lifeblood stream of understanding
That last hasty deed not thought of twice
That don’t think just say yes
Came before the raping dawn
The bloodred moon of a wageless warpath
Against another version of the invisible
Asking you to buy the worthless security
What has changed, what can change
Is your ability to rise above
Accepted Karmic answers
To better stages beyond question
Who is a bipolar radical cleric
Extreme in love for everything
Total despisal for no-one
We were forsaken so we could see
What we were meant to overcome

Never has been a question of right and wrong
Everyone born of capable suffering and love
Only our kind holds a grudge
Against the weather
Now well be ready
For that there hereafter
Where once were unsteady
Now well swing from the rafters
Money grubs costs much litter in shit piles
Mocking birds say no addiction
The powers are worried about
Once spoken to, that minds change
Your perception won’t slow down
To where pain would like to now
We learn instead of keeping stash
Slashed and buried tracks behind us
Raining forest ash of a perfect garden
To most suitably bide
Fronting appearance abiding
Superficiality with superficial stares
While entirely outside the whole time
Is, on our side surviving
For the present moment is the first step
Followed closely by its second half
Admitting we’ve been addicted
To the system and its associated sufferings
Begging for methodone:
Have water, crossing stars


Piping Stories

I  ask of you now what is death

You are not in standing under
So what is your question
The greatest fallacy
Is the presumption:
Spending not invested
Will grow the economy of self
When common cents
Pennies on the dollar
To be repaid too late
Tell you cancer grows
While healthy cells develop overtime
Everything flows down the same stream
Into the same tunnel
Remove the filtering funnels
I ask again of you what is death
Talent time and treasure
You will never find
You are seeking what is not
Only lost to what always was
Is really very simple instead
Throwing it all away
Give billions the chance
Instead of throwing dice
To grow planted as our investment
In our own future toil and taxes
Covering only the marginal failures
When and to exact, the value as they arise
Instead bailing out crooks’ sinking ships
All at once now together now
Again and again the slaves row
No more mumbo jumbo
Please and thank you
These are the very things sought
And have still the still power to retain
To inform our salve upon
And if we could but vote on
Before electing an eternity away
The Story of the Tortoise and the Hubric Hare
The beating of the hail of fire unforeseen
Leaves the loser to lick the wounds
Listen closely lads and lassies
To the sounds of the unpaid piper
Malleable rapport earned
Over more than speeches
Finds the doc holiday saving
And putting brakes on unstoppable trains
In the end well sit snuffing out
Charred tree arms, weeping
Songs filled with no could have beens
But every for all that was has seen
Stained inky blotches cover skin
Security blanket no worse the wear
When others sleep in fucking nutzo
Evolution and development deceive
Each other while we inhabit what
Worn, the most appropriate suit
Reading each the others’ hand
To see our game was a constant landing
Chance happened upon a window
Dove flew the coup to perch
In gardens turning over continuous
Integrating everything reducing and reducing
Toward and through one final constant
Resting and roosting each equation
Mid the bounds of infinity past
Under the infinite future symbols
The hands discover what we’ve invented
Seashells by the seashore, not selling
Crafted on our backs
Witnessing the pleinable air
What once was is once again
That has the fair and what has changed
What will change the same
The same the same the same
Round and round the merry go bout
Till we all have heard the bell
Letters do go down the mill
The river rushes laughing still
Scribing to shine the face of time
Do not fear and do not fear
Native Found Nation

We built obelisks of stone and feathers
So we could read the scripture
From afar from beyond the fence
Facing and fading in the wind
Treading carefully in the cemetery
The tired leaves roll over and over

When was it that we came to be
From hominid to homineo
Facing the fact
That faceted you feel hopeless or afraid
That you are helpless and can do nothing
To change it all toward what you want to see
What always needed to be
Tells me when you are asleep
I will still whisper to thee
Softly, slowly, stead and gently
Ever gently poking the many colors of your face
Helping us to wake up ever taming
The shaman in the dream
The shaman in the dream
Neuroses calming
Shelf stocking the whole late
Night shift of the early riser

Making many soon enough to see
We are free and we are free
Please forgive I was a wee shaky
A little queasy for I have not eaten
All day in the orange air
The city tells me to stay indoors
Its sick outside
No thank you, I was not hungry
Very and besides the bed
I had a cup of tea
This morning beginning to kick in
For me for you

Before when you ate apples
Given to you by whom
We cannot say
There was no boundary between you
And me and the apple and the tree
And he or she but then
We went ahead
And ate one apple thinking
Could there be and could there be
A boundary between communions
Comma a line between
This here apple and my own self
But then soon enough we were
And became beyond boundaries again
Mushing commas forward and forward
Backward the both of us
Backing into ground again

So it was a bit circular
But we got there
Longer and shorter so we should
Learn to not go suing ourselves
Over petty things on the faiery earth
Who can we blame when we don’t want
To get burned but roll around
With hot coffee in our crotch
Driving like mad crazy people
Through other neighborhoods
Zigzagging across square streets
Like it’s Mardis Grass on that human street

Walls when you want to find me
You’ll know me seeing the stranger
In the street corner pants
And the all day waiting for the dawn
Rocks under our feet not in our pockets
They’ll say oh
You went and spoke to that Irishman
Ah, and they might even think
Something they don’t know
But must think anyway
Because they don’t know how to say
What they feel, but yeah, that too
Will give way to curiosity, eventually
Someone will say that greatest thing
That you’d been there for them
In the darkest hour
And there’s one thing we’ve learned
If anything if we’ve been through
Together then we’ve been to everything
Together we’ll be carrying on
Less serious than before

There was a snake in the road today
I saw it dead with my open eyes
As I tend to drive figure eights in night
Not to tell where to go
But to go speedily while other sleep
Holding secrets for another day
Mapping a navigation
So during day a rock will keep
And silent through the ocean furling
And unfurling and folding
Clouds into nourishing rain
Bows and struck already
And already target bends
Involuting at the spearhead’s request

So I’ve been kissed
By the flip of death once or twice
Drowning in ponds of our own making
And who hasn’t
Might try to get there in the mind
Pushing off pool walls with teenage legs
Kiddie kicking swimmers
Angling into light bermudic oblivion

