The Road of Life In Early Morning

O n o n e o f t h o s e c a l m e v e n i n g s , w h e n t h e s u n i s j u s t s e t t i n g , t h i s n e w a n d u n t a i n t e d s e n s a t i o n o c c u r s . I t i s w h e n b i r d s a r e c h i r p i n g a n d t h e s q u i r r e l s a r e a c t i n g s q u i r r e l l y . W h e n t h e g e n t l e g i a n t s w h o o c c u p y t h e g r o u n d w i t h t h e i r r o o t s a n d t h e c l o u d s w i t h t h e i r b r a n c h e s a n d l e a v e s a r e a t l a s t g e t t i n g s l e e p y , a n d t h e m o s s a n d t h e f e r n s a r e a s b r i l l i a n t g r e e n a s t h e y c a n b e . T h i s i s w h e n t h e n e w s t a t e o f c o n s c i o u s n e s s t a k e s o v e r . T h i s n e w f e e l i n g f e e l s o h - s o v e r y s t r a n g e . N o t t h e k i n d o f s t r a n g e t h a t i s e e r i e o r d a n g e r o u s , t h e k i n d o f s t r a n g e t h a t g i v e s y o u t h a t f e e l i n g i n y o u r c o r e . T h e k i n d o f f e e l i n g t h a t y o u f e e l w h e n s o m e t h i n g p e c u l i a r i s b r e w i n g & T h e s o r t o f i n d i g e n o u s c o n c o c t i o n t h a t f e e l s s l i g h t l y f a m i l i a r , b u t a t t h e s a m e t i m e ; d i f f e r e n t . B r e a t h i n g d e e p e n s , m o m e n t s s e e m t o p a s s e v e r s o s l o w l y . P r e c i o u s s e c o n d s o f t i m e c a r e s s t h e m i n d i n a w h i r l w i n d o f p a s s i o n . T h i s f e e l i n g t h a t w a s o n c e q u i t e s t r a n g e a n d u n f a m i l i a r , h a s t u r n e d i n t o a p e a c e f u l s o r t o f u n d y i n g t r a n q u i l i t y . I n t h i s m o m e n t o f e v e r l a s t i n g w o n d e r , y o u f e e l a s t h o u g h i t c o u l d g o o n f o r e t e r n i t y . A s y o u m o v e t h r o u g h t h e s t r a n g e s e t o f s c e n e r y , t h a t f e e l i n g i s g r o w i n g a t a n a l a r m i n g r a t e . E a c h p r e c i o u s s t e p y o u t o o k i s b e h i n d y o u n o w & I n t h e p a s t & A p e r s o n a l n e w d e p o s i t p l a c e d i n t o t h e d e p t h s o f t h e p s y c h e . A f i g m e n t o f y o u r i m a g i n a t i o n . T h e n e x t s t e p y o u t a k e i s a b i g o n e , s o p r o c e e d w i t h c a u t i o n . B u t d o n o t b e t r o u b l e d , f o r y o u h a v e a l r e a d y t h o u g h t i t o u t w e l l . O v e r a n d o v e r i n y o u r m i n d , y o u h a v e a d e c i s i v e p l a n o f w h e r e t o m a k e i t . S o m e s o r t o f f u t u r i s t i c o u t l o o k o f w h a t y o u t h i n k i t s h o u l d b e & h o w i t s h o u l d f e e l , s m e l l , t a s t e , a p p e a r . B u t d o n o t b e a l a r m e d ; t a k e t h a t s t e p .

SWINGING PENDELUM

It's a bird. It's a plane. No, it's syncretism!

deliberately short

I don't claim enlightenment.
My senses.
Sit and allow distant memories to surface.
Examine these projections
that shine through stain glass.
Not only are they presented in different colors
but they appear all together different modalities.
Pixelated is my present view possibly due to the immense pressure
of technology.

WILD

Let go of attachments
Suggestibility in suggestive suggestions
Lifted myself up until I teamed up with an elevator
Broke a record of some kind.
smoking weed every day-
A wonder junky in every way-
Constant flowering epiphanies made
throughout the day-
I'll tell you a magic story.
First, lets move dock side-
inside the gates leading to the bay.
Reached the edge limit months ago-
conclusions made regarding racism, too much
energy spent. Wasted.
Creeper madness. You have heard of it.
The kind every stoner is made keenly aware of it
The  future is waiting, like a greeting.
to greet us at every moment.
virtue is on my mind.
is "who i am expected to be"
related to what the things by which i have choice in
and the decisions i make?
does reality fit itself to me and, in turn,
shape my perceptions?
or is it my perceptions which govern
what happens to me in the end,
and most far out of all,
is it my perceptions which govern how i feel?
situations and emotions hath plague my mind,
and fog my view out of which i experience reality.
i love you mom and dad
( even though i dont always show it)
i open a can
(its filled with yummy peppers)
making cups of tea
(its a fine time for that)
oh shoot im all ready to leave
(gotta stop real fast and hit that

escaping forward: what ever shall he do

Escaping forward into the awaiting present.
Veiling, brain picking. Opinions going at a dime a dozen.
Ah-ha, true beauty! No more white ponies; unicorns!

