i lay down at the ocean on packed wet sand just beyond waters changing edge looking at the sea eye to eye, ear to earth. i love the crashing water whistle and roar pounding inside a huge bass note. an old man, i discover the roar isn’t from wind and surf or even all the ocean(s) put together but rather from our dear mother hurtling thru space my rocketship my mother.
hours passed, on a dry sand shifting dune ear to dune, same roar slightly softer days passed, in a rowhouse third floor front room ear to heart pine, same roar feinter yet clearly my mother flying sound of roaring
how do you move a mountain that’s always moving? a mountain of fire ready to burn a mountain of dust cosmic churn river of a mountain always moving never moving away piece by piece coming and going never going away you watch it dissipate it always stays you and it respirate for one more day and it always stays. who is the mountain if you would move it? go where it goes see the light of all its days come where it comes from the soul of some other mountain find the paths where it has found to stay and walk with the mountain you would move and lead it some other way
turtle egg moon peeking thru blessing oceans and mountains too rocking earth a lullaby all the babies coming alive moon reflecting a god like sun or sharing love looking out above even the watery clouds drifting too
four headwaters in bedrock soil now meaning a mountain with a severed spine and artery pore mountain born from the egg once and again every new second egg of the moon soup we are in
turtle egg half moon nestled in golden silver halos high up a vaulted gray and soupy almost morning sky soup resting right on the soil of earth surrounding so becoming each oxygen breather sleeping and not sleeping soup we are in from the earth loving flying chatter beyond hearing all the way up to nestled moon
four headwaters in bedrock soil now meaning a mountain with a severed spine and artery pore mountain born from the egg once and again every new second egg of the moon rich to poorer poor to rich soil giver take taker give soup we are in
turtle egg moon washing over a stream of small clouds poised in the sky like a blood full sex organ once a bird flew into a wire and the hair of pore mountain burned soft smooth touch burning fire fire seen and heard by old rock turtle egg moon once a woman buried herself in ashes the bird made seen and heard by old rock turtle egg moon who will miss the bird and our buried daughter pore mountain and turtle egg moon rocking earth a lullaby pore mountain and turtle egg moon will give and take another beautiful lover soup they are in
take your protein pills while not a model of neatness suspended plankton warranted for (m)any voyage or climate most delicate animal substances for sea stores and inland consumption served up at any moment fish in tin around the globe, those mad landjobbers who didnt let the kings armynavy set fire fire fire friendly colonizer fire put bio in the tin can brought the guano around the cape, the tin can started stretching out everywhere even like a burrowing hollow black snake genie of miracle stuffed in stoppered burned spewed even bio like tin so to put bio in the bio can stretching out everywhere even in the streets the kings armynavy set fire even around the body and soul of every last comrade. feeling the oxygen getting low, you bio in the bio can pipe? cry out find the crack in the tin travel in tight schools feed and feed on plankton even rise in shallow waters in a bright moon when you must tear apart the tin especially exquisitely welded Central Cell Block holding cells tin where you cant help but know youre inside it bio in tin can miracle of supply put your helmet on
mountains move as chromatic collection long range interacting filter wind water rock waves and bolts of light soil life plasma mountains conduct earth to sky very high sky to earth water to rock to water to rock infinitely plasma mountains bones valley to ridge two and more insolute ocean skin shedding waters elements and eons trundling light plasma mountain is a pollinating cell pressure solution honey of rock through ocean of water and air filaments tendrils roots conducted to blossom in your blood vessel of time plasma a mountain in fall is an aerial clime for fifty or more so bumble bees up from ground colony circumnavigating mothers love to nurture plasma a mountain in fall is an uncertain time for fifty or more so bumble bees could be last foraging only the mother herself our dearest lives on our plasma and for the one last foraging bold and determined love is plasma
mist from mineral washed hollows lingers ambiguous conflicted back into soil and skin or up and further away ultimate ocean meanwhile the mountains persist giver of food for life moulting each passing second meanwhile the trees quietly celebrate in the sense of time sipping the breakfast elixir sunrise steaming mist from mineral washed hollows
in mist filtering moonlight into water moving slower than someone might be walking along on a path where weapons were carried by river living kin and spirit, if moons pulled from past along wet black rope could stretch over in seconds of centuries glimmering water of coral of seas long moved away green translucent chalcedony iridescent flies and stones in wet grass moonlit darkness dripping spider webs long legs underneath center toward water sides of webs slope up to gather slope down to body mother earth who loves swimmers in rivers in moonlight, we hand hold by precious hand hold are come to understand a jeweled dripping wet black rope is a line of hemp passed hand to hand thru green briar and river of life thru stolen work stolen land stolen rock of ages air we breathe water in our breathing cells; whereas, a pipe is a line to transport and burn and burn and transport corroding steel thin wire threadlike fragile under mountain thin skin caverns of wonder and glory subcutaneous cancer mother throughout blessed body that nursed me a hissing rusting pipe already leaving, a line is a collecting a rope of hemp asking and receiving welcome mother of love and life, resolved