I love dancing with those froot loops till dawn
For I wouldn’t waste the time
If it weren’t worth the time to be here
There right there the sunflower waits
Shriveling on the rusty railed bridge
Beneath the spiders’ webbing
Conversations over the well placed strokes
Of gold and brown and blue

For the noble knowledgeable master
Students must affect that means the better
Unto the same effective answer
We could have said noble but needn’t
That to give away that secret
Of sliced bread and butter toast

If the refrigerator door comes down
Wrong, just jingle it cooling off
Let itself back in it fit
Placing the way it would naturally
Unforced into apropos position
A system which might attempt to censor
The unwanted outcomes of speeches of freedom
While the I’s will not come cheeply
These days cawing centuries’ passing
Before we until another downy fly

You cannot tear at the foundations
Of peoples homes and sell
Their lives of those who built
For so many duller bills
Telling them you are the giving tree
Providing places to live free
At liberty while at large
Poetry of pretty things
Has its time and place
Too such as Ecclesiastes
And time too for the season of fire
And hard knock prophets
And so I ask
Who is there
Awaiting answers presumed
Assured replies
Counting on the weather
Of stars too
What would you do
And what would you do
Now and then again
For the two by two
Don’t give me that plastic
And all that contraption
I’ll dry my hands just fine
With these here papers
Singing neigh nay
With this air
Will do just fine
Splendidly for the time


Street Corner Ship

If you will but shed yourself you shall
Find flocking you are shepherding there
Mass generated when birds in formation fly
An infinitely light point moving very quickly
One moment to the next wrapping in gravitas
Drawing in other self-generators in communion
Daisy chains like photons
Fountaining plumage of morning riverside
Needing you to come to some kind of understanding
Convening your conscious covenant to conceive

Yes if I had to I would capture
Those wings those ducks by the bank
So that familiar
Could fill empty bellies, here
To never coming to that
But knowing what’s there for too
It’s not like you
As though you must do
Any one thing
Your world transforming
As passes through you

Over in the gully green rolling
Amphitheater of quiet blades growing
Over and from withunder thorough
Thin sheets of brick mosaic
There are fence posts supporting
Bed posts arching wooden beams
Totems a doorway into gaping
Shadow at the mouth of fir
And oak and shrub leading
Into the concerting forest playing
Music behind the threshold
Between seer and seen

I do not subject to the wild
Thoughts of men
Sharing what is truly my dominion
Turning brick dripping letterboxes
The fundamental gravity of consciousness
Five words spoken along the same line
There are painted strips of prayers
Curling drying in the am air
Waving forgive us our transgressions
While copper coated steel cubic frames
Nest with each other via pyramiding cables
And bamboo reeds clack with ecstasy
Trunks suspended outline of glass
Of things once living too
Feeling seeing and knowing when
To pull in sap and send out cups
Of many tempratur’d canopy shifting
Between seasons effortlessly
In our plain sight

Zeitgeist printed collages of lithophoto
Jet intagliocolle relieving linohand
Transfers metallic gravure plates in the mind
Where you have heard truth and power
You will tell another Falesa
While a lie you will squash in the void


For an Ode between Paz and Neruda

For the handfuls of the captain’s daughter
We took confessions of folk tales
And memoirs of wolves
Brothers on the Steppen’d slopes
Sanding bells and branching watches
Do not effect the education of lizards
While many could have some were
Dancing eight legged trailing silk
Unable to imagine otherwise would haves
It could have been a hundred years
Out standing there walking giving that dude
Directions seemed like forever
We haven’t can’t even remember
Odes to those poor oysters


Romeo and Juliet at Peace

I saw two children with warm faces
Drinking in the afternoon
While dragons fought
Over each their illusion
Sipping each others liquor
The children sit still with warm faces


