Garden

The direction of the eye

so misleading

the deflection of the soul

nauseously quick

I dont question

our existence

I just question

our modern needs

I will walk...with my hounds bound

I will walk...with my face blood

I will walk...with my shadow flag

into your garden

garden of stone

After all is done

we're still alone

i wont be taken

yet I'll go

I will walk...with my hounds bound

I will walk...with my face blood

I will walk...with my shadow flag

into your garden

garden of stone

I dont show...

I dont share...

I dont need

what you have to give

No Longer

Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams,  Now I wash the gum from your eyes,  You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light and of every moment of your lives

How often do minutes, hours, days go by without a blink of the eye?  How often do we move about through space and not be aware of the space we are filling?  If life is so precious a gift, why does it seem that we waste it?

Long enough we have allowed ourselves to make choices and decisions that steered us away from being be able to see the dazzle of the light.   Long enough have we let slip the moments of our lives without ever having a chance to savor them.

Long enough.

No bad weather

Meditating among liars and retreating sternly into myself, I see

    that there are really no liars or lies after all,

And that nothing fails its perfect return, and that what are called

    lies are perfect returns,

And that each thing exactly represents itself and what has preceded it,

And that the truth includes all, and is compact just as much as

    space is compact,

And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth--but

    that all is truth without exception;

And henceforth I will go celebrate any thing I see or am,

And sing and laugh and deny nothing.

Mmmm, chicken.

We Speak Words

We speak words, sorrowful watchers, pulling our sacks, hanging low, sagging low with a dusty grin, on our backs, heaving them along a river.

We seek words, solace and comfort in murky stillness, in the back alleyways of darkness.

We cry words, our eyes bleed as our hearts beat, we are the wisdom lost, the eternal infinity shelved in the void, barren, wooden, locked. 

We breathe words, exhale thoughts and dreams as feathers on the breeze, our backs witnesses to grand designs shaped as clouds.

We kill words, children lying in the grass waiting to become something else, something big, something small.

We are words, the shells found along the eroded shores, empty and barren, wooden, hand held voids to frame,

we are only whispers now.

When they came for me, there was no one left to speak up

is it what we are?

I'm going to start posting some old writing I have done:

Scene 1, Act 1

Lo! our hair and plaster eyes,

   plastic sighs, red,  dark red,

                            bloody   lips,

apart from beaten brows, we dogs

              scuttled on floors, dancing streams

   of scattered sun, window panes,

like dogs,   like   bloody        dogs,

              all day like plays that run too long

   we stay unwashed