Wrecked awake

Snowy Stream Skimming the Subconscious?


Gathering my energy
Histories frames illustrate that I need ritual at my table
A feast to stop the lingering and rotting
To inhibit the dying and halt the death
Strange doesn’t indicate insane, but I’m not sure where I am
I thought my definitions were crystal fireflies and amethyst dragonflies
Tilling the soil in my soul
But an ill wind has pelted me with an acrid desert and I admit that I’ve damned my own river at times
With my mortal, deceptive, checkmate sentiments, etching sharp cornered boxes that I cut myself climbing in to…
I’ve tried to scoop the stars into my blessing bowl –
Stir their soft, unwavering vitality into my emptiness
Harness the moon, bathe in its crisp, generous, purifying beams
But the tide has ebbed and hope has settled into twilights camouflage
Shadows and dust, grime and rust, present and past, and thus
Beneath frozen ground, crocus and memory feel like velvet crushed
Timeline unravels like twine; Fraying lengths of lethargy and apathy…
We slide through eons like glowworms, interpret and invent ourselves, our epitomes, between our highs and lows
We hunt and gather a montage of whispers, hums, thoughts, beliefs, voicings –
We become
But this biting, frostburn winter has come among my travels, and among the debris I have lost my pith, my flame –
My scorch
Laudanum dreams might inject some warmth into the spirit of this place –
This institution of empty puppets, their layered, paper mache strips of faded letters, extolling yesterdays presence –
Extolling yesterdays presents… those dusty, pasted pieces shape bone, and limb, and holes; Vacant eyes of the dead
Chew up the ruby fire which exists in all lifetimes of clockwork dimensions, gnash and pulverize its shimmer…

As we rush from one time to another, chasing our breath and the sanity in our minds –
Smoldering embers can be stirred into fire
Over infinite rehearsals, we create vast valleys, to traverse whenever we reach into the echoes of ourselves
Where the sacred speaks –
Stones, blaze, smoke, haze; Symbols that weep, that rise or seep; Uncover and steep…
This crust, with a gentle boot nudge, cracks open a channel
Where have I gone?
I’ve caused my own slow death
Distance has not impressed the ghosts of my tender age
Yet held close to my heart a safer place –
I wish that scars could be strung on silken thread
To wear like pretty things, but take off and lay aside when tender spots ache
Fling into a corner or set upon the sill of an open window –
For the crows to carry away and churn into shiny totems
To make, for just one moment, shattering tragedies into things with enough purpose
That the pain, shame, isolation would melt into the ground…
I’ve walked where normal made you strange
Which haunted all of my ghosts nefariously
The pieces may never fit exactly again
But I refuse to have a love affair with regret
I am my indifference against incompetence
I am my psychology, philosophies and treasons –
A whirlwind charging into the seasons
I ask myself “What conclusion did you expect from your course of action?”
As I attempt to solicit the juice from immeasurable reasons
Staying one step ahead of myself seems a potent intrusion –
It extracts the softness from falters and hindsight
Renovates the myths of this breakdown
Into the mystical of a breakthrough
I am a compass
I am a bridge
I am my own thoughtful measures

Sunshine through the window dapples the walls with flower shadows
Fall is unfolding into winter, and wistful arms wrap me in a contemplative cabaret
To cavort, in a mad feast of affection for the miseries and the revelries
Lick the bitter from the wounds
Savor the sweet teasing my lips
Like grapes left late on winter vines become ice sugared wine to sip
And I can feel the lulling weight of anticipation, a divine opus sprouting in this desert in my soul
Beneath a frosted rubenesque moon
I smile

Abberations

Of Obscured Origin

Those eyes, empty mirrors telling honest lies
Apparitions sucked out all their life –
Gnarled, wasted fingers played a lullaby, morose notes beckoning your soul
Too late… eyes sewn shut and withered wings, the angels start to rust –
Damned to perch on headstones of the living dead
You pry open all your wounds, mesmerized with how your veins bleed acid rain
Standing on sacred ground, you sacrifice what others beg to keep
Reach inside and rip your heart from its bone asylum; Harvester of the absurd –
The banshees and the demons laugh and flirt with wicked sighs. Make a joke of me
Twisted flames melt your metal cage while you hold the key –
As all the crows are falling from the sky
Littering the fields with their tiny bones, soft among the brittle leaves and thorny stems
I’ll make my way to your resting place. Sleep upon your dandelion-finial grave –
Dig into the musky dirt and push it to the side, so I can rest my sorrow and my body close to you
Deaths alluring seduction your primitive desire – loamy eyes pursue its providence
It is not for me to maim or desecrate, to dissuade your hyperbolic love affair with the cessation of being…

And time unfolds what’s true, like rivers carve the stones. Like moss climbs up the trees and flesh dissolves to bone
And pain reveals what’s real, like shadow swallows sun. Like damage erodes sweet and tears eulogize what’s gone
And it is not for me, to try to hold you here. To mutilate your aberrations –
To calm my deepest fears

