Trips Through Images

I saw the leaves of my better rot and fall to the ground in autumn. They were all laying on the ground; everything around them shook when you looked at them from far away. I don't know why. The entire field itself was silent it seemed, and all the wind had stopped blowing. It made me feel as if I were dead, as if everything were dead and there was nothing that I could do to revive it, to make them all stand up again and dance, sing, laugh like they used to. No, everything had fallen on the ground and it wasn't going to get back up again. Maybe things like that are meant to be repressed or forgotten, and maybe all of our ancestors are better forgotten for the sake of moving on and growing old yourself, being forgotten yourself.

I feel as though I keep remaining stuck in a world that keeps moving on. I can only see outlines of people, as if silhouettes in foggy rain.

It's February and the water is cold, the air is cold, and peoples faces seem to blur until you can't tell if they're feeling anything. It's been months, or years. Every day another one comes and goes, thoughts passing casually as if people through a mostly unused alleyway. Everything seems cold and empty, as if the inner warmth of the earth were slowly waning away into nothingness. Where does consciousness take us anyway?

If life has a path to it, then I'm in the Wilderness.

Fingered Ears

Oh, if the quivering of life like a candle
wind blew and came screaming by
-out

but the woods still remain
dark and blue in the pre-morning twilight
and in there, faces brooding sensations
"eyes closed and we still know You,"
but never catching the end

a ray from the dawning sun crashes down
the leaves part ways
an animal somewhere inside scratches absently
anxiety like a product of a contemporary mind
each glade behind the leaves already known
all space before you unfolded
every God, saint, and messiah lined up in rows
we look and search but find no shadow

a ray of light pierces through, wires that tell us all
heat into the air, smoke stacks and helium manifested
chemicals like rainbow cauldrons
the water fermented with chlorine

lips to a river, underneath
-danger...-

as we are taught with the infinite of knowledge
and the systems of communication
they tie our wrists with wire


outside the sun slowly roams
and behind the leaves a glade, it's gut, amongst the grass


a flower I knew nothing of

In Years, to Hate and Love

Empty, there were silhouettes against the wall
outside the air swept through me
A vase, and static on the television
momentarily we were lost
a seated man with eyes closed and wrinkles
a car drones by, tires on black and wet
everything is sharp

My face is on a carpet
the walls race up above my sight
there is no spoken knowledge
conditional
can i decipher.

Eyes closed- there is moss here, everywhere
and the dirt crawls up my ankles
branches enveloped my form, and we are thorns
There is darkness, and with it stillness
no one moves
as if it were all fucking opiated

A man crucified on the wall
his head is above my eyesight, and around his ankles

Chained.

Embracing freedom
I step outside into the forest
and dissolve into my womb
naked, the thorns fall away
naked, everything is embraced

To Enlist

pennies in a porcelian Money Cat
(a klink, car horn in the distance)
steamy sun
bleached the sky white
stained the clouds cream

(i agree, the sun, a mindless god
and where were we when the world was created?
bathed in glorious, light
surrounded by Nature, part of it
our brotherhood, our common link
have we abandoned humanity, abandoned ourselves so?
but with hope, animalism creeps back through
but more-no, inside of us something,
at least a one truth)

it's Sunday, and so the fort is filled with smoke
linens like lungs
we're children waging and imagined war
a cough and a curse breaks through the thicket
in a box, isolated, away from the river
it's slow moving waters-clear and reflecting infinity
(deny!) the ground still wet with dew

i look out my window
a gull floats by, croaking along the way
more enlightened than most

today is honey,
where are you?

In me, a Demon

Behind me, a mirror,
and on my back are the demons
fingers like yarn and strings against the back of my neck
(an itch and hardly a thought of it)
A man walks in and the awkwardness between us
Eyes met, our minds staring into each other
We are naked, i see Him, he sees Me
a skull, or hands around a throat

"You're going to die soon."
it tugs at me, though i think nothing of it
and still we become like angels and demons
men with families and corpses


On a road at night, fur in the headlight
two bumps
the accidental desecration of life
(the sky is still blank, and no one cares
stars like vague smudges on the velvet of the sky)


Einstein believed light to be the new God
and with it, we blot out the sky
while Neizche, in his grave, offers nothing
black tonight underneath nothing
off, gone, away, or never was


us with no way of knowing outside of ourselves