Untitled SoC 01I light this morning's cigarettebreak in my palms gonnaone day kick this lip-bittenmemory of home and fastfood junkie hipster pop-cultivated mainstreamofconciousnessfeeling I get when I seeher teeth glint through afrown her gown reminds meof the town I used to livein full of ants and facelesslies to my ignorant eyes ofhow a culture swabs itsfilthy four-dollar shot glasspanic attacks on the war oncrime being a state ofmind-numbing back-pat patrolmenlooking to cash-in their druggiefriend next-door to thecave of misbehavior swampedwith interior desolation andmisappropriated smiles that stringtheories of grandeur mud flatsslatted together like brick-builtmortarboard coffeeshop employeescollecting to exit their fees anddebts neglected since theireducations death warranted forarrest of intelligence and apiece of paper signed awayall intents for regret; unlessthe rent is too much stressthat rest is only between my fluidbreath and the nextcigarette.
Western Haiku 04I've stared at the sun,seen all that I could not see;yet you are still here.
UntitledA sad man dies parchedIn the desert of the rainThat shed a soul dry
HeartstringsHeartstringsBow, laid aside. Hisfingers hold her face instead,music in her skin.~Riorlynë
Planet Achromasia"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate." Picturesque parlanceOf a monochrome rainbow.Lackluster laments.Idiotic idiomsAnd prosaic allusions.Welcome to the void:The ideal of an idea.Hopeless clarityMundane in perfection andImpossible precision.ExtraordinaryMean
UntitledThe be low hung fruitMeans to hear the creature's voiceAnd not lofty winds
Poly Mathopen setsstretching the boundsof love
#MyDayInHaiku 2014-11-25absent gods . . .drifting through grey haze,a lost gull
Furysanguine dust -earth's dry humouralivepneuma -heaven's fervourin the wind
Of Comfort and JoyThere's a line in Rush's 2112 about music "notes that fall gently like rain." The rain is like that. Music. Each drop a note in a symphony descending from on high. Sometimes you can sit there and listen intently to each of those notes individually, discerning rhythm, picking out melodies, counterpoints, enjoying the interweaving threads of fluid euphony, and it brings you joy. Sometimes you're not so focused, and it falls and falls and falls and fades into the background. You might not listen intently; you may not even notice it all the time—but it's there. You know it's there, subconsciously, at least, and it brings you comfort. Sometimes it falls and falls and falls . . . and falls some more. It becomes monotonous. It can even begin to wear on you, and you gaze out the window, longing for the sun.But too much sun can wear on you too. A drought is bad for the land and just as bad for the soul. So you wish the rain would return. And eventually, it does. It always does. It
Rain SedativeRain soothes darting eyesfrom an unrestful spirit,dying in a loop
Western Haiku 02The train rides emptyit creates the wind, you see.O, whisper to me.
The train rides emptyit creates the wind, you see.O, whisper to me.