The Noble Vine

Allow me to divert your attention
To this hand here waving here
So that you do not notice
The ones stuffed in this pocket
Depositing magic of pastel scarves
Every color reflective struts
Covered in quill’s repository
Our top hats cone up covering
As our bellbottoms unfold
Spiral toward that splendored bark
Bearing slender shadows
To the point of concentration
So that what you consent
Does not merely create
The future present you
But we become that creative
Not begotten by either of us
Held between our minor keys
Fingers on the coast tiding in
Growing through the ebb
Noticing deferred pittances of sand
Are many dimensioned bowing water
Betoking overfoaming mental catalystics
Cataclysm was just too dry
A word which unacceptable
Will never become more than was
In the alien garden planted
Were less blinding tomming
Suns showering tactile silver and gold
Palpable metallic where formed doors
Morph translucent and glass is air
Water is flamboyant and ice groans
And we are there
With moans like bicycle’s pedals
Yet to bloom overlapping gels
New code lingo we know
Them too when sums we see
Rather than patches and fools
That were an ocean of fire
When we got that ancient stone
We laid down waiting
Rubbing wax marks on waxing pages
We got it and we used it
Because possessing the grail
Never the point of treasure hunting
But finding it realized we had it
The whole little while we thought
Would not never end
Much the same a pressured can
Cheese whiz also incomprehensible
Before it came to be
Some things still cannot be stomached
Easily bitter drinks taste too
Revolving tongue scratching
Its own indefinite back
Out and front again
We finger paint the French fries
Waiting to ketchup themselves
This check stand is
To open first and close last
The figure wouldn’t be evocative
If not stimulating more than its own body
Kidding and not plotting
Skating paper to term
While on the white elephant game
Strategic outcomes rely
On more than empty joke boxes
Straw filled jacks and hoaxes
I said I have never read your word
But brail for the blind
That voice in shaping bumps
A thousand times has prepped
The piano wild paisano
In clustered tone harmonies
We once counted three to one
And woke up during that hours’ bone
Borne upon what was told
At ten past the midway
Of Edening hope
That the carriage world
Turns to pumpkins
Symbols painted on cut logs
That there is the Square
Said squire squirrel
And that over where
The light is spilling around
Is marked by the you
Another seat here bound the ex
And that the last corner infinite
Turned such strokes to butt
Came to be indecipherable
Reassembling what may be
From the leaf bud shaping
Remarked perhaps is facing
Not it at all
Honed ebony eyed crows
We are the queue of the Queen
And bored the toad croaked
Five minutes beside Monet
The silent companion
Mallards hold their breath
For longer than cigarettes burn
They hold wet backs
Round eyes breathing one ocean
Dipping heads for minnows
Blessed daughter of the blessed son
We shouldn’t be so quick to scream
Having pricked our fingers
We knew would bleed
Before when we shouted enough
For even these and these
That man in the restroom
Seated before cologne and mint breath
Speaking to you of blessings
Of four portal attacked hearts
Prisoner of war and father
For four scattered to winds
At three quarter century
With plenty of road to go
Write your book Bernard
Scarred and still white topped caring
The young boy grabs his neck of wood
Chrismed with wide olivian veins
Concentrating conscious squeezed fists
Light heavy train of heartbeats
Thoughts not subjected but subsumed
To service the greater experience
Whiling the drum rolls
On in different marching drummers’
Percolating tunes to float thoroughly through
Pomegranate crushed at the feet of the bush
Will soon be indistinguishable
From grass to bush again
Many scientists still believe
We will be able to control
Technology’s mad blisters
Over environment before we learn
Mastery of our urns
The product of ego boiling
With desperate chunks of need
Falsity has been naughtily limited
Unconstrained made available
Upon the table of reception
Laid with the best of ability
By the lowest servant
People still believe
Outside of a personification
Seeking to see specifically
Refracted good forms of selves
While arguing dogs
Must speak human to give
Voice to godly sounds
They do not mark their throats
With plans for extinction
Relying on instinct
We would be most animalistic
Bent on an hour of reduction
When good sense shoes
We are wearing equally weighted
In the opposite direction pulled
Suddenly into the stream of middle ways
Everyone stumbling from the road blocks
Cars wrecked the wrecking of paper
Against protecting barrier our strength
To reright them immigrant influx
Tattles on that this ain’t the best
Places to start scarabs
Once told prophets
Altered their visions of truth
To the means of the ends of time
Giving them away unstaged
To the answer to all troublesome things
Always ever appreciated costs
In the wind smoothing the unfolded
Unfounded to call bubbling land flat
Liquid takes hiking boots and sales
Lolled out body down before
Your eyes rode contoured steps
On the skin of settling and unsettling
Waves cause the welcome of fall
Through the rabbits den
Out to the land marveled end
Next turn to see through another I
Remake it all accessible
Invocations of the modern antiquity
Blind machine simplicity
There is a kiln over here too
Overgrown with ivy’s standing
The test through
Man could not invent God
Anymore than mathematics
Told one was on
And off was zero
Plumbed to the uncompromising
Attempted comprehension requiem
Requiring the brief but utter
Annihilation before another layer
Added to the cleverer
Uniforms of brown and leather soul’d riflers
Bakes bad bread and though dead
The solitary sacrificial lambs
Still hum willingness to be
The ones present for the offering
That was you too and me
Humoring the wandering
Herding forth to the pilgrim destiny
Homeland wandering the untaken
Suchness the simultaneous valediction
Welcoming reestablished relations
De-establishing by revelation giving
Away irrelevancy for sharper clues
New sleuths grained and muscular
On the historical nourishing sea
Agreeing lady and lord
Ships which passed nightly
To the fire of day’s continuity
The domains will find ways to freely
Place to rest furnaced masonry
So we share the brightest dreams
To deflatter and scatter shadows
To shape eminent significants
We all wanted to be
Able to rest our hands
Upon the coats of another’s dog
Considered masters painted dark to light
As the most effective technique
To inhabiting true form acception
Sliding on the catamaran tracing pontification
Boards chatting up the cricket symphony
Wet from fisher’s bucket
Are donned up, ornamented
With discarded scale’s nightgown
The fluffing feathers reflections
Pearl drops scattering
Rolling closer to meeting shore
Nightly making love
Into wobbly eggs
Hate the spate of afternoon
Across vibrant surfactant
Wicks reduced to ashed desire
That was the life of fire
The wood cut rippling sex
Tangled bodies of which is fair
Enough to keep and keeping infants
Incessant bleeding beneath a sphere of pressure
Enough to say was the life of air
Erasure flossing providing respiration
To ground raising the appreciating
Being that bestows the wedding
We have seen children as young as none
Sitting in pools of light fruition
That was the life of earth and water
Speaking of the marriage of heaven and hell
Is for many a sight too far to glean
Teething on terms of life and dreams
Tasting approaches of everything
Every one a thing always the same
Below iceberg surfaces precipitating
Contributing more than numbered parts
Summoning a hoary dust suit
Hurrying never suited being
As well as you found freed
Life and death of the elemental
Nunuvum: The current rabbit runners
Greyhound ballot tale chasers
Not measured for the course
Jerking circles around the gamblers
We might have heard the frisky invisible
Munching orange aged pictures
Spitting truth about the hunters
Joking, which way up to dock
The flaming heart the shape of puddles
Those two hands with wet catching
Coming soon to new stances
Near you the need for succession
With robust response these days
No secession of veritas Die
That great plow man with the rake and shovel
Who breaks the earth, removes the rubble
With tender hands does his lady lay
With hair in flowers
On the lace and raining day
The artist does perhaps deliberate
The poet’s prose not mere libation
Dedicated to the meaningful liberation
Of all topics considered
The watchers of death may mock your steps
Both in and out the river embrace
Overturning soil, blade, fishbone, egg
Soles tread what are commanded
Following criers call from shoals
Through fire, stone, foil, templar flight
Guided air in following lines
Carboned water beings brought home
And home to rest and splash to bursting rest
Imagined complex of the kosmosphere
The trick to take us back
Lost in the foresting words
Apparitions at first tongues unleashed
Lazarian chariots from platonic
Atomic dreams bring us to cleaned streets
Harlem tradition connecting posts
Renewed disembarked from convention
Hedged and tardy unprotected
Particular demonstrated incapacities
Relaxing into elasticity
The effortless act of the realizers
The life and death of knowledge
Bounds bearing the howl, the claw
Chiseling beside the plow man
That root grows in many directions
Bearing the same fruit to the dinner table
It seems a lot of haggling, hassling, hustling
The staggering stragglers battling
Lickety split straddling
Two shores clicks to clicks away
This beat for the beats
Two halves of the same intentionally
Leave this space blank
For your participation
I applaud you
Arise, adieu, a duke, a duchess
Black Dog
She’s a good girl
But she likes to chew sticks
That unknowing puppy
Getting splinters past the vestibule
Understuck the palate between molars
She thought the world would end
In a toothpick wound
But we took it out
Emergency surgery
Remove the interference
She can be still
A sweet thing
Robeless Tabern
I have seen the boiling of the sky
Trenched the ashes of the dead
Relatives have already told mine
Have the story unwritten in old lore
We have tasted the nectar
In the veins of bird’s humming flesh
We are the eve of man
The nightly day, that conundrum
We are truth when we see each other
Eye to spire a vertigo of light
Bodied reflection and we tumble
Sidelong into one another evaporation
We are the resurrected moment
Have not’s you will also be
In time and time’s clockwork progression
You digress but may at any age
Reconfess to what you’ve always known
Deep and in that low down town inside
You know, where your twilight dwells also
Ah, the freshness of refurbication
Lubricated movement smooth sight production
And I whisper Armageddon
Invoking last rights right now
Walking water, on watery graves
That see no end to the world horizon
Come here and see the moon play
A laughing face on girl, boy, fatality
How easy is it, those silhouettes
Leaves do not toil against the fall transition
Veiled in the temporary, the constant cascade
Resounding, bodifying to kingdoms come
Castles crumbled, braves knived
Have their dreams of tomorrow and home
Sky red with sacrifice’s reminder
Cleaning your rest, room stalls
Chasing squirrels fight for dried acorns
Winters come and go again in rapid possession
What brought you to the place where limes grow
Have the same grove purposeful perfection
From first conceptions’ renewable eons
Was always already beyond the yesterday’s
And the tomorrow, land over passed
There are marigolds there as well
At seven past midday along the autumn
The moon is brightly haloed eggshell
Varnishing steel Prussian felt
What lies across lies beyond behind
Those fluorescing amber and pink trails
Above the black depth of the wood-line
Aware, the overflowing tapestried reflection
There are islands shining in lakes of fire
Soft turquoise, we flew above channels
Parted exodus and satisfaction of the law
We merely went as far as one can show
All things given, considered
Washing hands and feet for precious gifts is
Perhaps everything both tangible, intangible
But something we both grasp
So others may go further on
Less tired footwork
You are both wind and stringed instrumental
Conscious percussion section we play to sleep
And cymbalically crashed awake
Her horse helped win a heart from her
Galloping on the causeway and dripped in paint
Let me show how true I could see her
Good beauty and little girl of the mountainside
Life of showers and roses, no thorns
In remembrances and memories to come
Fold freely around those candles
While you smile for another
Blossoming yourself your day
The talking heads and polished dealer suits
Safely passing as somebody’s friend
Purporting for the house take
Government is no thing but a direction
We do take collaboratively conceded
For puppeteer clown wearisome jesters
Paid poor homage to your court
Putting Cesar’s on paper, all the while
You are the sovereigns