There is no peace tonight, in tender dream or prayer. The ghosts sleep in our bed, between you and me
Where my love sanctifies, your forlorn love impales, provokes our demise, without lament or wail
Deep in your caramel eyes, dark with brooding ruin, you’ve already gone to murder the light
In this specters dance, the grass is dying beneath your feet, the trees are weeping to the mountains –
The stones turning to dust, and the crows, their carcasses rotting in lovely desolation, are so delicate in flux
Time does not heal all wounds, its sutures rupture, unravel and assault
The heart becomes a tomb, decimated with misshapen visions, shadows of false prophecies
No footprints in the doorway, the flowers left to weed, windows smeared with seasons storms –
Black feathers stuck in blood upon the shattered glass
And all you speak is pain, all you love is woe, all you do is murder
You left long ago
This ruin is mine to tend, its desolation deep, these rusty, empty hours lacerate my bones
I watch you walk into the reclusion of your pain
You drink your torment down, then retch it back again
My hands slide down your skin, to calm your fevered grief
But in your frenzied ills your madness screams against relief
The twisted messengers in your mind, shrieking all your pain, mocking, taunting, brutalizing
Jagged beaks pecking at your last article of faith; Cannibalizing
And no one understands you now — appreciates the way you burn
They set fire to your fire, goading your pathologies from grotesque into perverse
The damage in the air; Your disenchanted wounds culminate in desolation
Too long you’ve worn this skin; Too long lived as this wretched mutilation
Where Death murmurs like a wanton lover, with tender care made of shameless deceit and treason
To disfigure… to cheat you, steal you of yourself – take scalpel to your soul and reason

And time unfolds what’s true, like rivers carve the stones. Like moss climbs up the trees and flesh dissolves to bone
And pain reveals what’s real, like shadow swallows sun. Like damage erodes sweet and tears eulogize what’s gone
And it is not for me, to try to hold you here. To mutilate your aberrations –
To calm my deepest fears

Note: Funny story. In a hotel with a nice, clean, huge window. Woke up late at night, couldn’t sleep so took a few photos. In the morning I realized that “I ❤ U” showed in the photos. Looked at the window but no such message was anywhere.

Ascension II

Rococo Reach

The haunted are strangers to death
They have no familiarity with the last rise and fall, how it gasps and rattles
Catching in the middle of the breasts, deep, strong, feral –
As if to name its course, in defiance, and howl its final earthly indication
Death harbors no animosity nor is it complex
But there was no ordinary in your simple death
Cold, metal rails, tethered to warrior wrists, strange eyes in a corner, privy to your last truth
Fate has fallen into disrepair and karma into ill repute
But even as the demons churn, you remain a sacred vessel
Every scar an exquisite poem or novel, minus words, of your measure –
Your catastrophes, drenched in blood and sorrow, washed with rain…
And your pinnacles, passion and joy – mountains of fire, lit goliaths that tower over the sun, keep its secrets
Now, that last push from inside out, against your bony armature, and breath gives up its ghost
Your body lurches up, then back, cooling, fracturing – hisses out what its held in…
Sage eyes still gaze through closed lids, your spirit wild as it leaps from those sturdy, fierce bones –
To circle the room, long, dark hair whipping at the air as you climb the walls on muscled haunches
Hand to foot… hand to foot… round and round the dismal room

In a spectacular ascension to the further

And I stand in the doorway, your image – that no one else does witness – echoing in my eyes
Smashes my sanity into fragments, jagged pieces of me that slide down myself onto the cold, beige floor
I wait for intruders – hunch-backed, putrid-breathed demons with diaphanous wings to entomb me –
Scoop me up and shroud me in those wings, as if I’m wearing a second skin – to take me away from myself
In this moment I would resist, if my insanity would keep you here
But while I imbibe you, in a thousand ways from these thousand pieces of myself –
I see you shift into golden, spun strands… floating, to hover on the ceiling –
Disturbingly, unforgettably beautiful. Disquieting every truth, every reason, and then
Swaying as if dancing, spun strands of infinities of eternities, delicate, graceful, heartbreaking…
Arching and twisting, molten threads intricately weaving
I peer at your glorious rapture, entranced, lost in the moving, rooted revelation
This shattering of nowhere that is everywhere
More divine than any miracle made sweet and pure by angels breath
Enthralled with this insanity; I feast on its sweet ripeness, gorging until satiated…
Juices stain my lips, and run down my mouth
Drunk on this clumsy feast –
The river of pain rushing toward me is damned, diverted into channels burrowed by those who have gone before
If only for a moment, the demons scatter and I sink into a spongy catacomb of oblivion
Then time claws at my mind, ripping it open, its insides falling out – dripping down my throat, choking me
The plump moon, ripe with frenetic lunacy, fondles my eyes, blisters my feet as I run barefoot into the madness –

Madness is a sweet distraction, like a sadistic lover in my pretty bed

Every small, exquisite torture a way to quiet myself…
I am the demented, the wicked, the delighted damned, the depravity within, without regret…
These are not vices. These are sacred madness – my essential being
Your dark is my beautiful
I want to lurk in this alley, slink into the deep recesses that crave my fiercest pain, my ugliest truths –
Invoke the healing of my battered soul

As time moves on, it devours everything eventually, without conscience, rationality, scientific generosity

Your human form has long been gone and I wonder where you dwell around me now
Are you the breath of the trees? The murmurs of the rivers? The roughness of the stones or the softness of the grass? The crows watch me from the tops of the evergreens that you never got to see
Do they call your name when they see my tears?
Do they call my name when they see your meaning?
I exist in earthly form with gratitude for all of the beauty and the sorrow
I celebrate your existence, then and now, until I join you and we exist nowhere and everywhere