camera stop tree defend

 

 

I was ready

am will be

ready

 

I looked to the lanterns decorating the sky

waiting in readyness

 

I took my things up, went down

cartwheeled around

 

now I'm digging, waiting

waiting for the green blades to spring in my mind

give me a field to walk with others

something we can share

waiting

 

what can I say of value when I devalue my suffering projected as words?

like a block in the road

it pops up conjuring dreams of random urban violence

driving the blade home

the the face of the hard working man of the street

his work place knows only unwritten laws

and the bones of his cheek stop panicked blades dead

as he pursues with regard to nothing but eradication of his enemy

 

so many souls like that

have touched mine

spewing lead into the sky

and into the street

loosing the protest of noble neighborhood dogs

grappling the hoods of the young and naive with sausage fingers

sprouting crimson blossoms

run

run from the image

seek the sun

the brilliant womb of massive celestial bodies

playing games of gravity

billions of wombs

spouting the ever accelerating goings on

 

it was in the night we censored ourselves

censored primal blurts of verse

for fear it was tried tripe

for fear it would bring darkness

the black, beeping blur

ringing in the ears

ringing the coming of a fistfull of dollars

ringing to the core of my brain

the impatient storm marching into a moment of greasy bliss

 

and the weather rolls on

pulling the sweat from our brows

deploying vast armadas of carnivorous insects

puffing massive blankets of clouds over the vivid green

feeding it with rain

and

the green looks so much more vivid in the rain

leaves cupping up to receive the drops

so that I could understand why the Japanese say, "itadakimasu"

 

receiving destractions

deterrents

beautiful diversions 

 

snapping back to reality

in the cubic confines

devoid of solitude

chaos 

broiling bubbles of suckling need

 

let's demand

demand justification 

for creation

let's critique creation

let's devour the creator

 

Oh sweet creator

why have you forsaken me?

Why create something new

when you can fuel this fire

I long for you to fuel this fire

For it is not your creation

but your presence I desire

 

and if I weep in the night for you

you will hear, the world will hear

if I weep will you cease creation?

Or perhaps you will create a link

a link of warmth between us

I know you have grown cold

and the only warmth radiating from you

is the purging of floods assimilating into chains

in your head

withdrawn from everybody

in your head

too much flesh

too much flesh bounding around

too much outside your head

overflowing

 

don't stop

don't let them stop you

 

real people

outside of your words

outside of your head

inside your head

they demand and align against you

whirling worlds

tangling your words

and it seems

the language is dead

perverted

into the most vile of bile

you've only to

punctuate.

 

 

 

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