You can be restless all the time.
Claws.
Reaching with ghost tentacles.
No mouth.
It is possible to feel like poisonous lavender.
Jolted by other types of senses.
Rising.
You can be restless all the time.
You’re the holes in cheese blocks multiplying.
Bug eyes.
You can be restless all the time.
Toppled over trash can with a body in it.
Roomed spaces turned upside down
Not for their toppled columns
Of it, mark what's erased.
By the once husband and wife
Ruled over as co-regents
Love's empire. They debased.
I passed it almost every day
standing tall at the end of the street -
its massive trunk was like a stone pillar
holding up the sky with a hundred years
of history sheltered under
its vast reach. There was never
a thought it could fall.
Deep underground, a leaking sewer
had slowly slurried the earth around its roots
and loosened its grip …it let go
in last night's savage wind
and toppled over. It lay across the road
monumental in its mass.
The canopy was now ground height.
The secrets it had hidden
in the high branches were revealed -
touchable, without mystery -
tattered and insect eaten leaves,
strands of lichen matted like unwashed,
uncombed hair and branches
riddled with rot.
In its place now is empty space,
something hollowed out that before
connected the earth to sky
and gave a solid perspective
to the make and manner of things.
In such desolate spaces,
form is seeded.
Eleventh month when the Sun parched the toppled trees
Winds of South rallying on bended knees
Birds and beasts plunge on tarns and soft mountains
Running waters congealing like sedentary fountains...
Only one tree will stand tall
On Christmas Day as dusts and spalls begin to fall
Two days of live still pictures
On painted strokes and prilled erasures
One spark will clear the brume and waves of the unknown...
the hygge!
I want to sing something
relevant
Sing what I tell you to sing
do as I say
do as I say!........
oh winters postlude
the winds the trees
the toppled and twisted branches
oh to have a warm day
----------------------------------
Do your thang
just keep me in mind
I do the same for you
that's just being sweet and kind
scratch my back
I'll gladly scratch yours's
what's a man suposse to do
it's what ah man supposse to do
you my freind and lover
we still chill and carry-on
got ah good thang witcha
like what we got going on
es and snitches
often try to mess up
we stick together
my sweet Alguien
when things get tuff
full respect darling
see what I'm saying
What gotta good thang here
Yes, burrowing clams help make natural gas, specifically methane (
), by fostering the production of the gas in marine sediments
I'm in love
and you know I aint playing
Dreams of peace love truth and hope
Walking toward the center of the void I enter into fits of silence
Under wavy crescent moons I surf the sky
Open hands toward the ocean I bloom as a fire among fallen stars
Yellow spotted sparrows made with mint rays of sunshine
Flavor the rain lemon fashion the heavens doom brings us down
avowed to dig the earth with my paws
Dragon scented spiders tear into my rooms lamented
Your inside my skull I am the matrix rebranded
Heavy cream and frosted mountains
Juniper brew with seeds remotely floating
Giant red birds who glide toward freedoms roasted
Yarn to spin echoes venom within
bowls of flavorful sin scattered papers burned to keep me warm
Kingdom on fire to bake the birds
Mowing down all the crop restarting my own mind toppled from diamond death flowing coffee of hidden gems
Quake the universe with open roads toward The center of all in all being deep within my heart
Cement my passion to draw blades of jade and drive them deep through my enemies bones.
Orion.
The winter constellation.
Stellar.
I could:
Learn.
Not that it’s horrible to have my mind filled with grass clippings.
It’s not rare to be this way.
And they reminded me so.
Orion.
In the winter, he is visible.
Invincible.
I don’t think constellations even know about anything.
Just looks down and tattles on me.
Told my mom my future.
Toppled over, like my lips and drool.
Orion.
I wish I was such a constellation.
Who has hunting abilities.
Without even knowing what he’s hunting.
Yet he’s:
Stellar.
Typical.
Able.
And even though he’s in space, he’s more grounded than me.
In the winter, I may not be stellar.
Or typical.
Or able.
Or mystical.
I don’t have a story like Orion.
I just like strawberry ice cream.
Orion.
I bet he trips sometimes and somehow no one sees.
There’s a big thump out in the universe.
No one acknowledges it.
Grrrr….
I don't remember TRUMAN
And very little of ISENHOWER.
I do remember KENNEDY. "Ask not...";
And a lot about JOHNSON. "Great Society".
