the development of preciousness in reverse

Imagine traveling in reverse through your life.  We swim through funeral to moments with friends weve lost, as that preciousness rapidly evaporates until the very  instance it occurred. The ache you have for your childhood Christmas dissipating as you put your favorite present back into the box and wrap it up. Numb.

The  question you penciled on placemat "what is my purpose?" rapidly becoming meaningless. As we stand at the South Pole and ask where is South from here?

We cease.

We perish. We return back to the dust,

through our mother.

pixel of the Universe

 You have only seen 2 tangent points of the whole apparatus,

removed the adjacent bolts, and drew an abstract line

 you find yourself alone inside some pixel of the universe,

maybe thats Ok

wander through alone, clear minded, heavy boned

and a heart wide open

to earthy colors pouring in

heavens too perfect

There ain't no gas station 

burritos in heaven, no Marlboro lights, 

no neighbor dog 

and there ain't no back roads

 I ain't ever driven 

no drunken fights,

 no morning fog 

there is no mystery 

no hiding Undercovers

no mixing my own colors 

no calling your name 

you're already here 

when Grandma ghosts me 

feel the grit of dirt from flowers 

flow like the streets through City towers 

and know that you're alive 

because I'm bored 

 heaven's too perfect, 

Cyber Truck

Its a kaleidoscope, where the outsides in<

the world conspires, Psilocybin

 I don't like the way it looks

or how it feels

im just happy to see that were moving on

to the very next thingk

the trees don't bend

the road don't crook

atleast were headed to the secret page

in an unbound book

oh the thought it is lovely

oh child these arent the edges, they are the fold in the map

oh child these arent the angles, merely the flakes in the kaleidoscope

and when the future unfolds its a symphony of color

A thank you for a friend

I hope you live to be 96 years old. The tennis balls on your walker will be flourescently fresh Everytime the nephews grand kids changes them out.

For me, my life, I hope I'm in the end of summer. My orbit, my axis just beginning to tilt away from the sun. Welcoming the fall. And perfectly so, there you are. 

I needed you today. 

My head was spinning with anger. Introspectively I know it's my choice to feel this way. Whatever peripheral items ignite on my horizon, don't have to become a bonfire inside me. I decide what is my circle and where it's center is. As I  shift, as I'm shifting, right there lands the reddist leaf.

She speaks of digging up earth. Hands in soil. The cathartic act of planting. An exercise in hope. Faith. Awake in process. 

A refreshing swig of life.

It made me pause.

And I found my breath. I found my silent space between the trees.

So, 

Thank you, 

For today.

Size of night

 Every edge was unbounded. From the sand below feet, to the end of the observable universe. Everyone we knew was present. All emotions on the table. The dice roll. Each fire along the beach line was a hundred lifetimes of possibility. 

The night was tangible,  Large. The trees grew to the sun. The water poured off the edges. The twilight endless and warm. The laughter was 1000 count thread. The smoke was hefty like machine. We were young and exploding. The spring of our lifes. It felt like all,  colossal in stature  somehow still expanding. Accelerating.

Now as summer is ending, we can hold those nights in our hands.

Rack rack rack

 Universe a pourin through the node
bindin eltro magnets hold

while entagled ones implode

its a trebuchet

momentum soon to swing this way

debutants will drink the day

prepar red is the blay bah blay

dimension packed

black wholes stacked

discuss it over 30 rack

rack rack rack

Blue Ember

 we sit around a fire

or does the fire contain us?

We know Doyle is tired, because he doesn't say much

it was June or July

it felt like December,

Chill it was the night

Do you remember
.....

That cold Blue ember?

And who? put the leaves on this tree
toothing the starred sky,

ratcheting branches cradling night

Delivered by an exterior design

sparkling along the nights moon beams

I play this chord for you
my dear friend,

dragging knuckles

Shoulders hanging wide

Knuckles dragging low

Bringing up lumber

From the valley below

Gonna build me a shack

And let these nights fill up my soul

Insulate with magic

From the stems from the floor

Shimmy up the moonbeams

Til my heart don't hurt no more

I got a boogie machine

The Bonanza

 Its fun, this life

im in the middle of such a forest fire

and Ive done a plenty

it seems

relative to the mass around me

everybody says things

why, your so weird

what is the purpose

your amazing

your crazy

youve done more than anyone

you havent done shit

you influenced 

you withdrawn

and.. I think

I

need to push on.. 

for what reason?

why does any Scientist who knows so much

continue to live

when he believes there is no heaven?
what the hell is he still doing here?

what am i doing here?

Im here to sing to that ache in your bones

and rollick in the chamber of joy and laughter

and I hope to echo forever

until someone pops the cork

and drinks the wine.

let

older

I realize i need to be delicate

 imply, and softly render the edges

let your hearts come through the depiction

get out of the way

The mere act of presenting a canvas

the occasion of you standing there on that floor

preceded by the carpenter that had to build it

I can just present an upward hand gesture

as I get out of the way

in time you will realize how i refracted the light

and you all gave me a name

somewhere in the undefined edge

a silhouette is born

But I wont stand in the way

So many pills of light

vessels of moments

souls slithering by 

at a frightening thundering pace.

When we plant our feet in the stream

the highway is dispersed unpredictably

and you look like such a fool. 

Let the light find its retina

let the radio of your heart tune in.

let the feels find the insides of their ribs. 

Let.

white hot romper suit

"The tube thing... meh" 

"Give me that white hot romper and some fuel.

I have a story to live"

The evening was supported by five quarter treated pine. The backstage story was the foilage that grew to the underside. The week went on typically. It wasnt until I couldn't see outward that I realized what had dozed it's way through the small margins in between the deck boards. 

