saturation

heavy wet red sunk deep beneath the soil

so much so that red oozed into every thread of found

ground down, I'm astounded by extent of red's bled trace

race into funnel of distorted distilled sound

optimum stasis circling lurks as vultures smell the blood

should finding mine the cavity of endeavor

releases seeds of surely noted everywhere

oui despair at the thought of the loss

should it be you, who dark dares to reach beyond

the soft wail of gravity's heady pull

then further find the deep shard need

of alizarin

sand and camels

devolver

to the ebb slow circumference

of flowing thought that laps

upon smooth sooth of coming

flat wet horizons rising to the plume

of gush hush wanting moments

endure

reci

rushing past banks of gathered

forgotten growth from undercurrents

refuse

obtuse of quickening torrents

storm

cantad el senor

I say maravillas

y Que hiso El

pluie ennui and

hizo para siempre

gave the air olvidar

heavy laden

often haven

alter entrails

a ce soir

sip star

pocketed fiction

drains the avenues holding

silenced might of the contrary solitary

pushing toward the wake-up call

of living

semblance circulates

positioning listening

to the soft hungry horror

of everything

watching as phantom dust

abrupts the quiet endeavor

ever quick to lash

against disdain

makes no difference to me

moment only

rests the sight

culminates the night

in growth

of ever new

essential

otherwise sunk dark

cackling breathers

search for harbor

to dump their

self afflicted

shame

I came

I came more

toward the quickening

flash great open

pouring of every direction

unknown foaming

round the crest of tipped

water wave, heave

every heavenly issue

stars hang in dormant extended shine

but once in awhile, they shoot out

blazing evidenced movement in their wake

I am her, am I her, her am I

fragrant thoughts

over skin soft

sensation of touch

melts night sweats

and greets the day

with ache of

memory

and in that moment

I became her

a created entity

just like the images

I could not prevent

the flow of momentum

existing between two names

neither mine

somehow a thought

without root

shot up into the sky

heralding freedom

from everything

nothing mine

nothing clear

except the day

and the jewels it contained

a glimpse of brilliance

as the cut of a gem

so beautiful

and solid

even

Trou de mémoire

Hole of memory

Blackout fog of

Necessary

What to say

Will make hell go away

Clearly not, and thoughts are

Ever wary

Widening high

Deep in plume

Of evidenciary

to be clear

water falls up toward critical mass

of cracked open hope

that fulfills folly's cause

I do not bleed sweat petals of demure

I do not feign vague unaware

I do not pretend to think that I am

what I am not

I hold no schemes of intent

I have clasped the blush of youth

and already released, blessed

I watch now, observant as ever

no flickering hesitation mine...and yet

to dream

consider

Dustings of

Quickenings come

Wrapped ready

Like the tightly woven

Tissues of

Interior

I bleed throb

Ever ready and

Harkening

To the pace

Of great point

Purpose

Of man

His thoughts are not mine

His ways are not mine

Ever ready

Quick to shift

Focus never settled

But soft

Of the day

Tendance coincides

Bereft of competivity

And stoic

Endeavoring love

to the battle

ah there you are

hello

shall I offer you a

slice

"Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it."

Matthew 7:13-14

beyond

watching owls of night that trickle with faulty reason I see vast stretches of their torturous nooses left hanging in the garden of red's delicacies * there are many stretched afflicted by the bidding of the omer hollow closer every reaching toward beyond * vacant shattered ever hampered by the sudden drumming coming leaving horror in the wake of velvet storm * slights the petal ever gentle clasped upon the breath of shadow's open form * clocks a spinning watchers listening trouble mounting on the edge * waiting quiet who's to barter for the plunge of soul's last dredge

pas de touche

Of feeble black ash

smoke of nothing but

the fire of hell's unbridled

fury against the fallen

There is no water

for the weary there

only a slice of pain

open salt wound

Fresh lush recesses

of lovely promised

grace faith flourishes

amongst the heathen's race

You will not

affect for

protection is

in the land

near

at hand

reciprocity

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

meows simple cynicism

cyn·i·cism (s n -s z m). n. 1. An attitude of scornful or jaded negativity, especially a general distrust of the integrity or professed motives of others:

others lack love, sad

others lack time, self-inflicted

others lack wit, dimmed

triangle creates shape that 2 lines cannot

singular line stretches infinitely

curve causes tears at such beauty

she was beyond

circle broken by recognition of

tragedy

heavenly

ah, how to proceed

break of day dawning

causes new light

filtering, still in the land

of the free

watching

when the day comes faster than the night

when the footsteps, so soft, leave no evidence of touch

when the hollow of sleep is fragmented and dispersed

when the quickening membrane releases

when the moments of truth become sarcastic and dry

when coyness shirks to protect itself

when sincerity leaves from the pounding of false

when the purpose of love is forgotten

when the effort culminates a lack

when what is fair no longer applies

when the haze of everyone muddles

where all hope has gone out of their eyes

l'achim

testing

123

anatomy of compliance and non reparation of days unending night where the light of illumination is scant

headily twisting images and sound to convulse in deluge of happening; afflicted masses sit in sterile acquiescence unsatiated by the next feed of irrelevant vainings

happiness sits as a pearl washed clear of oyster slim from the drudge of man's excesses

close focused soft spoken rattling of the free

evidence

tiny creepers

scare me none

as I do sleep

when day is

done

and run against

the mark

that makes

toughened skin

like the womb

that breaks

stretching clear

not fear a foil

for I hold much

anointed oil

strength and judgment

rest with me

as I sit amidst

an olive tree

ash ayelo blue

Trailing me

or rather

my searchings reach

ever teaching of

gleaning

gold

I hold silent thoughts

of endless notes

that float only

near the sound

of hidden whispers

embedded codes

I battle

singular stretching

convalescing against

the grain

ever sanding

against the coarseness

daily fences must

hurdle pain

I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised

quite living

ever giving

grateful grope

of hope's strong

hand

plans of man

wary

cautious watching

ticking time

as enemies

band

evil lurkers

green with empty

watch the stalk

in stretch

toward

stand