appendix to 7 locks to over the falls (next train to clarksburg): what will we do when the things stop what if all the beautiful worlds in the universe are in danger what if there is more than one infinity what if when i watch thinly veiled clouds sweeping across the moon the reflection is somehow our continents and seas and not the sun what does the hawk deborah saw but i missed think about the squirrel i see eating nuts in the middle of razor wire what if the sparrow landing on the outside ledge of my jail slit window is a dead transwoman or for that matter the fox trotting down the road where sheriffs in vans drive in people in shackles from human abusive courts of laws or the groundhogs or mourning doves epecially the one with a white-tipped tail or the robins or crows or grackles or cardinals in that quiet road to incarceration from a narrow strip of honeysuckle and trees and brush in front of a super highway what is the fortune of the one or two buttercups escaping the blade of the stand behind mower who circled the jail riding five times with sunglasses and a hat on or the brown broad blade of grass that i thought for a while was a moth amazingly fluttering in one spot in the wind and oh just one redwinged blackbird like i used to see in great huge flocks riding my aunts old white bicycle riding thru farmland around my grandparents van dyne near winnebago in summers april isn’t cruel to me yet i’m 62 but one day will it be a yellow butterfly in and out of the rolls of razor wire a blue bird my last two days once while i stretched toward the sun in the basketball cell with grated openings why was houses of light so beautiful to read aloud under my breath four times over at night so as not to wake my loquacious celly from dc who < > to find < > years in jail or the very young homeless man from dc who lost his mother long ago and spat and sang and soiled his cell and just really needed medicine and love or the man from < > who spoke halting english and said thank you sir whenever we talked who < > and is threatened with < > years in jail i think it all has to do with what we do when the things stop is the state of this world really what the jesus i don’t believe is the child of god any more than anyone else meant was the reason for inventing forgiveness the sheriffs brought me from the courthouse to a jail for 2 weeks before taking me to a supermax prison for 3 more weeks because i wanted to convince some of 12 people that if we don’t change in 2 years everything i’ve talked about in this poem will start to not be here so what is there after the things stop and life has to take a pause for a few thousand years there is only forgiveness
sky chart: infinity in my heart forever folding inward is what i give to you store of empty space of galaxies beating black holes bent upon themselves only your soul, feeding
excel naught: i am stuck in a spreadsheet of human misery where joy must be column w row 15 counted with another on hours constantly the count adds up the count clears some of our parts formulas capital feeding battery of law – nullify life some one cell screaming
turtle is earth: if tortuguita were left to hug the earth how many bullets will miss from triggered programmed psycopaths who obviously spew their hatred given the slightest chance, as if: nobody ever loved them hands disconnected from their souls enslaved by algorythm why can we ever know the energy of hatred weaponized hunger servitude surrendered autonomy lostboys pack as tethered abused dogs fear as fuel selfish wasteful use of radiating fire stolen from our cache evol i say because we have had ample time to find each other would we say love
as embers in the rich dark night written this way: when we die perhaps we touch see smell hear taste starlight that we are briefly for some of us others a lingering look everything given laid before us exhaling electricity of cells set free to separately radiate rejoin forever those we love memory of light explosion of life, afterglow
true crime rhyme: gentle wisdom black man borne into violence force fearless black mother bearing violence from out last tempered blade soaked poultice where is the rhyme that is the point world wide walk back to thru savannah humbled seven factorial or no generation
for someone from time to time: i think you are one of the most very beautiful beings on earth were i to know you thru hovering chromatic olfactory survey and inspection would i descend straight into you following a map you are a flower i would visit first and often each beautiful morning cold curled hours of night have passed randomly as they do our meeting so brief so very long every once in a while so jampacked aloft with motion and sounds every where am i so grounded fragrant transluscent face radiating all ways are you we both hold spectacular mottled and damaged by too early frost who tips the balance crush of love only to our breathing sun so you wake each morning morning knowing every last drop of sunshine knows how beautiful you are thanks you being alive
