I carry my wings on my back

The country of narrative. I've come to the end of something. There is no end to the other world. The wooden boxes eat or be eaten cold grace a knife and a fork. My story will not be told once but twice and more an altered grey set to music that becomes our lives a life of crumpled pages hoping not impermanent words that belie what once now gone to ash or a teeth discovered under a hand of cast stars a warm finger waking up after the storm flashes leaving my dream the sun glooming remnants of the slow vocabulary of what i recollect best. The glass is already under the skin the landscape of its own tension floating in the ether of its own content Our lives are memory we had in another life Clouds still follow us as in the old sky. A metaphor. I want to walk in amber Amber memory translucent swirl sharp et murky. Memory has no memory. Our lives are like summer cotton, an abyss and that's no metaphor. The radiant glow that washed me a golden glow in good gradual time Silence can be healing or a death Childhood has trememdous shape a wild animal hiding out but never disappearing half seen flickering in out of the forest underground under a boundless canopy. Life is a drop a stone of amber backlit Everything we are becomes what we are not I carry my wings on my back.

--20 may 2010

Labyrinthine

Out of the night i come go creep creep hear say moi now now what latitudes lay lie i've come without a country lay me down in thick grass yellow bells bending in yellow light Where is the destiny i'm yearning for you and moi I can't see it it is there the sea the sea here we go round the sadie tree the sadie tree make love to me now sweetest honey dew do do it now Release realize moi Chisel cuts above hanging time i know i know vodka bottle with a goose neck crush crash oh no! I've always wanted to be free explore things thoughts but drinking green the tea thetea ilikit pt a dialogue of senses hungry for breakfast at things i go wanna be starting something stuck in the middle yeah yeah miss you Michael Jackson Indiana boy. an orange doric column recalls recollects moi sensibility. Children parting dirt rows playing store collecting food boxes hand me down clothes stolen at night Im a red oisseau a bird flown flying above the tips tall trees im way way high floating in the mist afraid and free the costs to be of freedom to be alone I see the sky I am the sky a circumference of wide winding Mediterranean turquoise bleu violet lavender rose a sea turtle's skull sockets black hole ignots where eyes lived long before i come here to be. I am a sea swimming the waves surge and fall sans my knowledge but i know they swallow and vomit the fears of flying above. My eagle eyes see the water seas and know it this too shall end fini up up stairs of glory yellow fresh corn delicious hot muum I'm a oisseau a bird don't you know? I see the clouds they rain down blue still sky on the road to tarascon sunflower miles. I've always been felt like an odd cougar scream at night in the dark searching to say and be what a some kind of it thing. I have arrived now and im fierce strutting down. aint no afraid now I'm a peacock belle avec tattered feathers tail but dont see it i know it's all right as should be. I'm a oisseau avec caramel legs red fangs claws in Khazhstan on the banded arm of the white haired eagletierre lift off taking flight. I'm a oisseau flying high soaring above it all. I no longer see the trees. There are none here.

-- 19 may 2010

Breathing beneath the sea

When I was small and a child I felt extraordinary and insufficient, defective somehow. Missing something while having too much. Too much musing and feeling. That I suffered fear and sensitivity.

Being human is difficult. When we lose someone we love we're confronted with the knowledge of how small we are. How wondrous and immense the sky continues to be.

Always visions of a rhythmic wild inky mass terrifies me as I sense my head succumbing beneath the blackened night. I imagine the abysmal bottom.

I'm breathing beneath the sea.
Creating sounds whales hear and speak.

----28 april 2010

ache what we do for each other
voice a scavenger roaming
words sans sound

-- 23, 24 april 2010

yellow grey

Every moment all things are going to happen. There are times one wonders of pink pigs on a soft couch. One day violent heat yellow grey sensation of whispers.

Sodden eyes ignite reflection.
She still feels her round belly fly up.
We are both here.

---22 april 2010

scream

I've felt loved and a killing like a cougar scream at night.

--le 7 avril 2010

me here And there

There is so much. All this space, this space inside. Unfocused outlines. Visual thoughts that haunting keeping me here. And there.

An orange doric column. A wool dress. Black mane thick standing straight the sidewalk smiling a beauty admired and despised. The concave slope of dense shoulders persisting tforward.

-- le 7, 9 24 avril 2010