I remember NIXON. "I'm not a crook".
I remember FORD who pardoned Nixon;
And CARTER who cried his best to make
things right, and also said he wouldn't lie.
I remember REAGAN. "Tear down these walls".
I remember BUSH 1 and the short Iraqi War.
I remember CLINTON and his sex scandal.
I remember BUSH 2, who toppled Sadam.
I remember OBAMA and the capture of Osama
bin Laden. And I remember TRUMP'S first term
And COVID 19. I remember BIDEN and his agenda.
Trump reigns presently, making many changes.
In fated inclemency
leading the charge
each push
deeper into the fray
The sound of the bugle
the call of the wild
where death lies afloat
in the quay
Each choice made to question
each vow pledged in blood
with very few
seeing the dawn
But onward we push
the bold and the meek
with our swords
and our bayonets drawn
The enemy fronted
all cannons in tow
the smoke makes things
harder to gauge
As destiny waits
on top of the hill
and the battle
continues to rage
One time looking back
the bodies lay piled
like toy soldiers
once toppled and strewn
Afoot in the madness
alone in the dark
my horse lying dead
— in the dew
(Dreamsleep: December, 2025)
A throne of bones and a crown toppled,
Bodies trampled around the Holy grail of blood.
A minister with a broken spine,
A queen with a sewn mouth,
And a lone king at the peak,
While his subjects lay on the chess board.
So much has been left
in ruins by last night's storm -
shredded leaves,
amputated branches,
proud, ancient trees toppled,
uprooted and ripped
from their height.
The sad remains
of a bird’s nest laying
clumped in broken
egg shells, new life
now no more than strands
of gooey lint.
The mind winces
at the waste,
the loss of order, beauty
bludgeoned to a pulp.
This is the dark side
of creation, the endless
cycle of destruction
and rebirth. Reason stalls
before the fact.
Just think, massive stars
were blown apart
for the stuff to make
you and me - consciousness
was born out of the womb
of a cosmic catastrophe.
Beyond two tiny
unhinged-gates,
a cobbled path
paves eerie tones.
It guides one through
its labyrinth maze--
of toppled-over
defaced stones.
The specters grace
the weepin' trees,
with prayers--so they too
can rest in peace.
For what lies below
its caved-in slabs--
with wicked weeds
that pricks then stab.
Ghosts' jewelrys, mostly those
of golden round, within each pile
of shredded clothes--attached to
dusty scattered-bones are found.
Ten long years in jail for petty theft at a bus stop,
While leaders steal in billions with a wrist-slap.
A man wore the hangman’s noose for armed robbery,
Yet a governor earned honours for a pen robbery.
Citizens bled by taxes to please Bretton Woods,
Loans secured not for growth but to fatten pockets.
When the people protest, police scatter them with contempt,
And soldiers fire bullets to silence their voices.
Black ink scrawls draconian laws on tyrant’s tables,
Threats and punishments stitched to entrench their power.
But such laws befriend only ephemerality,
Before the masses seize the reins of their rulers’ reign.
Mass anger drove Rajapaksa out of Sri Lanka,
Gen Z rose in Nepal against a media ban.
Burkina Faso’s streets toppled Compaoré,
And Egypt’s squares forced Mubarak to resign.
The people’s voice will always drown draconian laws;
Chains that glitter at first soon corrode into rust.
The rulers may feast while the nation starves in silence,
But shackles will break—the storm leaves none untouched.
I chanced upon a rushing mirror
who danced along with all the urgency
of an early summer's wind,
a serene creature whose silver surface
seemed to only focus on reaching the sea.
In its tail I saw a human,
whose hair was the same colour as mine,
whose nose and mouth breathed the same air I did,
whose eyes captured my every memory.
They were someone who I recognised,
indeed they are who I am
just not who I considered myself to be.
Sometimes, I lose myself
becoming fixated on who I was
and what I had done
not what I am doing nor who I was now.
Every so often, I find it helpful
to find somewhere dark and silent
and, just briefly, think.
The mirror flows on
cascading over rocks and toppled trees,
smothering my face in frothing bubbles.
I bowed for the story line.
Hunched over in suspense,
I hung-out for the punch line.
The twists of plot
lured me to the edge.
I could see the lede
lying buried below me.
Reaching in to grab it,
I toppled over, fell right in,
and became the story line.
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