One Pass - Swift Blade part 1 of 3 6/30/15

Life without even ripples of motives.

An imagined feeling of castration

and not knowing a sense of cause. 

My tongue cut lifelessly stray from its masterful brain.

My eyes opening to a skeletal me.

Facing a mirror, preoccupied,

looking for the familiarity of scars.

Am I to “Rip up this reality text.”?

Ripping at it to find the edge of this sanity frame.

I am tearing at it buoyant in an ocean without feelings.

I swim after meanings that are drifting away.

Beside myself, this smells like a dream

where I am standing in line,

facing where I’m being pushed by my urge to live.

There are these invisible hands, clamp together,

surrounding my brain, pushing the life out of me.

I feel touched but I am fearing the unexpected

from the acid of my unknown desires.

Absentmindedly, I look below my vision to discover,

I too am this thing that is rubbing at me.

So don’t look at me with alarm.

Use what you see to help me.

Help me, at least hum along with the fury of my voice.

Clap your hands with my hands.

Nod with me when I nod.

Please, don’t show me

with those reflecting eyes of yours

what I see out of mine.

For I see a stampede of deaths passing by me,

that I can only break frame by blinking.

No one of these deaths is quick enough in the viewing

to save me from my long journey

as driftwood in this ocean of sorrow.

Yet, all of a sudden, no history, no story, no sight

as if totally broken down.

And from here, I want to avoid your eyes,

the staring back, my deformity presenting,

and having no answers that offer any animation.

There is no composure to calm your looking at me

so that I can look back at you and feel reaffirmed.

You are catching me without motives

yet emotions keep finding a way out my mouth at you,

and I cannot stop this gasping then repulsion.

Some awkward consciousness has skewered

my personality, still dripping over this unceasing fire

running along under me

with some godforsaken hot breath grabbing at me,

down my throat, ripping at my stomach

numb with glum.

expectations (haiku) 6/29/15

expectations are

the cruelest form of candor

self administered

Never settled 6/28/15

Nothing is ever settled.

But when the dark side of light

meets up with the light side of dark,

we have an abundance of the unresolved.

This does not pronounce of itself in language,

There is no stifle of internal bantering.

It happens in the duplicity of mood.

Either one, light or dark,

is already present and dominating.

But there is a kibitz of murmur in the mind

that radically rattles off a vaguer remark

obliquely to counter the low or the high,

from the towering lightness of being,

or the vast catches of shadow seething as doubt

or the whizzical turn of too good to be true,

to the falling on its own ass

with fronting a living lie.

These as apprehensions of emotive thought

are always about to happen.

In either case, light and dark

there is a share of common space consciousness

and what would positionally be confusion

somehow becomes a settling, not settled

but an acquiesce much about the settling,

choppy but contained,

stains on the wallpaper of the mind

but blended into the prominent pattern itself.

A thickness of awareness

now with many levels,

as a share of uneven voice-tones, back and forth,

but no summation as in a final account.

Both sides seen yet juxtapose.

The world becomes accustomed to beaming and shadows

in every meaningful moment

and yet settled, truly settled,

is now not an option for living . . .

Continuums from observations fill the high of the day

and contend with the night’s co-minglings in dreams.

The constancy is as these undulations continues

long on into the tides of light blinding dark

or resurgent dark burying light.

Know for yourself and of yourself in these ways,

mindfully, fluidly but never settled . . .

We all lie 6/27/15

We all lie by omission.

This terrible truth is stalking us

each and every moment of muteness

as if each out breath was a confession

that cannot find words.

Yet compassion fills the air we breathe in.

Society is agnostic with momentous indifference

in the way we carry on

this pageant of oversight.

I don’t have prayer as redemption

but I have love to fill my absentia with presence

from beyond . . .

oomph (haiku) 6/26/15

the triumph of oomph

heart instigated from you

blessing everything

Mother Of My Nightmares 6/25/15

I had wandered into where 

we have what we have in common. 

Although I was disguised as lost 

and she was purposely unattentive. 

Through the benediction of my senses directed 

and she as unrelentlessly tracking, 

we have struggled fatefully towards each other. 

Our communication is this third party of dreams. 

We have portrayed ourselves 

as cross-adversaries of the same quest. 

In my darkened room, 

in my darkest mood, 

I take off the costume of my imaging. 

I then embrace the void within, 

only then to discover 

that the mother of my nightmares 

has undressed herself in my mind 

while I was taking off my meanings . . .