Comfort

do i understand death for the first time?
is it the passing?
like the friends that aren't coming back?
after college, or the move, or the transfer or the the wedding?
the dear collapse of the day to day love?
is that a that the death that lives in the passing of love gone by?
when I say goodbye like they tell me to say goodbye?
then do I suppose for the first time that I actually believe it is goodbye?
an ode to goodbye?
as if the naiveté of youth disguised the truth that we are only on the stage?
but for that fleeting moment?
and whether the drama is worth the time in the globe?
the time we experience is that always the same?
and the love that is true between two people is absolute unto them?
and when I say goodbye is that burial of my feelings?
or the acknowledgment that our moment in time was forever?

Phony Fake News

#newera #newwords
Millenial consciousness streams across my face like the baby
Zhe's perfect little face, complexion the gas chamber
Crawl towards that beat dream
Drum lines march to the sounds of the drum major
My feed always talks about #blacklivesmatter
#bluelivesmatter #fakenews
IG: my friend @youngkidjane
She's says I'm trying too hard.
"Don't put your reservations on me."
We say that to each other all the time.
It's what I read on the Daily.
#everyonematters
https://www.reddit.com/r/Groups/us
Its like the words don't matter anymore
Maybe they don't
Hashtags say everything
When they say something
Saying nothing
Sometimes is everything
@twitterfeedwhateveritistoplease
@reallystopitplease

Those Neverending Math Equations

Syllables
Blocks upon more blocks
Climbing high

Sentences run long
But the imagination
Is far more complex

Paragraph labrynth mindtraps
Eviscerate their intended prey
Slurping wretched emotions.

Miracle chemistry is slaughtered
Carcasses of prose hang like participles
prepositions ending too often

Constructs should make the building safer
So why's this such a rigid way to communicate?
Are you hearing what I am trying to say?

Crying screaming tugging at wet umbilical cords
confusion incubating cocooned mother's milk creation
The war rages between the words and each person's truth

When words are scarcer what happens with feelings?
Drying like a raisin in the sun, do they defer?
Emotion should never defer to language.

Time here runs short with each utterance
The spectrum of love and hate shrinks with each word
Grammar restraining our love to give

Expanding the universe
Is as much art as is it science
Stretching minds and compassion.

The classic phrases
Will always have an impact
But we are much more.

Words will fail
Love expands depths of
Time and space.

Stargazing

I forget the words
Where the night collapses upon my insecurity
But if they made any sound they might speak of you:
You dancing along the shores of my dreams
You are not mean
You are crazy
You believe
Your love is stronger
Your concern is greater
You offer me the privileges of understanding
You mention love as if you respect the admiration I have for you
Your recalcitrance again an angry machine moved to make me love
You want so little other than peace and quiet to exult.

Those words are difficult
They do not fall easily before these fingers
Although I escape subject upon subject
There is a mirror of myself you make sure I see:
The darkened stage bursts under a spotlight of your navigation.
Those who defy gods should never defy you
Because the work of the universe is alive inside you.

Another Giant Wave of Sadness

There is no pretending as much as there is no hiding.  

There is no protections as much as there is no happiness.

Surfing down the face of the of darkness, demons twisting 

In the wreaths of seaweed and the faces of fear, 

In the sponge from above there is the sheer terror 

That water will wipe away the sun the from the earth, 

Plunging into the deep deep locker below.

Dreams turn to terror like days on the water turn to nausea, 

The undulation of the vast ocean of emotion swings 

The pendulums of insecurity wide and far, 

Bouncing across the bow, from stern to aft, when all of the sudden, 

In deepening dampness of the sharp shine of the summer day, 

The foggy bottom of the great below and the spun riddles of suffocation 

Standing like somber wall flowers 

Paralyzed underneath by the vast seas of sadness.

The waves pound against the shores where landlubbers stand.  

Is there a fear that keeps them perched like sunflowers 

Before their own descent beyond the Fibonacci science?

No - not here.  Here there is the unscientific sequential passing 

To the nether world where the sunflower seeds dry and fall 

So there to does the flower itself as well.  But why not plunge?!?!  

Why not fall down into the dirt and the muck and the awful stench of compost.  

The land buries its many fears into the worms' work.  

Where the the slinky centipedes and the bustling beatles climb 

Over the organic carcasses without a word or worry.

The demolition of the earthly spirit is a quiet processional; 

The requiems of all souls certainly find the eternal silence.

That is not for this moment - where we contemplate the slow and unemotional 

Parade from big bang to big bang.  

A never ending carousel upon which ride the eternal footman -

We, the yeast in their beer, 

We, the ants on their meats, 

We, the dirt between their toes, 

That is not for one to contemplate here.

That is only the atomical bomb of nothingness.  

That your own universal composition is just a brief intersection 

Of electricity and good fortune.

No, not here.  No, the Earth is not aware.  

But the below, in the depths, where the sails and the surf 

And the tide and moon and the tears and the hopeless - 

They all collapse into a dark liquid obelisk that towers over 

The water's surface and then, unlike any fallen tree that crushes the body, 

The wave pummels the water below.  The long tossing beneath the surface 

Bleats the air from the lungs, 

The oxygen from the capillaries, 

The spirit from the heart.  