our just one life: time as the light fixed with in us momentarily just as it is passing thru energy as the way we use it as we will space as the will of others being used fate as the combination to unlock one just truth knowledge as the sentient sensation thru and through and thru beauty as perceived permutations of the waste of truth
factory farming: eating minotaur flesh for breakfast lunch or dinner snacks in between rot from within to without fetid chambers pride poison cancer manufacture walk out holding a thread thru a maze of humility and respect live eat die in light
gaia haiku: inhale universes created exhale universes destroyed breathing soul of infinity
pulses in prison: how is a basketball bouncing heard thru concrete walls like a heartbeat and what of the rim ringing like a low metal bell
accidental garden: notice the large round stone gravel courtyard locked in stories of cinder block and razor wire in just narrow windows looking in smooth sumac bittersweet paulownia growing dropped by the wind slice of sunlight also from only above marking time like a dial if someone would draw it i hope i am gone before weedwhackers attack it
sleepless in body of cells: mito human chondria breathing paired alone alone alone or empty in racing pit stop rna poelease herding in or out or out or in poe as a butler of exterior force not edgar the writer who lurks about as amniotic fluid in constant doubt mere revelations self sensa senseless ation in heal or anus of some civil or zation procla blockla asass inations animatraumic robotic contrary gyrations verse stopping tired tired sense less ations kill in the buzz brotherly sisterly fatherly motherly lie with me lover of april engendered patientation
mary oliver and thinking on my 49cc scooter ride: putt putt putt putt putt putt putt putt back roads fields hay corn cows small stream winding to bay marshy edge owl, almost head on night collision giant snapper, helped across tarmac crow, dusting shoulder in flight take off deer, glancing off front wheel fender slow oblique passing black ice, helmeted temple on road bugs, into a mouth whenever not closed, suv headlights, me in a ditch aside of the road putt putt putt putt putt putt putt putt, same back and forth destination favorite leg of commmute to my ‘nation’
four dirty whitecream blockwalls two steel bunks one steel sink commode one scratched out shaving mirror above the steel sink one steel deskette with one round steel secured seat a window six inches by six feet razor wire fence narrow strip of trees traffic on i-270 constant light at night one ten stories horizontal light grey and charcoal stripes then sky nowhere else well come with me on our quest to survive
it has come to this we sing we chant swim stand before movement toward a great waterfall of human debris toward over the top plummeting to be lost quietly boiling cesspool for fucking ever eternity billie echoing into jupiter luciano too silenced machines slowly absorbed frigid blistering expanding space without us except random particles reverberating waves hands on the human raft slapping shouts over deafening precipice heard not heard our momentum event paradise horizon
i saw hawk and dove flying together toward horizon of grey winter closer closer melting together banking turning a solitary eagle higher higher almost lost in grey diving straight toward me larger larger so much faster than this poem me walking the open field striking into me before the poem even started paine intensely brief despite the poem walking on in the field stepping through ashes in tufts of grass charred melted feathers human feet sticking hair it wants to be beautiful it wants to jog run jump taking flight it wants to be a supremacist libtard lovechild odiferous damask musk charred bone hatching opening flower of your choice moulting growing unfolding above and onto a mountaintop valley of beautiful shattering sunlight neverlasting life
respect for e3 heroes of spirit caged yet free walk in nights flourescent caves tread deep rivers of scrutinized solitude recon junkyards of their brothers schemes chart uncharted worlds mind wandering explore our human soul slaying oppression each and every breath
my lunar cell eyes track a waning half moon across a very narow window in a cold block wall wishing reflected new sun light a direct current generating pillow soft warm sleep sonorous breathing in time bundling dreams left ear ringing resounding in right universe lullaby
when sailors climbed the sky air borne a folding knife is not a combustion engine tank of fuel truck of wheels at cross purpose freight in the hold breaching from tarmac up toward floating upon ozone and volatile compounds fallen sailor trapped driver starved whale in a heap in any case spinning one quarter turn land and begin rolling back on tarmac debris flying people already running very young woman riding shotgun saw everything massively auburn hair summer ponytail just across the jersey wall inner outer coiled trachea we drove on to maryland mountains of another era almost eons rusty fuel line several gas filters starting destiny and fe same damn spot on the same damn freeway same damn 39 years 2 months later arriving on banana bagel coffee rail and rail walking past calvary catechism fritz and jeannettes beautiful faith avenue named georgia gather pile in gms and more spanning tarmac rolling slowing side by side slower breathing stopping coles ville road inner outer loop trachea where a tumbling truck and trailer once came to rest another century sitting on our tarmac climate emergency sobbing in pain so many unbelted babies in that truck trailer rolling sideways applied physics tumbling tarmac over and over people already running