Endless Catches in a Hundred Arrows

“My feelings are a stage, and the actors loan me an ashen daze, to which I must comfortably submit, I must conveniently pay. There is no sole liberation, there is only a constancy to which I comply, for it might be wrong to be the believer that may rue the morgue of actual rightness. I live my life by swimming between schools that could possibly identify my novelty, if I leave I might get lost. The planetary rules apply and revolve around my locked head, because they embody elements that inevitably blaze around me, quiver in between my thighs, make crooked circle that twist my eyes and kindle fires that surround truth, everything that could happen will be an abstraction under my possession, my unstable guardianship. How elusive is radical change? But if I walk away, try to attain difference, I know I will confront untamed comparisons to another life, consequently, instead I should try to translate the complexities of unhappiness to an evermore stand, and I will follow the nostalgia of tonic time”


Life is iconic, and its icons coast thru endless eras, forever as remembrances. They carry forth the bread of unhindered routines, to a factory that casts spells in widening ravines and feeds voyagers- that’s us on this planet.

Aviary

The bells toll proudly, thru the way in which a street is hazed, flagged with fables, salted from grace. I travel, celebrating the minutes of light, and as I widen my revelations to dress the horizons, as I drive, I spark a bevy of memories, of faults, of cheers, of yesterday, and towards the secrets and whispers that float a star trail apart in the times that lazed here, now grazing there with no matter in between. The sea whistles a poem to be unraveled by someone of a caliber well known to me, as I had reached the waterfront, and the stares mawkishly mock the wind rippling auroele in the spots of the sea below a golden djjay shade, the electricity of stillness disturbed by the play of weather. I had stopped to witness, but now I carry on again, I continue my attempts to attain an attestment that states years out of my aviary, after the climate that dangles unfazed and perfumed by a spectral mist, that I drearily found as I was missing a path to escape, as I was searching for a spine to wear and travel further. The ecstasy of adventures drips thru my hands, amid my trials to reject or admit my admiration to the confessions of my greater half, my better mind, my sweeter heart that awaits all the way to the top, or discovering it all the way back home, which I have left to run. I drive even now, a little slower, slower.

Visions Off The Wall

The mighty minute of the leisured blue world, as I walk to explore, there ascends a broader highway, the planks build nearby, with three men lining its balcony and singing “What do you do wrong?” Shadows seal the key passage, it is the end of the line, it is a judgement to which I can’t say no, I cannot deny it here. But an escalator emerges and carries me off to shore.

A sandstorm filled the wind, strongest in its first fifteen minutes. The hit started swaying alongside the magnitude of the wind, the house in which I went became more susceptible to drifting. Time needed to be drugged with Prozac or some seizure medicine, the ground emerged from beneath the ground, the manic hour began drizzling, sizzling gawking all over the places, sporting roars of gust, the planks began to tear in the anterior and started imploding, the wood blocks started to tear and fly toward the ramparts. People walked and ran, fast, fast, hatefully fast, speeding, exploding thru a reality of corrupt glory, a dark glitter beating in the doorway, zigzagging through each corner, coarsely runny time, grenades exploded, guns were fired from outside the house, I began to trundle like a stone, wheeling myself to find a way out, I could hear shrieks outside- a man’s. I tried to trap a squall before rushing to save others, people bawled, people sniffed or was that a hallucination within the hallucination. Punches lapped, a body flew in thru the downward, the sand entered my eyes, and I was irritated, quite literally. I could feel the pain that arises when the person most close to you is done in the dark, wherein that person palely shines, with a halo, and phantoms escaping to subway walls, the bells toll in supermarkets. The roof hatted the ground soon, everything tumbled, guns had been shot, bombs exploded consecutively and simultaneously, I had to escape. “I’ll miss knowing you forever, you were my life, my most recent adventure” I closed my eyes so I could be awake and see the relics of it, the survival. 

Funereal Puzzlement

“We are a species divining pillars of black smoke. Every night in its midmost loneliness had a wading narrative, was it good for you? Saved my desire, that ground, a man, their laughs. There you laughed. Now here you grow trees replacing water with sweat, and the tree’s fragile branches hide in shadows, they colored the stars but you got blind. It’s gone now, strange they didn’t tell you, it faded into the nests of hope, disappeared into wild green. Today, a million sneers wrap your heart, tomorrow a million more, beyond the wire you walk, and afterward another wire leads you onward to skies of silvered illusions, stages of honeyed music. Remember, the foreign light build on you slowly, and a void of magic made a swing to swerve on a chatty path. Isn’t it funny how you didn’t realize just where you were, and where you were going? Around the fragrance of scented quilts, backward the elegance of medieval fantasies, towards the barbed twists of arms, jumping over the picket fences, hanging in the innately fallen idols. You’re downy here, before the dusky dawn, be here, after the sunny set and rise. Tell me how it felt to be laden around the cathedral, did it glisten and enlighten you about your purpose, about your era, about your end, and about your hours. Did they tell you that you were never in charge, you never could blandly speak. Pray that the sandstorms blow the rain away then look up the hovering sky, scorched by the losses, extended by the difficulties. Remember that was the shade of the rainbow above you, you know, for when you and I get to know one another and I wish I had your choices”

I like the way that the world is a little older.

