the dawn strikes

i did not ask you to my door

i did not find the will for more

i did not play the tunest tune

i did not falter – come the moon

and now if all is past divine

will take the cake

and call it MINE

for half the world

is ALL i need

and half of YOU

comes home to seed.

mitochondrial REM

tonight I would give pause to thank God for nothing,

because nothing is exactly what He found

before sculpting

us

to breathe the next unknown–

 

and tomorrow I will thank

the Day:

for where I found God

was under each turn–

the sidewinders finding my distance

intractable

to palm the next;

 

and when I die in God’s Day,

I will thank Jesus –

but until then

my destruction requires choice:

for the journey is its own end

to ever bleed heiligen nacht dreams.

electromagnetically quantified

I left it because nobody gave a shit

the facts are very simple:

you get tired of being treated as the pitiful crazy one

the error to every other ‘correct’ posture

AND IT HITS YOU —

there is no such thing as crazy if nobody is around to call you crazy

you can leave

vamoose

the anti-elvis has left the building

the nightmare has exited the parking lot

with her toys tucked under her arm

and a feather stuck in YOUR hat …

yea

I got it

but now the question looms:

 

what is harder to fight?

lonely

 

or crazy?  …………… which is the more worthy battle

what marks can I achieve before

kissing magma and crunching peroxide

how do you format your salvation?

 

I think it has something to do with going where no man has gone before

without mapping the road back ………………… ( a dive is only a dive, you see)

 

because a life not shared

becomes one of involuntary purpose

 

whereas ‘crazy’ is the lazy man’s reason to doubt

on petals of the flower

there is no reason to the apathy
pulling each song
each plait for truth …

down the tungsten road

we keep each passion sealed
each minor inconvenience …

tortured

a blank formulation to storm the greedy means
one fact remains:

i hold the box and sigh.

where understanding gravitates to 6 sides
windows and doors the ILLUSION
that freedom concedes

so the computer got a software overhaul
replanted Vista in the hopes
it will grow
more productively and timely astute

using my eye for grays and tindered purples
bright perseverance
born to move differently

down the tungsten road … where
graveyards wait in pathetic wonderment
where the path is lined by lollipops and torn meat

it takes more to fry a soul that’s stretched
to fractal probabilities … let’s climb and chime
remark the day is done

what light to crave?
what scene to score the distance
i dug for discs and programs
games
all shoved and stacked
with no guide
no motivation to place them back

they set leaning on drunken books
timeless tomes
the mess that spells my own dishevelment
what would you have me do?

i could create perfection
but then so can the computer which plants one pixel
for every cracked perception
he said random does not speak
nor approach chaos

and i had to agree
though the difference is where you hang your hat

do i sound confused?
join the club
yesterday
i went to the store
and it was bright-spangled retractions
refractions
you cannot hope to bow – the scraping relevant

diamonds once of value
barely suffer beauty to believe
for what is use?
where rare in object screams from battled worth

and rare in man
is suffered to remain
unremarkable

down the tungsten road

we bleed
we bite
we hammer out our hopes
each alloy graced with fear
the magic – tides and beauty, warmed
by ripe unknowns

each move would settle
beat our brains to senseless fire
the hell would say “turn back!”
move forth! no mind can stand the heat
the burning madness

but we march the tungsten road
the embers falling from the sky now
barely touch our feet
the anger to dissemble
targets

stretch away to center
smoothed to melt
in twists and turns

yet i can strike the barest thought for glory
mixed and purged
i bring her ’round

and we plant the next wide distance
knowing home is not a goal
never was

along the tungsten road
what purpose?
peace is all you’ve known
for execution’s right
each dawn the next salvation
born and birthed
to plundered might

you point out stems
and i am weary
yes
the damn golden
rec-tangle

not bothering the facts to name the few
we CREATED math and numbers
passage
zeros
and then marvel our creation pattern
blankly

it’s all a game
a passage of the time
the understanding merely 2 steps from believed
you have not shown me
why

existence planting sign-posts … counting stars
decides a greater effort than
one woman
rocking

holding faith and age as gifts
the hands
look at her hands!
the ever-planting
when each god can find the tower’s bell

what say you now?
is yours a construct worthy of repeat …

i think on man and joy
how every heart is tungsten

fused with heat – no tear shall melt
the soul a worshiped glory
for both energy and sorrow

shall our paths create and cross,
tune and meet?

