Saturday, August 30, 2014

A laughing boy asks a favor of a laughing city,
perched in the crows nest
a husk of a house on a hill
this day this shall all be mine
100 years of future light
playing in the breezy black
of a southern summer night

A laughing boy asks a favor of a laughing city,
once he asked the same of the moon
except that was before the spring came
this is different, better even
when he asked the moon he was crying
the moon was, maybe laughing

A laughing boy asked a favor of a laughing city,
now he sees with smiles
(i'm)perfect but solid at least
i don't think the moon has ever actually fallen
and landed on anyone anyway.

he just has to say,
be good to me and
i'll be good to you

Amorous legumes offer no explanations.

There is a small morsel of fruit hanging in the air,
it takes stock of its surroundings, sniffs the morning dew
can time retain this viscosity forever?
i hope so.

We laugh --------------- or rather both laugh together


Solid-state time can only sublime
there are SO many grapes in this world

yet here sits he while away plays she
off on a spring-bird fancy

......something has broken down here
this poem is in - con      gruous

but something must happen
or nothing at all
or surely come down
will cradle and all

i have you, and me you have, you
or so it goes
but thankful i am for heaves and hos
and space between toes

even if loving beans act without thinking.

More lectures on black holes.

Ghosts of birds in morning trees
hide with love in a swarm of bees
thoughts of flowers overgrown
with trashcans and sno-cones
wishing once more to see the sun
snap bang the sound of a gun
discontent is the autumn of this wood
i am the spring
and i would if i could.

Saturday, July 5, 2014


A hole in reality itself
Sweating darkness
Eating the very fabric of life
Where does it all go?
A craft appears,
glistening with hi-beams
crawling with small dancing crustaceans
An entire ecosystem of appreciation for all things small

How much light would it take to fill that hole?
A final question exhaled as the only remaining
memory of the craft that now wasn't.

It was the kind of darkness that space could only dream of.
Blackness itself kneeled and prayed before this unholy absence for forgiveness.
A universe of suns tried and faild to put a dent in the insatiable consumption.

How could one mortal vessle ever dream it could aspire to anything beyond
crushing darkness let alone filling some of the void?

Well, Occam's razor is a heavy tool when dissecting light.
To peel back the layers of a photon
And find the glowing seed of purpose
To reaveal the tiny beauty in everything tiny.
That a smudge of color glinting off a piece of trash in the road
can outweigh the nothingness of all the universe.

Light is finite.
Every star will die.
and blackness never fades.
But light finds a way to live on.
It lives and loves; reproduces and evolves
and continues despite.
Blackness never changes.

Thus the little craft tries to bury the darkness in a grave of light,
but will it be enough?

Thursday, May 8, 2014

the beast awakens

A shining patch of buttery spring light illuminates the bear's left eye. Where once there could only be heard the low end rumbling of a beasts slumber, there emanates a lazy grumble. The eye opens with a start and the quarter sized pupils dilate in to focus on the bright light. He is AWAKE!

Yet another winter has been weathered and due to my not having been born at the turn of the TWENTIETH century i must keep up my internet presence. I have art and pictures and sketches to put up ... that require a good internet connection to upload.

more to come because i've been tired of waiting.