ashes to ashes, dust to dust

i bought two scarves, secured them both around my neck. it was cold. she wore a sweater and a veil of pragmatism over her faithful face.

we lived in separate rooms, with one common wall between us. i press my ear to it and could hear her pray in the wee hours of the morn.

she collected the ashes of her deceased relatives. they were in jars, labeled, above the fireplace. each was juxtaposed with a mahogany-framed photo of the deceased.

i remember, in those days, i had no deceased relatives that would merit jarred ashes. i began to collect dust and put it in jars. i labeled them with the date. it embellished my mantel thoroughly.

sweating skeptics wearing monocles in the library loft

SKEPTICS!
yearning; synchronized
for indisputable clarity
searching; thumbing
through archaic articles:
Elizabeth Bathory, Vlad III the Impaler
Robespierre, Wolfowitz
the ones who've "got it together"
OH, but the (answer) isn't there,
close your eyes,
open the other,
let yourself breathe free
and may you visualize thee beacon
( ):::::

and skeptics we shall be

haiku 2

confused little boys
whistle Hail to the Chief, low
to themselves. power

fate?

O Moirae!
Did you submerge my thread in tar
and hand it gently to the executioner's wife?
Does destiny dine in a truckstop Midwest,
drenched in tobacco airs, this blackened life?
The tired days and working ways interest me no more,
yet the heavy lids and hammer held be oft remembered lore.

And, Sweet Hammer,
Do I wield you as Peter, or as Maxwell,
for peace, or to implement dire fear?
And, Hammer, is life a giant mechanism,
within which I be a mere gear?
If so the stage and fictitious sage be vagrants of my mind,
and for to prosper and for wellness I do devote my time...

cryptos

i

ineptitude's favorite song is solace,
a constant ringing in my ear
the faceless horsemen pull the reins,
i think they heard the song too

ii

you are a river, soft and calm
i, myself, felt a pig despite my alms
given for grace to a tireless waif

oh, sweet river! what id give
to wash my face again in your waters
its the fake sense of understanding
and the fake caresses that you foster

iii

but the waif is gnawing at my toes
and she the river, she no longer flows
and solace, the trumpet, it no longer blows
and the path ahead, it no longer glows
and the horsemen, lost, they no longer know
just which way their horse will go
in search of solace,
understanding,
a sweet caress,
a mythological place of cryptics

a haiku

An unfettered
flowing stream of soft content,
Everything change

smiths

i was a wrought iron boy sculpted pissing in the corner of the yard;
you were a vagrant's destination, unfilling yet gorgeous from afar
beams of light create heat upon my flesh, the raindrops rust my exposed genitals
you're smiling now, i sense that, its rude but you convey it so smart and cordial

like tobogganeers on ice pulling reins too hard to control,
we slid fast together toward the valley steady and unsure
you're smiling now, i sense that, its too hard to control
naked and supine on frozen tundra laughing 'what was any of this for?'

meaningless, cold, exposed, and broken
wrought iron boy plead be awoken

slideshow champion

mercurial swatches of glowing face flash like slideshow fast-forwarded and blurred. i sit pounding tracking button upward, jackhammer precision. its all static, its all blurred and senseless. everything is senseless yet the senses are everything.

smile, sweetheart, toothy masquerade iron cutaining bloody truth reptile scales.

through static: traces of unbreakable optimism formed from clouds of skepticism and doubtful rain.

it rains on me. the clouds loom. fuck your optimism. turn off the projection screen, slideshow champion.

synapse blankets two or more, plurals as singulars, all is one and all is together, despite physical distance and perceptual complex. oars, biceps; come to me in legitimate practice. cataclysm withhold, i love and i need you sometimes and never.

death come ripping

submitted to some magazine about the end of the world, or something. maybe ill have some information about this later, who knows.

anyway:

"the human mind will be the basis for catastophic eclipse. the prophets perched on cerebral pedastal plot and plan
endless regurgitate vessels from the sea of philosophical shit-spew. i lean forward to vacuum the dirty melody of the
oracle orchestra and fixate my eyes on megaphone, microphone, magazine, movie theatre. in the wake of newfound knowledge,
infantile beings will claw over mountain edged fire pit, captain vomit, abandon ship. all is lost for all is found. the steeple-chests
clasp to rosary reasoning, biblical flood, an ark will not save us.