don’t ask me
mine turns up the other side – a distant funnel,
banked … to fly

past every dream you thought complete
along the tungsten road

where sadness only finds our strength …
confusion marks each brick with light

each burning condescension holds our harm
our pain in trial ————

shall we — shall you bare witness:
when to empty hearts, the knife-point takes its blame?
too cruel, our formed survival;

judgment holds the righteous weary
the ins and outs of hell now mapped for harvest
full

where shall we find more answers but to suffer
ageless question:

the dime that won’t deliver
the burns that won’t retreat – what path
is but a brazen composition

exits built on tungsten for the rights to claim her seat:
no prison holds what danced the poles
in time

what marked a death or light – no in-be-tweens
shall we keep dragging forth your imperfections?
how much in proof – to claim a loss

or do i pin your march on more results – the dawn to break
infinity across your temples —– what is strength?
i keep it honed and worthy
ready
marked until your depths can see
it’s not a puzzle
for your mind to marry

we do NOT go by your measure
mine is constant
built on one thing and one thing only
stormed — to variance it cleaves and marks the change
not where or why
but how
we hold back motion

how does power steam your wheat?
the fort was ever-empty

along the tungsten road

request

at this point
at least what i mention is the truth
and you wonder how much damage
someone
who lies will attempt before they are buried

what saved me
was i reminded myself that once again
it’s all about her
no thought on the REASONs
the harm to others

never minded that
never cared on the impact
the floating decimal

and one nature that destroys a hope
one last complacency before looking away

for this person does not think of others
ever
deep inside you wish and hope until you find yourself
attacked
those of no conscience have no reality
outside of “self”

and i wonder at the alone
the
part where it’s not what she did
or what i did

but the part where my own being became accustomed
to caring on a one-way street

to absolutes of divine protection

but i am not divine nor settled to ignorance …
the dawn breaks and i wonder how far sorrow bleeds

how deep shame goes for foolish tasks
the mortification of understanding too late

or not at all

to the flame

it’s funny
they call you a monster
lock you up
then from locking you up and abusing you ….. EXPECT
you to at least NOW
turn into a monster
and you don’t and just look at them

puzzled

because you know inside that they are the monsters
needing to call someone else
defective
crazy

so they can feel
believe
they are ‘sane’

that it is part of the hunt
part of the downside to enlightenment

so what are you going to do now?
because i KNOW who the real assholes are
and it’s not the crazy people

it’s not the ones you’ve beat to dirt and damnation

i light a candle
quietly draw my bath and pick up my book
to read once again

about REASONABLE humans
beings of thought and intellect and feeling

and i ask myself ‘how many have i actually known?’
real people
not looking for something to fear
or invalidate

and it’s not many
too few

as i let the heat of the water seep into my flesh
ease the bones that whisper with age
i set the book down on the edge of the tub
blow the candle out

and relax back with my eyes closed

wondering how much more i will be called on to give

how much more
how many more sins against me can i bear
what kind of judgment is necessary
it aches already

the QUANTITIES of wrong
the vast swaths of guilt and numbers
their beings imprinted on my spirit
God is patient

i open my eyes
and pick the book up again
a world where humans don’t work to make themselves more
by incinerating bottled hopes for less

i think about how honor once meant something
turn the page and smile

it matters not that those around here cannot see
somebody does

whatever did i do to make you afraid?
of course
i remember everything

and i’ll take it with me

cold reason never fails
but counting on you

did

on the edge of nation; divided

i guess the more you can depend on God, the less you can expect of man.

no matter how hard i try — no matter what understandings complete or complexities team to overshadow …

one indelible truth remains:

you can’t cure stupid.

and with that i must be satisfied. how fares the rest? i hear we go to battle soon, and me without sword. perhaps the only reason for our surrender, would be a lack of confidence. and this cannot be achieved by speech or industry; the shelter for which each heart seeks stands close to its fear … and this a matter of kindness and requirement.

so you deem to make the stand? my hopes go with you. each matter is what we make it, and each punishment a wormed consortium. if i told you there was no need, would you lay down arms? no … so my only wish is that we ride once more together. ere the night falls, and the darkness suffers no more light.

not a one.

the clock strikes

to go in the circle

comfort to the unknown

the day shows noon as it was noon yesterday

and will be noon tomorrow

fence posts struck on the ground of our insecurity

need to mark passage
by the loop
the sling
the ever-present redundancy

it is november as it was last year
nothing new
the santa clauses litter the stores
with sad auras of retail-desperation

yet this time is its own
and i need to give it that

move forward in a line
straight

because the mistakes worlds will not repeat
(for comfort — kill us with comfort!)

