What is Love?

Love is not something you feel, or say; not something you discover or fall into. It's something you do.

Reality

The reigns ride high,
The yoke weighs down,
The vibrant, multifaceted existence,
Burns us with its pressure,
The IS is painful,
The mind is a wrack of consuming,
Zooming through the notion of time,
And yet it’s dull.
The boredom is insidious,
Fleeting joy and unwept grief,
Sift through the mind and spark,
The dark is deafening and silent,
A raging undertow of non-being,
Nothing satisfies, nothing satiates.
There is a blanket of falsity,
An ephemeral wasteland of meaningless
-ness, IS-ness is not.
Lost. All is lost. Nothing in its proper place.
The pace ever-changing,
Hitting from all unexpected angles.
Life is the unexpected alchemy of chaos, change, and stagnant despair.
The question reigns, the question hides,
An unsolveable mystery in an insoluble dread.
Loud, the screams of dying dreams.

Nothing

The grinding, crushing weight of wailing breath and gnashing teeth.
It seems as though a petty joke,
Wearing meaning’s mindless yoke,
And pulling on the reigns of hope,
To find them dangling – attached to nothing.
No love, no life, no death, no grief, no pain, no joy, no spark no fire.
No I or is, or being in the real.
But a picture of a delicious meal,
That taunts and teases, cannot feel,
Cannot taste, cannot heal,
The would created by itself,
The conditions of a conditioned self,
The reality of what is real.
Nothing.
A dull knife cannot cut to the marrow of existence,
To create a real expression,
To cause a real feeling.
It just gnaws away at fading flesh,
Revealing no sickness, providing nothing but a false sensation of sensation itself.
And in all the pseudo-pain and empty joy,
With all the gyrations of a discarded toy,
Nothing.

The Worm

I have a worm, wriggling inside,
It is gray and cold,
Angry and old,
It doesn’t hurt, not really,
Actually it’s kind of numb,
Tingling and dumb.
It gnaws on my soul each day,
Bartering passion for safe dying,
Comfort and buying.
It whispers ugly things behind me,
Twists me in slithery knots,
Connecting invisible dots.
It smells, like old decay,
Somewhat like moldy bread,
I think I might be dead.
It throbs and pulses, dully,
I think it feels like pain,
I ignore it again.

Child III

The mailman can fly,
I saw him do it once,
Running from a weiner dog.

Child II

Watery, swimmy insides,
Shrink against outside,
Everything is jagged.

Child

Hurt and joy,
Teeter-totter so easily,
Why do I fear my window?

Tree

From the center,
Radial expansion layers strength,
In a black night.

Self Portrait

Naked oblivion without pretense,
A clear light, shining in darkness,
Swirling silence, echoing without media,
Timeless songs and heatless fire,
The circle and the star,
Holes in the firmament,
A cellophane dream punctured
By imaginary knives,
And everything shifts, morphs
Changes in form and substance
Into insubstantial wisps of fancy
And ennui.
Then storms, cacophonous and raging,
Thoughts like atoms smash together,
Vaporizing in ephemeral flashes of insight,
Fleeting,
Without proper instrumentation,
Cannot be analyzed, merely imprinted,
On layered membranes of anxiety, loss, self-reprobation,
Processed with emulsion of dream, nostalgia,
Secret hopes and rescue fantasy,
Child-like wonder and grown-up hate,
Jumbled and calcified into the shape of a man

Melancholia

Melon
Callya
Hollow, with seeds.
Begging to be eaten.

Me (Lost and Lonely)
Land (Vast and scary)
Coal (Black and sooty)
Ia!!! (The night sky and its dark mistress beckons)

Mel
And
Collier
(Who the fuck are you?)

Melan(ge)
Caw
Liar
Fluttering black crows,
Screeching falsehood.

Mmm...
Élan,
Claw Ya.
Tempting morsels,
Elegant flair,
Shredded, bloody meat.

Strange River

There is a strange river behind my village,
It curls and dapples around large rocks,
There are bends and twists unpredictable,
Walking along its bank.
I walked the river to the left,
Found myself among fools,
Then walked it to the right,
Found myself among pleasant folk,
Left this time,
Frothing, angry people, dashing against tree roots,
Right,
Scintillating, bubbling faces, laughing gaily,
Left,
Langorous, liquid and somber, writing elegies in mud,
Right,
Dancing gladly, dappled by rain, spinning whirls,
Left,
Busy, industrius, carving into rocks in angular patterns,
Right,
Bright, shining and sexy, young and rosy,
Left,
Dagger-hearted, self destroying swirls of vicious emnity.
I turned around and went back to the river mouth,
To start again and try the paths a different way,
But they never seemed to change.

Inspired

Okay, I'm back. I actually ceased to exist for a bit. I broke into tiny little pieces, and have now reassembled myself with thumbtacks and bit-O-honey candies. I'm sure a piece will fall off now and again, and there are plenty of ouchy bits still milling around in here, but I am substantially here again.