i hold knowledge to myself. i tape my mouth twice over with the innards of blind, deaf, and dumb. i feel their spirit merge
with mine and merge with yours. instead, i bottle ignorance and sell it tenfold to the masses. what you do not know
and what you do not prepare for will not hurt you or create convuluted psyche. cognition: positive outlooks, happy thoughts, happy thoughts,
happy thoughts, positive outlook, happy thought, happy thought...

shut your fucking face, and close your fucking almanacs, and let the batteries die in your fucking calculators!
gaze upward with wonder and endless hope. the hole in the atmosphere is merely a window. look for a beacon, not a storm.

peace and love,
stephen patrick dawson"

shape

the life of the fire flickers in scented artificial breeze a millionfold over. absinthe glow and hair wash warmth to delineate divine resurrection from hope for something -- anything. waxy hands twice coated flake and fracture in the wake of hammerhead conjecture. touch my teeth with your tongue and pretend it never happened. it never happened. nothing happens.

illusive state through mysticism project twice removed from fraternal epidermis existence myth.

leave me to my own regards and i will cultivate impromptu nothing choreography from endless fields of nowhere.

crop

shucking holy maize in demon infest farmland. crop crop crop crop crop me out of mind.

blossom, earthlings. i have faith in thee...

starflesh

lives reduced to fiery hydrogen/helium orbs of metaphysical matter. to discern infallible introspection do not look within, look without. two eyes closed the third opens. see all and transcend. pineal sensation to indescribable clarity. shaman, cleric, your cloak is not a cloak.

streaks

stranger visage in streaks and smears dance around peripherals. i ascend to the far corner of the room and stare blankly at the ant-esque heads nod knowingly of being watched in a way not so supernatural.

spiritual purging of excess innards in a drab gray room on a drab gray day onto drab gray floor cemented over as a proper burial ground to previous self. epitaph as such: restless eternal and bound to haunt

seven sided

breaking the threshold of astral projection relives sleeping birth pain recollection. you by the cosmic fire, us by the sea. do our closed eyes see what our open eyes cannot? will we dance on the seem of the fabric of space-time?

lo and behold, an inner light revealed to myself. i want to show you, but save that gore and mess.

trash

trash a ticket and turn off the lights, take a quill&ink and sketch me a stretch limousine on the yellow papyrus sheet.

cylindrical corners are circling sharp-edged spheres in jungle-esque sorroundings so i am comfortable in pinto bean bag chair bed catalyse reactions between skin and substance somewhere punctuation cut its chords within carnivore cavern

periodical rest on perpetual planet take back my steeple-chested belief in grace buy me new shirt stainless and jagged kneecap cracking kneecap rest beneath hands folded tapping infinite songs comprised of chords within carnivore cavern

fruitful

i am merging with anterior matter to fortify the bridge betweem myself and infinity. i am not multiplying any more but i slide graceful over pools of cosmic dark.

infinite swan say you are sleeping. infinite tower fall from your base. infinite color collect in the corner. infinite wheel stay afloat and a-spinning.

jazz music

i take my foot off the gas pedal and drift. a hazy jazz number breaks through static. "i saw you in a dream" comes crooning through shimmering saxaphone splendor and dirty frequency modulation.

"i saw you in a dream." epiphany rise within me. close eyes and bring forth endless colored light.

"i saw you in a dream." counted sheep and tired weep, comfort speak for endless weeks.

"i saw you in a dream." turn to the left, bring it all back home and spill your guts on a telephone signal interrupted by transient fowl.

"i saw you in a dream." flesh and blood in murky mud, soul be cleaned and hope be weened.


uncertain breath foregoes a change to autumnal mindset. earth tones ring early these years.

solipsism sweat, catholicism regret

its true, life is a roller coaster; it was built to make you sick. unfettered lightning takes a life, lightning harnessed will save you. prescriptions are placebos, vanity runs deep in every stream of consciousness. i hope you've got your kayak.

yearn for coloured swirl in chrysalis cave. stagnation is fiction. dynamic and complex are not synonyms.

i met you in solace field and watched the metaphorical auspiciousness burn. you swore it wasn't real, but i've been there before, i've seen it. fuck you, you aren't real. 'real' is an abstraction. nothing is real.