Slaughtered, wired, weary under the cover of stressful notions and truth. Awkward seconds led to a bummer, happy hours to a happy summer. Yet I miss all the sights, mountains, and the long drives, bars of pleasantries, birds in canopied trees, trenched bridging the light that dwindle, fluctuate between nighttime, daylight, icing sugar on the sight, pressing a howling, scowling mood of weather. My length is angry, my eyes trying to recover from the return to truth, I still remember so many things, yet not as clearly as I yearn, as I had earned by simply presenting myself.

Institution and industries, part of a memory forever, evermore magic moments, caught under my sweater from the spills of milkshakes. I miss shooting around the shouts of laughter, and the screams of inner worries. But they were all hidden, hidden under the letters that I write to save a recognition, a coarse cognition, that realizes color and splits its joy. The time in dunes were fresh out of luck, with an abundance of ducks to keep tracks of lines, staying in a hostel was fine. And oh yes, I miss the excitement, the revelry outside walls, outside the realty sewn into jobs that make hateful unoriginality. Inspiration comes from rocks and wells, paintings of Rockwell, texts of young poets, lit by the stars and the moon, repeated in electric insomnia, cherished in mutual friendship, love, and the affairs cracked under the crux of legalities.

Soul, spirit, clung whole around the intracranial handwriting, firm carves of distinctive canvas, uppers pink and purple, factories, burgers and shops around the empty streets, around the Dutch beats, revolving around oceanic renditions of Israeli prayers. Watching movies, silver screens, trash magic, agony fiend.

Train Hued Paradise

Throw me new thoughts, the greatest spurt of entertainment is in the fear of the abrupt unknown, and the talking cemeteries, and also religious frowns.

Everything is silhouetted on green curtains, telephone wires are swinging hand in hand, farms deepen the green darting thru the holes, and the heroes wash the coral photographs zeroing, zooming inward inward the innermost notoriety behind blunt, scattered oceans in between storms of intensity, haunted by a grand sleep of spared hues, jailed by May in October, yesterday.

In the gloomy bricks of this passage, the train rocks from grave till the unending Argentine odds. Unto the entirety of a Zen dawn in these misty aeons, and caught between a billion mad desires, I play music. The radio heats Sinatra outward the open air, be kind don’t comfort yourself in your coffin, I loved the days, even when they were set in daze, perfumed by colorful mountains, shivering thru seventeen inched stabs on the land of Docs and laughter, the earth is an angel dishwashing cures in cities, and bums on bay. Troubles corroborate with nothing anyway.

Melting onto the cheaply clothed chair, still wobbly from years to pass and smoked in time, the sun sins and shines, near posts outside of cursed signs, the hardwired sage translate Bosnian to Asian Buddhists. What else do I see? Flowers? Vaguely. But I do see the vagrants exchanging guns and railway food and solving algebraic equations, with pens and papers.

Polaroid Gravity

With the rumors of ideas and delusions being exchanged in my specimen mind, I lulled myself to a sleep of pastel pastures intercut with red holes and bright lights. I was in another place, a worse world. I was on a map, but long I stood not in familiarity but amid assortments of stranger settings, on a swing set with blurry vision. It all seemed blue, a minor difference from my visions but a plunge back into the shades of the place where I had started. I wasn’t waking up yet. It grew more vivid, the swing was rusting at a rapid pace, breaking at joints, the steadfast sight of blue proved to be the sky, and I forgot to escape, and I forgot to shout. I took the choices less erred by, I took a path of apathy. I lifted my eyes and fell to the power of a dream. I crashed on the floors, but the reverie persisted. The sky flickered and cried before me, I closed my eyes, but consequently, the sky collaborated with the fluffed clouds and grabbed a terrorizing reign over the immobile me. I collapsed to the actuality – I couldn’t be out of my dreams. In the subsequent sequences, I lost my hearing, my ability to speak, well I lost myself. I was only my eyes. Then the rain came rolling down and took that away too and so I was finally in a black sleep, a true sleep.

In the sole liberation of a time that did not undergo my squandering, I ringed a wire thru the war calls. People collected at the printed edges of my books, two-toned solid checks of airplane silhouettes grabbed me off the walls, native styles, tentative desires, and dragged me past the evil motorways. The skies were overcome with rainbows of the history, something revolutionary, something equated, something a little Incan too. There was always the sun in my eyes, the morning after, in it’s final hours, closing my visualization. Ah, the sun.