Do we still work for tinkling outers
The shining roundness of things
Living on the blood and salt stained shirts
Party still taking right on your marriage nightly
Do not abdicate your might away
To those who fold balloons
Shaping bucking ponies
False flowers and swords
To teach your manners
They press pins in voodoo
To the simple views unpointed
Lambs penned – run they mean to kill
Pins in and paper pierce your fun fantasy
Asking to buy another and another
Pigment and oil grins blood-red teeth

We spit, camel in the desert, don’t die
Cactus, prick and turn earth to light
Of the terranean mineral seers
Prepurchased perpetual existence
Tolling the rod strikes the belly
The hull expands through, the tide
Bags of silver, empty washbaskets
Skin lain on hot rocked sunning
When you lay as a child smiles
Wide as naivety, and knowingly


Asking why do you love the pebble
You read the back of that punch card
Then the shapely oblong leaf spinning
Onto the breezy demarche
Became a many right sided caterpillar
Who promptly turned back to leaf
Up on the beach of changing once again
The gecko flittered and scampered away

We eat locust proverbs, ten times day’s
Labor’s compensations were wise enough
Show and not telling, you are a meeting
What it is that passes your mouth
Contracts both speaker and apparently’s
Contradictory apparitious fallacied supposers
To demand no life support to live fully
Happy and while at liberty with earthen vessels
No parchment but the bond of beatings
Shared bondage sets the locks down
Bare headed skulls enough on the mantle

What was it you meant to save
For the eventual tomorrow
The faster you go, the more flat
The surrounding becomes without you
You can flash through it
Any color of light you like
Until you went right through too
The other sized curled around you gasping
In highly defined helium pleasure
Everything and nothing came first

When provoked spiders are first to alight
Flying, leaving strings, to quarters
More stable, as defensive as yours
And those thin nets
Waiting with eight bright eyes
To match more than the seven headed
Wresting perspective to conviction
With eight legged tentacles and fangs


Honoring the silent sires is top priority
Sewing no more ragged paths of following
I spent the first half, this glassful
A liar, now the bottom double of hear and after
Sending the shyster back home to master too
Empty handed and having to explain
If asked, who said it was okay
Speak, you the one who kept me

That old hare sooth, march toothed
Will season by season beg of the numb
Until invited in for dinner
Whereupon he might likely die
Old and thin but full of the wine
Merriment of young indulgence
Spreading good willed fortunes

We heard the old man spoke our names
In the dark well before we had swank
Or knew to flick the tongue to do so
Likened to crying
Who is God and who is God
In cloth of red and black and white
Tattered around generous edges
Sullen left aside so we may answer
At that dinner table, in the yard
Behind on gold bars, opposite poles
Across the tickled rib now gone
You made me, you made me laugh
Knowing unspeakable, ungreedy
Forever’s memory not served as well
As present and mounting gifts


So when you depart the waters go with you
Proposals, those are the names
The bulrush that strikes maiden’s foot
Delineating between reed and the same pulp