Rich and colorful, flowing onward the Milky Way.
Keeping along with the music, clapping and dancing!
Expansive white fluff disguised as a cloud.
Reading. Dreaming. Floating. A soaring kite.

… Napping in cozy comfort, a lion yawns. The sun is rising.
“Please excuse me, Mr. Sun, but you have my attention that
The light! My eyelids! Long night of hunting beckons my sleep.”
Ah. One day, once a day, this kind of…

Fancy a three ring circus, street cleared and on either side people cheering on the fantastic.
Elephants balancing on big starry balls, girls in bikinis swinging from ropes and dangling hoops
attached to the sky. Lion tamers wearing mustaches, cracking whips that demand attention.
Instead of curious collages – escaping forward.

Say all the who’s and the what’s
and the if’s and the but’s
suddenly appeared to me
I certainly would not like it at all.


I Surely do not like all the if what’s
and the should not’s
.Nor do I much care for the who what’s
and the but not’s.


The who’s and the if’s
and the what’s and the but’s
seem so tossed and scrambled and jumbled and bundled.
This ridiculous conglomeration makes absolutely no sense to me.


What if suddenly, the words that are spoken
and the letters that I see
No longer make sense to me?
What is a poor man to do?


What ever is a poor man to do
When all characters appear as dancing pixies…
flowing out of my pen and scurryingacross the lines of my paper.
They do indeed dance oh-so cheerfully.


What is a poor man to do
when all signs point to the should not’s?
What ever shall he do when the if what's
are alas making perfect sense?


All of a sudden, the but who’s act swiftly.
They act swiftly in telling me otherwise.
They act on instinct and warm of the
outstanding dangers I am facing…Of the
horrid if what’s and the terrific what not’s.


All at once, I feel as though I have it!
But then I remember…I remember the tales that the
who not told me about the what if…
Oh no… what now?


What now… when all of the
but who’s and the should not’s
are at last joining forces…
Do I dare?


I seize the moment and write it all down.
I make sure to record all of the
what not’s and should not's
that the but who’s have to say.


I record all of the what the who what's have to say.
And I take into account every but not;
all while remembering which if what's
to stay away from.


When I feel as though I am ready,
I recall the part about what the who what’s
told me about the have not’s.
I mustn’t forget that part…


Recollecting on all the
should not’s and the who what’s
and the but not’s… and almost
completely forgetting about the if who’s…
I have finally reached a conclusion!


What in Gods good name is a poor man to do
When all the burning rubble of so-called
commonsense and distant nothingness in the world,
has left him with a why?

specialty divisions of meaningless

At one time he knew.
He knew that he knew
all too well.
From the birds and the bees
to the stars in the sky.


He knew that he knew
all fine things too well.
How all machines worked
and how all was made.


At one time he knew
how all men think;
from the workers in the slums
to the ones on high times.


But eventually, he decided to
Question. To query himself
and all things great.
At that time he knew
He knew nothing at all

I gave the cashier money and a license

He with the tattoos asked if that was all.

Provide me abundance, joy, creativity!



I'll tell you about the classics.

They're riddled with the past.

Put there for future picking apart;

for picking and choosing.

Because poetry always has a reader in mind

it is impossible to portray infinity.



Yesterday was Valentine's Day--

Oh, wait, it was yesterdays previous.

Just as bees swarming from a grotto,

Jews being put in Ghetto's,

a chill in the Arctic felt by a man hoping to make a dollar--

War is dramatic.

War should be saved for theater.



All I encounter! Hearsay!

Provide me abundance, joy, creativity!

Imagination;

war should be saved for theater.

But, hey, yesterdays previous may provide another.



A constant stream of commentary from between the ears.

Buddhists have gotten something right.

Attention to attention! Rant!

"You haven't met yourself yet.

But the advantage to meeting others in the meantime is

that one of them may present you to yourself."


Fuck you. There is always a facet of ways

to define any thing.

Think about it for a second.

War is all dramatics.

You see, on drive to the mart

to pick up a pack of cigarettes,

new discoveries-
almost too grand to call useless.
holds no real intrinsic value.
wouldnt even go as far as to call it a dicovery,
or an epiphany.
time continues on.

A higher dimensional spacial manifold on morning glory seeds

i had forgotten what a relationship was.
thought and thought, thinking for as long as was allowed.
i had forgotten what a relationship was.




sleep brings no peace to the less fortunate.
for upon awake-ning they find the remembers of times past.
there is no release from the magnitude of it.




upon waking, I remembered what a relationship was.
and I cursed my life for being in a relationship with you.
and I continued with my lowly self, and did my normal day.


life has no joy for the less fortunate.
for in life the will is boundless.
for in life the spirit is boundless.




later that day I set all that was necessary to trip.
because all the good stories had run their course.
anyway, I felt deep inside that all was well as it was.


i put a lock on my mind, and made myself forget where i hid the key

now my friends are all my enemies, and i want to remember

but i submit to the pain of censoring myself because others rather bliss

ignorance is bliss, and there is no more sunshine to kiss my eyelids

i may as well be a solipsist because i'm all alone

there is so much badness out there
the labor'r wakes up and curses
the philosopher comes to him with reproach