never again

the unknown is preferable to this vast repetition
basing life on predictability
formatting results on fractured destinies

the final frontier is one we give ourselves every turn
minus the circles
minus the repetition and god-fearing humility

to rise the pendants and champion into the next moment
to lift ones eyes and see we have not been here before

never before
the meaning of time a displacement

forever within

the now but a stopping point
a hitch for renewed conquest

a complexity that requires ‘plans’ to not be formatted on the dial
married to the corkscrew
bound on chasing-tails

deemed cognizant in my requirements
the ends are clear only to those who mark no changes

measuring delight

do not ask me where i intend to be
when your paths are circular
mine are out of sight

kissing the horizon
that is where the clock strikes
where the bell chimes indiscretion

where your exigencies toll
and the struggle bows to no

one

dignity the pace each soul
may share the morrow…

less stacks of hope

reality opening the joy of the unexplored.
time but a portal

to understand the worth of action
the domineering and ever-present need to
sink the feet deeper
honed paths of the circle

and bound to freedom … a day that is yours
a boon that is memory

not repeated

a gift that is sensed beyond capacity
not stored
not mourned

whipping the in and out of spirit between tides
between our genuflection against the sun … the moon … the gods of every eon

our own small portrait one that paints the sky with chaos
delivering victory to the small

the warmth against what is considered

next
the purpose you have found to be like unto your makers
like unto the remainder
like unto the questing hands and dominance of the few

we have our moments
that cannot be stolen nor bought
where the demons cry in furry and jealousies

mine

not yours
not theirs

and certainly …. not time’s

for the choice of the one is the complexity of the many

as we all march in the circle … the tune dies to a single note
braying on the wind
the death of spirit is one of expectancy

that never arrives.

so tell me again why i need to be normal?
tell me how my insanity is not your salvation … how the ability to shift the play
when the clock strikes –

—————you strike back

and walk away: claim the balance
because what is ‘off’ is not the center of redemption

the mark for your arrows
the binding for your springs — i set aside animosity and gravestones

do you know the how?
i found it yesterday ….

and i will share my knowledge on the morrow when i get there
measuring the next distance
for entire nations will realize that wrong lives inside right

that your need for black and white is the same need
to march in the circle
to take time and harness incapability
on the whim of a turn
on the bastion of repetition and blight

it is more and less
contentment the one goal that galaxies scorned
what reason are your moon – your sun

but the excuse to try again NOW
to hold in abeyance your strength … for no greater effort than strength’s need

when the clock strikes i bow to the many
and hope some day you will see

hell is staying in one place
carving the circles of respectability

and heaven is away – so far away
whatever distance mind can find … whatever proof chariots can feel

and be
existence the communion of consecutive worth
and broken desire

you will not find destiny on beams of a circle
even the planets times it by 360 and spit density upon the

infinite rebound
time a three-dimensional revolve
a trap where center finds you molten and marked
strung on the beams of your indecision

the next moment is always your last reasoning
where good will lives because it formats action
to the point of being

the twist of honest air
not because each drawn quarter can
ability
based on one day, next

the will to paint the sky with chaos
yet again
and more

to strike the clock
before the clock can strike the numbers
bold consistency
the hole man creates when fear rules this hell

this hell …………. how do i quit my meaning???!
my remorse …

to show you it was never me
never me
all i am is a hope for better
a spackle of different
a song a beat to crunch the numbers

do you know where i’ve been?
well neither do i

the scope of responsibility something i bear while worlds bind
drudgery to your circle
for on earth those trials remain — and you may have your worth

while constance leaves

and i smile at every beginning
because the ends are beyond your indifference

justice squirming the fractures and revolving
on the nouns
because we make it so

the only application
one to self

the only end of your days possible because you call them spent
what is gone
but a resurrection

what do we remember —— outside of ourselves

nothing, but that the struggle is because we are NOT alone
the dignity necessary because to hurry is shame
and darkened consequence

you don’t take time to smell the flowers
you kill time and use its bones to fertilize the earth
grow the flowers

and smell the sweat as you wipe every forgiveness from your brow
and every condescension from your livelihood

when the clock strikes
who are you to say each hour is as the next?
what flame will be emboldened
to burn on the necessary

and ash what can never be …….. turn to dust the last of our kind
shall we be afraid?

or shall we smile understanding at our fear ……..
sigh perseverance to santa clauses in november

and bless the balance
the hope that would not live without deterministic ends
the result that would not breathe
without the vision

the vision that would not hurry but for that the clock strikes
brings the world to motion on buttered hands

brings my heart to dying
on vanquished guilt

for the last reason i forgot and the first reason i settled on mending over EVERY counsel and possibility the meaning clear:
abandon time and find the moment

its worth determined only by depth of considerations
the plumb of purpose
a singular event

not given …. but moved

creator to creator

to smile within the realities of LIGHT
the burnished suppositions
while trepidation takes hold

constricts and journeys on the barest clouds
the slightest remark…

preparation engraving a head with conquest and need
it is not for you or me that i look to the day:

it is for blue sky over accident
birth of power shatter from every corner
every particle

understood
made

and given a necessary question
of gratitude
how do we marvel?

when even the pine dips to the wind
and the mountains rumble consequence

painted

where or what is the answer?
my self-assurance proves nothing
and want to be open
believe

heads crunch numbers
pitiful odds
round-about whistle
come hither

the day is only somber for a lowly-heart
your question was not how to make it through
but how to do so

while holding your bones to the sky