There is the epitome of despondence - 

A massive tube of salted water foams at the mouth 

Pulling towards the rabid spirals beyond physics - 

The water pulls and pulls and pulls like the baby to its own umbilical... 

Where on the sea floor there are no scissors, 

There is only the unending attachment to the terror.  

The asphyxiating awfulness of the profoundly sad world above.  

Death is that sleep, perchance to dream.  And here is only the rub.  

The sad unending tale of yearning - the begging for breaths and relief 

Only to find the crushing emptiness of the cold ocean.

II

Pinned to the bottom of submerged canyon 

One looks above to the wash and tumble of the incomprehensible world.  

Sharks and dolphins spun in a mortal coil,

Twirling bodies like yins and yangs 

The light skinned bellies blending in to one another.  

Monochrome spirals and sparkles for a distinguished eye.

Fish which prey upon other fish which prey upon other fish 

Which prey upon other fish which prey upon other fish.

No one cares, talk not of the descent, 

Simple troubles for simple frenzies (no one cares).  

No the crags and hollows of the cavernous ravines or the darkened palace dungeons -  

There is still no escape, there is no rationale, just a darkened mystery of the pain itself.  

As if questioning is not enough, there is no question that goes answered 

Except for one constantly answered riddle: when will the pain return?

All the time again - all the time again.  

The answer to silly questions are not so silly as they are terrifying.  

How could simple confusion conjure the darkest twists of the desperate breaths? 

Remember those times - when the words are breathy escapes of panic?  

The unending paranoia of anxiety in the fearful breaths that come. 

The simple answer would be to collapse like a sunflower, 

So proud in the afternoon sun and so ashamed 

Its bows its head in submission to its own brief time.  

No, that is for the landlubbers, the smiling cheshire's 

Dancing from myth to myth but never really attentive to the moment.

They are not submerged and caught under the sea of a rotting nothing everything.  

The endless turning screw grips at the threads 

Piercing further into that once unpermeated membrane.  

The stinging sensation as the vessel turns 

In the creeping and sweeping underwater currents, 

Tthere is just the push of just dissatisfaction.

The waves above are only the symptoms of the petrified life 

Resting on the ocean floor.  The exhibits of sadness within the the oceanic museum 

Where the world is not one's one.  There is no privilege here.  

There is no comfort.  There is the tossing torments from above.  

Tsunamis that threaten the landlubbers above.  

That is no comfort and the darkened world from below is past the saddened collapse 

Of the eternally giant wave.  The wrecked depression of the soul 

Thrust down beneath the waves where the sadness is a way of life.

 

Enjoy

the Silence that old friend, that attic where the owls hoot and demons and groan
that place that creeps from all the minds and the organs moan
the rhymes that cackle like ladies lost and loves bygone - yes the rhymes of eternal damnation
in the emily space, the names that bounce, the heroes of significance - redundancy
much like the conversations.  from ever, from all, the conversations
they are not unique, bland casing from listless artillery
like the agonizing screams from an in surgery amputee
the rickety shack where would she be in a shanty town love den
she hides her poetry from and the peaceful string of recorded music
pours over my ears where I hear the pounding beat of my self-involvement
a heart so strong that it fears nothing of modern medicine nor fate
she calls and the enduring longing for the siren voice springs into nothingness

what does Silence say? that never ending nagging from the back of the mind
Silence that says so much, roaring like a dying lion bleeding into the serengetti
much like the sun screams in agony as it burns in the sky
where fury makes the energy, an absence should not be considered irrelevance
the anger in the night sky might be the howls from the human prison cells
or it could be the stars raging in the science of gods and universes

questions unanswered are the Silence of the mind, such a Silence again that tugs
Silence pulling from behind the ears and into the cerebral cortex
zoos of exhibition alight in the presentation
where the casting of thousands of captives under the warm disbursement of spotlights
brings the din of the animals to cacophonous roar
a roar, that sounds in the hissing and purring of all the cages
Silence bursting forth into the iris much like
impressionists who dared in abstract - losing hearing to madness
never consider that silence is not an arsenal with which one can win a war
the devastation of a emptiness can often collapse the soul like supernova

those raging bullets in the night that fire off nothing but hopelessness
those Silent piercings of the soul
they hurt much more than the overpowering ring from the chamber
those bullets that burst the vessels to shred an organ
the damage releases far more in that Silence: the dying organism
the sutured future which operates to end the power of hope
the quiet dying from the rageful ringing is far more powerful and disastrous
than any hymn or argument could settle

when the poem is done, i'll tell you it's done
when the words are complete i'm sure you'll be quick to tell me they are
but the dictionary is a never ending story
all the words that matter so much will become emotion
the sense of sensibility will be literal
the words will be the passionate call of the past
where people yearn for balconies and gloves and suns and cheeks
when we used to beg for the touch of one another, much that the words could matter
but what I feel is within, like the rest of us
and when that internal pyre climbs to heights of curiosity there is nothing to say
in Silence.