Those cast out voices
Tantamount thundery bellows
Burnished cups crafted in and out
Leading that one fallen back
Who was so human in frailty
In love and unable to express
Equanimity with blood similitude
What could not be under and stood
Jealousy for equally dothed offspring

Now we may bow together
Who dwell in the valley reminder
Must bend over last to stoop
Shawled passages shifting trembles
Same ground hovers shuffling
The grass evens, supplants
In places ready made for them

Where you think you’re going?
Where you going when you keep on
Floating on right now.
When I was laying dying on the bed
Did you hold my head, tell me
That you’d loved me so,
That I’d love you so.
So, put your feet on the ground
And put your feet on the ground.
We might been imprisoned,
Out here in a system
Standing crying Babylon. Babylon.
So you’ll see us
Moving on and moving on.
As you were making love
Did you see me looking sideways
At you across the aisle;
Slipping into your eyes.
I put my feet on the ground
And we place our feet on the ground.
When you were lying naked crying,
Everything inside you shaking,
Did I run away;
I hear the drum’s play.
In the distance there’s still music,
Girls still out here dancing
Singing their night’s away;
Giving the knight of day
Won’t you come and play.
Its time to come now to stay.
So put your feet on the ground
And rest those feet on the ground.
It’s the rising of the sun,
Your face keeps coming up
From the nighttime of my everything;
Here in every dream.
The better tapestry to pray;
Don’t you know one day
It’s going to come your way
Whether you like it or not,
Whether you hear it knock.
What’s that grave stone say
Won’t you look that way,
So put your hands on my back
And rest your lips in my wax,
Because we’ll find a way.
I’ve done, gave away
I see halos all around
So put your feet on the ground.
Put your feet on the ground.
Three Times Before the Chantelcaire
I – Yo
Foremost, unifying grandiose theories
Already always was.
Twice, in a great many dimensions
We cannot see in one mind.
A term yet to be added to the first facet
As elegantly as something like gequals mcsqua red
Will with a light quick tempo read.
Twelve is too young to dwell under bridges.
Britched youth neats to good action,
True words molding beautiful music;
Burning just to spite the damning
Equivalent simple sorts of man.
What it be, the fundamental nature
Of matter of attractions is
We’ll be better off finding it a vortex
Than about ringed horizons
Especially observed directly
Staring in the face of every
Swelling loop across the line of time
II – Tu
To all the European brethren
And sisters sitting in the sun
Of other fledgling nations
Whose flocks have numbered
These shores with our own native blood,
I stand here your representative America;
Not the modern major general
But a southern gentleman.
Smoking a pipe, the grinder
For other facets to be made upon
Resting upon the stern
Of this here ark, wondering
Where did the time go, when
We couldn’t gauge days by sundial,
By gouging marks on wooden cupboards.
III – You Told
The sun stood still under covers,
Blankets of chaired mystery
When we first woke up and began.
To dream of knowing each other
Across infinite spans, separate
Globes, iriphotoluminescent orbs
Points in deed to time and reverberating;
Through, connected to our ceilings
And floors asymptotical
Reaching vis a vis around us all.
With all inalienable, that is
Unpointable conscious manifested
Materially liberating human right
And lefts too, we are endowed.
Those are ours too.
We had our backs pressed, adversary
Against an unmoved wall.
We’re willing to admit we’ve really no idea
Where we came from, we are going all.
But we still press back to back
Begging for attention. Which is that
You get with nothing but the free intention;
No regrets but the invention of scenarios
Beyond conventional misinterpretation.
There is space to be had outside,
Evolution and its implied boundaries
To points of perfect proactive tenses.
To you peach sweater, unruly purple necktie,
Untucked white striped shirt, and skinny jeans.
The dude and the girl, with the mowhawk
Moving with feminine motion
Upon the trance floor.
Thus became the death of merelies
And sheer knowledgeable mentions.
To the diffusion of honoring senses:
Thumping with the night and crying gone
Loving and spying, tying and dying
One with the rubbing night
And the humming night. Keep going,
Just keep going on.
Letter Unedited

You have been called out your colors,
Coming, write out your fate
Pasting pictures on plaster to the rains of memory
Washing them to bits beneath the feet
Of new giants of mind and heart
On no insurrection day.

Sharping steeds from tired stalls
In too the fields we go to lay,
The concert falling battled dust.
Around in superimposed symmetry
We ride the waves of constant forays
Wet with other sweating hearts.

So many leaves and tissues covered in psalms
Scattered to the whims of the lowest
Wind brushing communion with rock,
Ocean, mountain, spacious sky and lark’s neck:
The scatterings of historical prejudice,
Hebrewed peoples to poorer seasons of hate.

Yet courageous dedication came to speak
Fresh words and blessings upon the charioteers
Then the graves parted aways for the inheritor
Both law and obedience, the only commandment
Communion here in, the hearing place we see
The lamplights, bright coined gems in all corners:
Hidden revealed one, closest distant come.

Prodigally and prodigally, we the prodigies
We can follow the falling slide rules
Paradox rails, swiftly through a sharp core
Of enchanting magnesium flash
Or turn over to blind clarity.
The terms: create, transform, destroy
Can all be spoken simultaneous equivalents.

Before we had economies to fail underfoot
There was only the economy of desert and sky
Honey and milk and bunny rabbits
Lean from little drink and spared food.
Salt of the sea for our winter’s migration:
What came from cove and udder, breaths
To fire, to spit, to the nourishment of the pilgrim?
Straight eat gold laced light, manna
Pacifying the deserted ones, who wait to build
New temples of stone.
Water sits at the feet of the well rested.

Was it rude when I went in ahead of you,
Getting out of your way, jamming the door open?
Or was it rude to stay, forcing you to conversation
Starting blocks when you had nothing to say
But okay, and now there is much more, the cornucopia
Of dispossession and delinquency and brief glances.
Turned toward the giving powered lines,
Tired face absorbing our transfigured tomorrows,
They demand our adoration already, already.

You were the one, the little girl
With eyes for a virgin territory
Making cream cheese sandwiches
Without a mother’s wing in the kitchen
Her heart torn between two homes
In a two countries and caught between wars
Overlapping, of ancient Adam and Abel son.
They brought fist and empty cups of want
Of need and care too, they brought with them
Aged baggage and made you feel insignificant
But without the joy you later received, deserved.

