there- ! storm clouds a’ gathering o’er the grave- of my brave- dead king pray-tell, what portents, will this bring more dead wars- more dead kings.
notes… sometimes I don’t know from where it comes (inspiration that is), I was passing a cemetery, not as old as the country, much older than years I can know by touch… and the words just popped into my head, the idea of a surviving warrior, longing for former glory but also realizing the horror…
a thing I do from time to time… just snippets or things I never finished, I always intended to finish, but I am a creature of the moment usually so I do not go back, maybe I will… nah, probably not, so here is some snippets, do with them what you will.. my orphans, take care of them in your head…
(1) erotic patterns curves sultry lines drawn in sand a back, a palm by the hands of wind sliding across the mounds silently caressing grain by grain
(2) the psalms of wind and the homilies of wings
I really like (2)… now, I have to admit it has nothing to do with (1) except me posting them together, and in a weird way it makes sense together… but they were just scraps, but who knows? maybe this is what the universe wanted to impose, and so it is.. because it has happened, am I getting to vague ?
in the awakening might I tread lightly on as the sky explodes with dreams spread tethered out on cotton streams a requiem for a thief, for I am- a consumer of all things until I become threadbare, myself a baron of composition bereft of fruit to wither into the aether to claim my time to cling to life I, survive.
notes… we slide in and out of this existence to fast in cosmic time… I hope this is just a train stop in the converging line of time and dimensions…
for am I faint my words are thoughts only whispers in drought carry-on in the airy realm- for my feet are not on this ground, my body- but a fading shroud a lone sense a vague sense of place for I was attached to but a name now my shackle is curious bound round the round I orbit this base just past the touch in the realm between of know and known this is this place, my home
notes… we are, in many ways a beautiful culmination a molecular miracle generation, but we are also temporal, how do we as thinking beings reconcile this? I don’t know… I know religions cover this, but how can a religion formed by us in these scant few years of human existence on this one planet, in the infinity of space, cover this? wrapping our heads around impossibility or inevitability is anathema to the human mind… because we want to survive just as the simple bird does hatching eggs in spring… that thread binds all living things, is that god speaking to us? I guess I will have to wait for my end for a real answer… or none… hence the conundrum…
in the miles of the blue pointed eyes navigate the blur imagine skimming skipping along like a trance or a song spinning through the air darting among with thrush and a rush, bobbing for air when the need arise coursing, like a vein these are the days of pure freedom swimming in unison with my brethren in these miles of the blue stretched out in all directions
so let me sit here for awhile- longer- to figure out to ponder- how to redo the past to undo the done and so frozen watching the footage over and over always the same ending but expecting a new one
notes… I know I am my own worst enemy… how do I battle myself, when I know myself so well.. perhaps that is true of us all… I try, I fail… but I know, I know I can try harder… so why don’t I? I know the clock is ticking, I fear it…. I know it… our lives are so finite and short… and we never know what is around the next corner, I am near the fifty year mark but still don’t live like tomorrow is the end.. I should, I know I should, “I should”… maybe that will be on my gravestone if I opt for one.. to mark a spot,.. but why bother… who will come.
are we fibers or just strings or links in a chain I wonder as I hold you closer I imagine we begin to combine at the molecular level can we now pass through each other? or simply merge for a moment two spun as one no wonder the separation feels as this does
notes… lost love letters staccato style (as I call it), I am very aware of rhythm in my words and flow… maybe it is all in my head, sure, but those who get it are wired into my frequency, I do not expect that to be everyone, just you, so thanks for the time, any and all comments are appreciated
a colony prescribed by the hand of time ordered into the womb of god delivered and so you are
notes… sometimes things pop in my head, I could tell you I am not religious because I am not, but does that mean I do not believe in something higher… how can we just be dropped here right now on this little marble in the middle of supreme vastness ? sure, it could all be random, but I would rather think a hand is moving things behind the scenes, I’m probably wrong, so what… in the end it does not matter, so I choose to believe my life has meaning…
so then, I am of so many leaves when my winter makes the call even me, a summer’s child, after all I am so, just a grain of sand lost in great swaths moved by airs and seas; I am just a lost fingerprint- in the generations of humanity a molecule of a mind once mine destined to rise again but never to this form myself, this again so then, will I travel the universe as a particle burst out when our sun’s end sets to coalesce, perhaps to exist, perhaps once again so then, I wish to become I wish to become then – a dream.
notes… I think often, and I admit I have a semi panic attack, about, you know… the end… I try to rationalize it as we all do, and all those before have, and all after will… it is a hard one to fathom, I can convince you that in some physical way we all are perpetual, but as an individual is my life some 100 year span in the countless billions a lost ship in the vastness of an ocean we can not even comprehend… ? I have hope, that this vastness provides a vessel for my existence. I can argue that I did exist.. I am… but what happens when this existence ends for me, am I gone … forever ? I did / do exist but the prospect of not having consciousness is frightening at times… the pure lack of control over, well, anything… all I can do is hope and pray there is something out there that created me and you for a purpose… what that is? I can not say for sure, I don’t know, I don’t have the answers… and I struggle with it…. but also the idea that no matter what I do the inevitable is the inevitable.. that is impossible to square at times…. but I try, I try.
I wish the whimsical I pray, I dance on the drum skins of the old gods lying forgotten in the thunderlands I shout out, in trance to transform this grassy prairie into the bounty of lush forestlands may brooks break the backs of the deep plates and carve-cut out the roadways for life to venture out upon quench the sponge until overflow from bird to bee, proliferation all manner of life, let this be
notes… one of those that snuck into my skull, I found myself in ancient america at the foot of the grasslands, and wondered what it would have looked like if forest had extended outward coast to coast.. so this is that work…