There is quite a machine here. Once we etch the rust away. Once we force the gears to turn and introduce the grease. If you know what your looking at. You can salvage a classic.

The layers removed reveal a patina. One you couldn't create synthetically. 

The honesty gifted took a lifetime to earn.

My Good God. What a gorgeous soul. Growing more so as the story is born.

And she does it all in a romper suit. 

The color of white hot sun. 

into someone elses telescope

 she loves her little knick knacks

with her cords on right

an electric smile

shining through the night

wheres your light go girl

streaming cross the sky

into the tube wrapped in gifts

into someone elses telescope

pulse with the right

i cant see for the night

when she waits in that dress

i could be there for the vent

but these old walls want to fold

when the ceiling is lifted

A hand sewn starry cloak

Ill have you know that I created this cloak myself

I have sewn every star on, stood against the dark

and became sky to anyone who chose to believe in me

Along the edge of each star is a story line

 I made sure to stumble from straight

so you can be sure these were not machine made

 I left the perfect for those distant galaxies

while out here alone in the cold, I wrote a letter. Something I wish all my friends would have done before they crossed over.

(she reads aloud) 

I hope I made the moon appear large 

while you were here. Thats why I stood there in that light. That night. Directly in the way. With a smile.

And,  

I hope that you couldn't see right through me

Id like to think I refracted like the hidden wine

Not so dark that you couldn't make your way

and not so reflective that you simply saw yourself

I was here to turn the dials

 curate pigment and pixel

deliver the continuum

in the spirit of delight

and I hope you noticed, that I added in ghost notes

so the rhythm could find your bones.

Does Heaven return you to time slots?

When I get to forever

the architect sits with the director close, 

and I hope they are all there, 

Especially Brooke.

and its the same

with no new names. 
Exciting and open. 

endorsed by everything inside me that resists.

I hope she gets the smiles to me in between train cars. When im walking, she startles me between the trees. and breathes life into me again.   

Ill write those love letters in watercolor. And Ill be full power. Off and running. Again.

Director, Architect, can we start with that one carefully constructed day? 

Ah yes I remember that one.. 

 it started 

with pillows. the most natural of laughter.

the best coffee

a strangers word, and a walk.

[the whole set unravels suddenly]
But,

I have my doubts about finding the same crown molding. And Brooke doesn't like the sky blue walls anymore.  

Don't you guys have people that can tug on the fabric a bit? 

Who can put us at a time when they milled the right Crown? And Brooke favored earthy colors?  

 

All Gravities

I had it 

for a moment, 

half asleep

balanced between all gravities 

and space

I knew my truth

my lighthouse location

A railroad spike sticking out of the new hardwood floor

how could I miss it? 

the next day I awake groggy and off course again.

Oh well

When the lawn gets cut, and the sun is coming through

the birds find hope.

the first bird is the crazy one. up at 430am. 

I start the rumbling machine. 

scurry away. watch from a branch. 

I know there will be a day when im truly all alone

when my last dear friend has perished. 

Or will I be the one who goes first?

I suppose the best time would be somewhere in between. 
I want to see how you all do it.

How you manage the pursuit of purpose. 
Did you make up a good one?

Did the book present it to you plainly?
did you stumble through the doorway and declare it?
The occasions are nice. 
I suppose Ill lay in a hospital bed and remember you all in suits. Ill remember the train rides. 
I promise you that dad. 

Somewhere between the gravity of Jupiter

And the weightlessness of a dark spot in space

the war on TV,

and mothers meal

did you find purpose?

do you say, someday that you will help

Youll use your precious shrinking stamina to lessen suffering somewhere? 
All Gravities

Do you drive til you find that edge

and imagine the disappointment your wake would leave?

Old Radio parts

Im just floating here

hoping an old friend would return 

through the night of the city

where the filaments burn

through the holes were admitting

are the gates to etern

If youre here with us friend

add some specks to the churn

and we will hear you

this flattened note from the jewelry box

is a cosmos unfolding

we willingly let go

to the nostalgia we were holding

and we can cry twice, for this life we are mourning

if youre here good buddy 

you could tell us the story

The sensor lights, when the frequency is right

like a jetstreamed sky, transmitting the kite

a ghost with a plight, through the quilt of the night

and I don't care about being right

anymore

 Radio the Heart

conduit a resonant soul

this  symphony swoons

far beyond the controls

and were gonna rock

like shes here at home

again

UGly

Hey you're right

I was ugly before I knew why I was alive

wilco

Hope you're all inside

I don't mind the ride

A little pain inside

I hope you all realize how nice it is to be with you

A lonely road to walk

Silent words to talk

And I'll be home

Atleast 8m not hiding 

From you

Flange

steady pace around the museum

shined shoe, hard soles, echo

security guarding, pilfering time 

one exhibit is left plugged in

light gliding through the apparatus

swarming around pulling new light through

this light pulls the next

the eye follows one transparent pill of lavender

this pill carries a day of mountain ridges,

 wine

it comes around from the outside and purposely paths toward the center

as all of the paths do

concluded and released through the bottom

to muddle in the dregs

until aspirated into the flux again by some force*
 

the venturi of this traffic is a flange

where the flow is constricted

the friction begets heat

this flange is curiously and carefully constructed, supernatural

outfitted with mirrors that beam outward 

and link to the birds schooling around the event 

The new voltage arrives and the heart hums like a welding machine,

avid

gullible again, 

fully dilated

and ready to receive all skies. 

 

Do you wish to go again?

Or make your own?

(*love)