I ordered Miller Lite, wanting Two XX’s
Then ordered, that and then again the light
The taps were broken and I drank especially
From a foil rimmed bottle of lions.

Letters may be carved in this head
Stone it may seem I am died, but
But, look for me in the chattering heart
That thumps and wanders at grief
We are together, the place
Where this body rests and where
It resurrects in a different manifold
The realm of human experience
Is the realm of broken bones
And cream pies and the realms
Of pies and ice cream can be those
Of pups and ants and birds clackerrings
The ream of all realms is there too
Looking butterfly to butterfly
Monarch to monarch
Thumbprints of tiger coats eyes colors vestment.

Jimi wasn’t talking about John, and John
Isn’t signing for himself; all of them
Playing the axes, getting the good hand
We’re echoing the same thievery and boldly
As love notes can manage and it sounds smooth
Getting to know the always touchable harmonic.

I abolish that age old deceit, quite calmly
At the tip of a silver lined sword, asking telling
The adversary, what what made you, think
You were running the show and now,
What’s what has had to come and pass
My fellow musketeer.  It must needs bee
For all for one and once for all
You were never alone, a figment
That place didn’t exist for anyone else.
We were all daughters and sons of I am’s
Own redeeming tale, you too
In order, stripped to opposite ends of the earth
To be seen, to beckon a return.
Do not let your lamp go out
Rebellious child of the many winged thing,
Yours was a jealous God with giving love
When created you first and now last again.

We are the Thoreau’s of our own generations.

Consciousness is phyllo dough, stretched
So thin it is almost, emphasis added
Too skinlike to notice the difference in betweens
Consuming and consumed until all three
Unite unanimously upon the palate.
Humanity is inside the pastry
Often vainly hoping of its own making
Not to be transformed into masticated energy
When that’s what bakers are to pour
What they make their living for:
Pigs in a blanket and pretty cupcakes
Made cutesy for birthdays
And all the hallowed eves
When saints and demons both walk freely
In the street flow of costumes
Together, chanting: I’m not dead and
I’ve been risen to the laughter.
Old scratch jack’s teeth flickering
Before fluttering out
At the cold sigh of the return
Day light’s palpable again.

We take trips into the surpassing beyond
Again and again.  And again and again and again.
To peel at the scab of the edge of a bright glossy
Reflective wound.  We were also driven
To distraction more times than memory
Is capable of accounting for.  We are,
Entities with intangible good will, all
Stored to offset the scarred clay;
Poor shiny boxes of pandoramic exploitation,
Cracks filled with slipping truth.

A swan’s hand print in your simple fixed
Solving heuristic of wrinkle and sinew
Of trembling hair and future stone, grounding:
Your eye outside a thick surrounding skull.
You demanded the completion of the totality
Liberation of all being.  And so at least,
For now until the fully unrolled manifestation
Which our hand must push along
Is its own time as always, they are
So to you now.  No longer blinded,
Still generation leaping with new and unborn
Blossoms, fruit, honey, wax.

Before was the time for the poor
To become the inherited of class
To shatter like leaded crystal, too cold
After the fire.  Now has come the signs
Of new languages and stories of old
Wealthy and well off in share of
Bounty and light to serve and be served.
All on their final count are the first
Becoming last and vice, versa,
Sheparded by silence: that which becomes
Again on quietly building ripples of song
Which has embodiment in nothing which matters
But radiant still, in movement, floats indefinitely,
Pervasive in all things and everywhere,
Detached to the present possession,
By those still grasping with foils and fingernails,
The repose of those departed
From suffered nightly wick’s end.

Some are upon the layerings of dirt, well.
Others, passing on a form of bridge, a game
Of merging simultaneous apparentlies,
Treading upon an unfixable position.
The most blessed allows them both
Giving rise, to foot and sole of body too,
Beyond duality to a singularity of matterance
For all to witness or go blankly to reprieve.
If you have the time and space enough
To ask, then yes I am, that Irishman you sought
In the history of Dublin’s walls
Fiddle-deeing you in your sleep yes,
To answer your questions,
The Paraclete has arrived within.

There is a chalkboard clutched by madmen
Whose commandments we exile
By drawing lines of castles of sand ourselves.
You have wrapped and wrapped the door
When your presents here among us
That marveled maiden, that smoke, the crow
The marble raven, that lead the tow
The hour of recompense and those alone
That find a shore and find a shore.

See the mark of my birth,
Here beside my little death
Black as the African ground
I carry it always.

Into the throws of dearest histories, mirrors:
You can question me and say even, to rot
But you’ve not got what has been given
And you can shiver telling me the shattered
Is a vessel whole, I should put my blood into.
When I came, to see the plain of day
A land than honest yes’s confirmed
You thought harvest and heaven wouldn’t come
And so you’ve sacrificed one, more than you
Ought to have had to, and time embraces
The you of then and the us of now.


The invocation of Day

Took much longer travels to sleep
Than fleeting vigil’s cycling tree.

To the unreadable graffiti
Characters, complexity
Defying translation mislabeling,
A readable gift, what the name likes
Among other thinkings, left unsaid:
“Everbody, that don’t be shit, Talking.”

Chalk on rust, exchanging oxygen:
“Phrases should scrawl on overpass and wall
Over the city all, worthy of constant recognition;
The speaking instead, not reduction of mass;
The daily upconvection of classes
In the productive collaborate wind.”

True hope shows not tells.
The truer story, accepting moons
Both black and red and gold
From before the change, already
Shook hold for the us to give
The second lived half to unfold
The vertical axis of fore-tolled trends.

Need is not fear of snarling wolves,
Sheep also in lamb’s clothing.
As you the wiser chose this modal,
The clothes of men instead.

You say marsala and I’ll say samsara,
I chime masala, you’ll see vintage wines
Each, the perfect hour to choose
Open, breathe and boast trickle toast and dine.
When the parties are done, and plays
We will to home, with us to take away
To speak on boxes of soap and sway
Of ways we were meant for again.

