in.sight

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13 Apr 2010
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hail eris poem writing

Sometimes I look behind the vinyl chairs before I sit down
not trusting that something might not be there
like treasure chests filled with apathy
or cookie jars - or matrimony
I let this wall come in to play
as if, in my deluded mind, it would not be expected to hear the voices
the heads bowed, cloakfacedarkness{}peaceunderstand, o O O O 1

movement two
hush now
breathe in quickly fire breath displace
the snake circuit mandala oroborus
the breath fire balancing him
aPathy .a. NO! Out

circle the three
hail jörmungandr hail eris
w(ishing)(ashing)(orn)(retched)

Don’t think badly of me, it is not my fault that the circle comes this way
you saw the end and then the wheel turned over and here we are again
remember the past forget the now creating the future
and reverse
reverse and
creating the every single tiny droplet of blessed light this god this circle this spiral
colorthoughtemotionvibrationbliss

cthon - aha! BLISS|SSILB !aha - here we are again at the beginning of our lives the beginning of the none the circle the circling drainspirals upward bringing us up the elevator
top floor Please? Please center yourself, good sir. Be kind enough to love every thought arising from that coiled serpent.

It will be good,
It shall be so
So say we all
HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

And you were beginning to believe me.

You mustn’t
Believe me
in the beginning which is the end which is
.believe me.
Here comes the puzzle here comes the edge REACH! AND THERE!

.:.

28 Dec 2009
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poem writing

In the one pale beam
cast across cracked and
lonely planks, still tender from
the touch of quiet carpentry
the (e)motes float and cavort
One blink
and not even the brazen sun
can re-move them
to dance their fortunes
splayed for all to see
and make privacy the biggest
cuckold you ever did know

If lucid thought be that
which you seek
then spinning and tumble-dry
dusky corpses of memories
lost to murky sights
and lidded carpet rooms
are all that will greet you

Trace these patterns into the surface
of your harlequin glassed eyeview
and watch as rainbow-scented
photon gods reveal your
for(tune) to shimmy to
to hornpipe to
smoke in your
vision
obscure

But only a washtub made for
feelings wrought of iron
which has made a truce with
King Poisidin for safe passage
can travel to the other side
into tomorrow morning
Strange land that our tingled
and fancies cannot step into
barred like Eve
like Adam
forever trapped outside
frozen into this cube

Poem - 12.23.08

23 Dec 2008
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POTD original poem writing

Air surrounding me leeches away the words
that should be whispered close on winter
nights such as these -
is it ever as difficult as it seems?
That these fluttering mouthbites will never
make it to the shells that they were meant for
but instead shall scoot around in houses too small

The surface of the bubble is sometimes too thick
to push through; all the puncturepuncturepuncture
of days past close over and channels disappear,
their blankets pulled over their heads to keep warm
and shut the light from coming
Only faint and dainty
wisps
of smoke give tell to the smoldering ember
that sits enshrined in a glass case/stone basement,
held back by knots in the soft tunnel,
bundled behind the memory of too many "naughts"
and not enough patience - and only pale imitations
remain

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Poem - 12.23.08

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