if you find yourself here maybe check here

crunch the early morning breath
black ice shines
cold belly

study rock formations

drifting in the sky or a portal in the ocean
never felt the distance so much as the bell
tolls silence

tripped over a bowl of roses in the dark of the night

knowledge of the bowl

which was placed in the middle of the room
to bring solace & comfort to a turbulent time
did not prevent the tripping

haste caused the fall

the water dried
the leaves left a silent pattern
marking the moment
staining the heart

soon forgotten
remains forever

frozen yoshino cherry blossoms parsley under the snow so much contradicting the internal racism like a sondercommando deluded into acting true or not scream lashing out visible useless

the enemy rants bang & bang & bang pounding the dumpster outside/inside the glass shards don't cut the feet walking is treacherous windows scattered smashed in and out . . . come on do something . . . mobilize

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it was a fenced in temple then a poor exposed ruin now an abandoned dream suffering the onslaught of inner city time under the white halogen glare of the motel parking lot security light . . . you don't care

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perpetual manray silver prints on pollack drips please the imagination feeding what you fool fist to the head. . . sure that'll work

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it was quiet for so long relatively speaking the eyesight blurred the leg numbed the restoration became a daunting task you knew it had to start on the exterior you waited for the crisis to build focus underneath magnifying . . . why the glass? the windows? the eyes?

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. . . enemy of the people . . .enemy of the people . . .the people . . .enemy . . .

'Society is / a huge / cohesive / emotion,/not sure whether one attempts life outside it.../ becomes involved in changing it, or both variously'(Alice Notley. Disobediance.)

the aim of life is
to live, and to live
means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly,
serenely, divinely aware
(henry miller)

lifted from a student's journal

. . . a story which needs reading . . . over & over again . . . please forgive us . . .

black puddles of the night
street lights dip down reflecting a summer spent prowling the spaces between the spaces

silence creates the sound as rain plucks the screen
delicately drumming the window & splashing into the pools of black puddles waiting

opens the lotus seed oracle