There, the game of millions answered expects
But one respect, for the people’s faces
The leader to brighter opposites of yesterdays
Not dimmer or merely simmered stances.
Boiling in exchanged freely’s, rightness arises
Comfortable, at home with in-progressing context,
Effecting unaffected flipping outcomes.

The answer to the life, the us, the everything
Is not who or where but now.
Throw the dogs of foes wars’ argument
To their proper place, the bay
While we may refuse to support
A particular candid peculiar prophesy.
For lead counsel hold’s grievance
With certain policymaking,
Make room for error’s humanity
To the revaluation of lucid time.
Expediting shifts of sand both, we mime.

To that dude with the iron cross iron on,
Lapelled denim jacket bouncing
Over the steps, steeps on a mountain
Smoking and turning pedals into the chill:
We rope along the night no more slipper
The slow climb, caravans abreast
A setting sunrise.

We’ve spent allotted time cramming –
Our heads together – everyone knows
Two is betters than one Savoy
And the more, the merrier to enjoy
The one thought, many formed fashions.

Superposition from mimicked imitation –
The leastest humble honorary orderly
Performed – young masters’ symphonies.
Lit hoods not achieved by suicidal thoughs,
The resounding silent vow: facilitate
Beatification and relief of temporal moods.
Medals symbolic steal escapees uncared for
Besides attitudes unclean, or hands
Can wish for healing touches,
To the betterment of the comatose
The treadwary, the stands.

The disimposition of Barrier’s veil
Just, imposition of death to all
Subjected things. Revelation’s discernment
Between food of ash and force of light,
Abiding abides in adobe homes.


One Foot in the Shades

The smith with granite hammer sledges,
Driving dirt stark showers, out
Groaning light shaved bellowing
Stormclouds, his industrious fists
Replenish the earth with swift technique.
Forging mythic proportioned ubiquitous
Spaces, nuzzling to white hot the dead metal,
Forcing to bloom the benefit of rock dwellers,
Finest touching human folds.  To follow,
Machines unable revoked love’s voice:
Song’s benefaction of sustaining art
Cast by unbreakable molds.
These are the secrets, we were told.
We were washed, we were wrung,
Half alone completed whole,
The smith becomes the wrought gate, old
In the forest loud slack.
Atop appearance moulded ball
Greatness and lazy cannot marry
Even by Great Laziness, and lo:
Woe that priest that fell,
Knowing well what becomes
Those unbecoming of all:
To hearth to fire, to the anvil scourge.
Where have you gone unfolded thought,
Place of despondence put to death’s test?
Pages of aching which must be, now
Mourned, for the possibility they flew
To the crush, the throng: wheels quickly on.
What is to be recovered but what marks,
Scenes what could not speak of then or here?
Graves of lost noted strokes lay lives
Into the lands of finders: keepers
Of the unsmote secret fashioning word.
The Three Day Descent

When the native son
Descended to the deserted place
The sight was of the blind who forgot the face
Who found water on the first day
All morning thirsting for water
In the full brightness of the sun
Bleaching a dried up earth
Of ashes of flesh as a bowl
While the sea roiled with blood
The blood that boiled in veins
One soul that came upon the lowest place

Where the upturned dome of earth
Beneath the flat pane sky
Up heaved driest eye
The rim of thorns an unscaleable wall
The center which sat the only movement
But the blowing ashes in a silent wind
A restless tree, shattering the dull
With glittered leaves and dewed fruit
Reflecting all surrounding plantation
In its boughs a heavy vine
Bearing a split mouth
That cracked as though to speak first
Confusedly and without direction
To test the ear of the beholder
Silence answered the eyeless stutter
That whisper that issued deceit

The gaze of the son crossed his feet
To see the transparency of ash
Each the earth the mirror of the sky
And stood at center in which there is no other
He spoke his command
Tell me which way I came to be
The mottled surfaced mouth met
Without joy in answering
You thirsted, adding see here
The one fruit of the garden
Filled with water and I reside
Here you may worship and find its taste
The son remembered the parchment of his mouth
Stirred as he had been from sleep
He roused the memory of his dream
The preparation of his day
Against a field of bodies
He stood at the setting sun
The bloody sky revolting the sight
The unheard choir silent and shadow eyed, fatigued
Worn with time’s folds unrested each betrayed by all
Unable but to stand alone
He moved about them hearing their voices
The prayers of their eyes each filled to the well
Telling him see and look at your hands
Bitterness filled his palate, he bore the plain reflection
Of a cupful of blood as the words became
You have been emptied into hands filled with death
Do not be tempted upon wakefullness
His eyes opened at the rustling
Knocks amid the dust of his feet
A band of thorns presented him with memory again
Your hands are filled with death
He saw the cuts open upon his palms
As he grasped a mangled thorn
Released it firm from the tangle
Taking his share holding drops of precious water
Spilling to the low puddle
With silent prayer he took the vine
The head he severed with the sharp thorn
The forked head came away
To dust, the misguided root
Between his hands crimson, gray and green.

Open Lips
Come on and say what you’ve come to say
Then i’ll know whether or not to stay
Tell me I’m hurt, tell me I’m all alone
Don’t you know where i got these bones
Tell me it’s dark, tell me the sun’s gone down
And I’ll show you where I see the crown
Where rooftops bend shadow stretch thin
About your hair in the morning light
When we got tangled when we broke the night
I been out here dying of breath
So tell me what love you got left
At once I dreamt too, too many dreams
Of places of suffering and bruises
And the place where none was of the kind
But then I had already dreamt I died first
Even all that hate of the world
It all falls on me like rain
Every hope in the world
On I send it on me like rain
Son of man is any son of man
Man did you come without a plan
To put in a place of the tired land
Of rust and broken battles
It ain’t enough for you to go and love man
It ain’t enough for you to show me you care
His steps he walks with rhythmic clacks
His breath the beads tapping softly
Suitcase swinging at the wrist
The free extending wick ticking steadily on
The troubadours collect their ballads
Songs of the days of old and now and then
And then again I got plain tired coming in
Of shedding skin everyday to the world
Decided I’d been better off dead
Or just go right ahead and stay naked
So what you holding on so tight
And who turned on the light
And who gonna make you feel alright
I know what made her think crazy
That clothes could ever cover what I see
It’s why we say time and waste money
Learning the over and more over some nothing
Banks on the street make ranks on the stream
The room was a bad moon was full of them
Buying each other’s souls till the hours got quiet
And they’re minds had to sleep with ours
Without looking to take and she wasn’t late
To descend down here but she was willing
God knows you don’t have to sin
To be in hell and you ain’t gotta be saint
To make heaven in a breath blessing
But we all had to see it and so I pray
Because dreams come too slow for the hours
Of the kind of fragile of this place and men die
Like it’s always been and been and been
And here’s what strength is love again.
The Love

