(no subject)
In a breathlessness, out of restlessness. By the time I caught up to freedom I was out of breath. Grandma asked me what I'm running for? I guess I'm out for the same thing the sun is sunning for. What mothers birth their youngens for and some say Jesus is comin for. For all I know the earth is spinning slow, suns at half mass cause masses ain't a glow. On bended knee, prostrate before an altered tree, I've made the forest suit me. Tables and chairs, papers and prayers, matter versus spirit.
A metal ladder
A wooden cross
A plastic bottle of water
A Mandela encased in glass
A spirit encased in flesh
Sound from shaped hollows
The thickest of mucus released from heightened passion
A man that cries in his sleep
A truth that has gone out of fashion
A mode of expression
A paint splattered wall
A carton of cigarettes
A bouquet of corpses
A dying forest
A nurtured garden
A privatized prison
A candle with a broken wick
A puddle that reflects the sun
A piece of paper with my name on it
I'm surrounded
I surrender
All. All that I am I have been. All I have been has been a long time coming, I am becoming all that I am. The spittle that surrounds the mouth-piece of the flute. Unheard, yet felt.
A gathered wetness
A quiet moisture
Sound trapped in a bubble and released into the wind. Wind fellows and land merchants. We are history's detergent. Water soluble, light particles, articles of cleansing breath. Articles amending death. These words are not tools of communication they are shards of metal. Dropped from eight story windows
They are waterfalls and gas leaks, aged thoughts rolled in a tobacco leaf. The tools of a trade, barbers barred, barred of barters. Catch phrases and misunderstandings. But they are not what I feel when I am alone. Surrounded by everything and nothing. And there isn't a word or phrase to be caught, a verse to be recited, a man to de-fill my being in those moments. I am blankness that contains center of an 'O', the paramedic containment of an 'A'. I stand in the middle of all that I have learned, all that I have memorized, all that I've known by heart, and unable to reach any of it.
There is no sadness
There is no bliss
It is a forgotten memory, a memorable escape route that only is found by not looking. There, in the spine of the dictionary the words are worthless. They are a mere weight pressing against my thoughtlessness. But then, who else can speak of thoughtlessness with such confidence? Who else has learned to sling these ancient ideas like dead rats held by their tails so as not to infect this newly oiled skin.
I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane
I can think of no greater conglomerate of steel and metal
I can think of nothing less likely to fly
There are no wings more weighted
I too have felt a heaviness
The stare of man guessing at my being.
Yes I am homeless
A homeless man making offerings to the after-future. Sculpting rubber tree forests out of worn tires and shoe soles.
A nation unified in exhale
A cloud of smoke
A native pipe ceremony
All the gathered cigarette butts piled in heaps
Snow covered mountains
Lipsticks smeared and shriveled
Offerings to an after world
Tattoo guns and plastic wrappers
Broken zippers and dead eyed dolls
It's all overwhelming me
?Okinelming? me
I have seeded a forest of myself, little books from tall trees. It matters not what this paper be made of but give me notebooks made of human flesh. Dried on steel hooks and nooses, make uses of use, uses of us.
It's all overwhelming me
?Okinelming? me
On bended knee. Prostrate before an altered tree, I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter versus spirit
A metal ladder
A wooden cross
A plastic bottle of water
A Mandela encased in glass
A spirit encased in flesh
Sound from shaped hollows
The thickest of mucus released from heightened passion
A man that cries in his sleep
A truth that has gone out of fashion
A mode of expression
A paint splattered wall
A carton of cigarettes
A bouquet of corpses
A dying forest
A nurtured garden
A privatized prison
A candle with a broken wick
A puddle that reflects the sun
A piece of paper with my name on it
I'm surrounded
I surrender
All. All that I am I have been. All I have been has been a long time coming, I am becoming all that I am. The spittle that surrounds the mouth-piece of the flute. Unheard, yet felt.
A gathered wetness
A quiet moisture
Sound trapped in a bubble and released into the wind. Wind fellows and land merchants. We are history's detergent. Water soluble, light particles, articles of cleansing breath. Articles amending death. These words are not tools of communication they are shards of metal. Dropped from eight story windows
They are waterfalls and gas leaks, aged thoughts rolled in a tobacco leaf. The tools of a trade, barbers barred, barred of barters. Catch phrases and misunderstandings. But they are not what I feel when I am alone. Surrounded by everything and nothing. And there isn't a word or phrase to be caught, a verse to be recited, a man to de-fill my being in those moments. I am blankness that contains center of an 'O', the paramedic containment of an 'A'. I stand in the middle of all that I have learned, all that I have memorized, all that I've known by heart, and unable to reach any of it.
There is no sadness
There is no bliss
It is a forgotten memory, a memorable escape route that only is found by not looking. There, in the spine of the dictionary the words are worthless. They are a mere weight pressing against my thoughtlessness. But then, who else can speak of thoughtlessness with such confidence? Who else has learned to sling these ancient ideas like dead rats held by their tails so as not to infect this newly oiled skin.
I can think of nothing heavier than an airplane
I can think of no greater conglomerate of steel and metal
I can think of nothing less likely to fly
There are no wings more weighted
I too have felt a heaviness
The stare of man guessing at my being.
Yes I am homeless
A homeless man making offerings to the after-future. Sculpting rubber tree forests out of worn tires and shoe soles.
A nation unified in exhale
A cloud of smoke
A native pipe ceremony
All the gathered cigarette butts piled in heaps
Snow covered mountains
Lipsticks smeared and shriveled
Offerings to an after world
Tattoo guns and plastic wrappers
Broken zippers and dead eyed dolls
It's all overwhelming me
?Okinelming? me
I have seeded a forest of myself, little books from tall trees. It matters not what this paper be made of but give me notebooks made of human flesh. Dried on steel hooks and nooses, make uses of use, uses of us.
It's all overwhelming me
?Okinelming? me
On bended knee. Prostrate before an altered tree, I've made the forest suit me
Tables and chairs
Papers and prayers
Matter versus spirit