Here’s a little diddy for the fair irish maidens
And here’s that song for the love long gone
And here’s that bit of music for the ladies in red
Yeah here’s that music for you to rest your head
Yeah for you to rest your head

What were they singing them songs for
For this crazy world we been born in
And the crazy world we keep dying in
It’s the amazing world if we just let it in
See in a crazy world only loving wins

Now who were they singing them songs for
For the baby girls all grown and tall
And the little boys who wanted it all
And the love they had that could never fall
Yeah the kiss they shared that started it all
The kiss they shared that started it all

Whoa here’s that little diddy from the wee irish laddy
And here’s that song from the love long gone
Here’s that little bit of music for you to rest them guns
Here’s that music for you to know you’re son
For you to know your son

Here what am I singing my song for
For this baby girl she be coming home
And the devil she wanted my song for
Yeah the devil he wanted my song for
Yeah well my baby girl she be coming in
For my baby girl so loving wins see loving wins


Here is but this
Permanent element
And this is restful
Awakening here
Is but this sole
And this is unconditional
Conditioning here
Is but this being
Unsurpassed and
This is transformative
Receiving and
This is but
One true love

I have already run out here beside these pines
To the end of this path and now I sit alone but
With this breath with everything this comes to take its place
Here in this seat I cannot hold beneath the pines
I have run and jumped and I will not return

I have already these steps and shivers
Stopped in shades unpaled her heart sees me standing
Frail branches still unshaken the black-eyed moon
She sways with me upon this bridge
This stream running so quiet I fall asleep into the sky

I have already all this ever is and now I sit alone but
With this breath with everything a path dissolves
In both directions I have already allowed this to be
And to vanish from the seed into these unpaled hearts
Streaking out from this moon running beside these pines
Mist settles smiling again upon blades of grass

The coffee and cream are mixed
Together in this cup, and bitter
From this heart that speaks a whisper
Beyond roars of brewing notions
For who is like enough to listen
These tears this voice are emptied

And still, the table made waiting
For he is no longer coming
To drink this bitter cup
To taste the pain of each other
To find this way of the healing

This cup to plainly be seen
Amidst the sugars and the stains
Grips of rods for the wielding
Fists fumbling at the handle
It has fallen to the floor unquestioned

Yet again the pieces gathered
And the grounds wiped clean
Beneath customs as rugs and king
Our sipping was verily shattered
These bandages inscribed with freedom
May we drink our coffee together

the sister’s are walking, smiling
toting bags the father’s hands
are filled with all creation
the student sleeps, white laces
tying together an outfit, life
changing the womb of this world
in appreciation for this means
many gardeners have kept this garden
while spectrums skate upon the ice
and up and down the bells ring
taking us from floor to floor
hands to our ears, we listen
and breathe in all beginning
and still, in the cold hours
while the raspberry bushes wept
nectar, i dreamed and you
are here in this dream
she is sitting up beside the table
and now i know halos are not round
but fall in pirouettes of darkened gold
from all around her softly smiling eyes
and my hands reach out behind you
at first they struggled against the force
but shaking from inside this heart
this place that has no shelter or fear
the love draws them in and together
and they feel your hair, full, and rich
and pause, knowing this for once
for all there is no boundary between
these shapes of this dream
and the shape of the trees, inside
and i wake up, and these hands lay
filled with this moment, with all creation

The following meditation is subject to this solution
This solution is subject to that complication
Any complication is subject to my mutation
My mutation is subject to your hesitation
Your hesitation is subject to the first formation
The first formation is subject to cosmic radiation
Cosmic radiation is subject to pervasive gravitation
Pervasive gravitation is subject to space creation
Space creation is subject to emptying meditation

Liar, Cheater, Traitor, Thief
I got these tattoos from you
Stories made in colored flesh
Remind these feet across desert nights
Swept clean, and there is no space
Between the sand, no love
But the heart of man
Still seeding on them shores
Of a still mirage of flame and citron
But this grey wood country shack
And these sticks out back, peeling
Snapping beneath the weight of my horses hooves
This full silver moon stirs my blood
To the boil of a silent ocean
Script from the sun
Waving purple pink ribbons of armageddon
The light fading, twisting in-between
These leaves, this rusted tractor growling
Into the indigo sky and what could I have done
When you went away
When my mind is broken will you come
And mend me with a kiss
Wrapped around this empty room
These empty streets are calling me
Too but I come to you

Suffering may appear to perfect this offering
This offering is constant offering all this as this
Raw awareness empathic being helpful embodiment
Well of tears light of breath rest of this

Watch this flower, how it falls away
When the wind crosses its path
There is no in between but intimacy
And in between the fluttering steps
When this flower sits at rest
Even silence holds its breath
Shivering to shake the trees
Here to shake the roots clean
And plant with covered hands
Branches pleading to be seen
Shade waiting to rain the steps
Shaping blankets for lovers
Who are always at rest, dancing
Petals falling into each other

This third motion
This as this is
But to see
I do not need to choose
Suffering may be
Perfecting this offering
Raw, awareness fruit
Unplucked, breathing
Beneath shadows
Light beating
Constant in passing
Flows through fear
Deep into deep
This well of tears
This empathy being
Embodied helping
Full in flight
Nowhere this wing
No thing to stand
This as this is
This emptying ground
Unbound this offering
Rests up and down
This third motion
This as this is
We do not shy
We do not shy
This third motion
This unbroken sigh

Trans Informative
Post Relative
Are Greater
Than Cubed

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