Poems

Italia

The clouds are thicker here than they’ve been

The bit of blue that’s left in you is getting lost to the wind

The cold water we’re standing in Bites at our legs and at our skin

And i can’t keep my eyes off you as the water moves around our bodies and drains through the reeds(merging into the atmosphere

Storm clouds are building lately I just can not see

Your face through fog as is rushes through me

Oh Italia won’t you stay just for a little while

the night and I can’t make it on our own

I’ll get used to it I suppose

But those clouds gathering round ain’t ever letting go

So you’ll forget all about em when you hit the road

Outside of my life down by the railroad track

I draw lines wondering just where they’ll go bad

It’s been a long time since the cold sent pain down my back

Think of your words like propaganda magazines

Can’t wait to see ya again Italia when are we gonna be free?


Strange Shadows

Strange shadows develop like fluid in my teeth. I listen ponder and call out my conscious. To arrive to my preamble and take voices into sacred empty developments. Virulent and choirs of artificial lanterns. A vehement denial of the demands of our icy palms.  Poetry from the base of my skull a firing of undescribed unprescribed and primitive function. Executions for elevations and excavations of scum and dirt. Writing for fuel and forgery of understanding where the origins of our relationship’s developments. Unfinished sentences a balance of scales and levels of organizations scopes into holes and out to views of plains from sky tops and burning timber. It’s like ranges and oscillations with valleys of easily identifiable images and patterns that reoccur that our mind is expecting. How long will the will last? Making our own democracy. “Pure dumb luck.” Articles from the newspaper written on those who went missing. Fed up and unprepared. The beast below the film laced over hilltops. Working around the edges, collaboration or chaos. The beast that follows and bellows. Understanding human nature. William Golding 1984 “that sort by nature” build and run up with culture. Crisis bring out our humanity. A code for cooperation do we refuse it. How does a thought write its debut and its position. Our comfort has created malcontent.


Olives

I’ve poured out my stomach. I’ve been left by all the outlets

No reports are being levied toward me

I feel discounted

I hope I know where I’m going.

I know that olives are good

I’m no poorer power player

I’m just coded to misconduct

Mechanically demanding

Why do I hide my solutions

Why do I conceit

Why do I fear

Is there any unspoken unthought definition of all that is out there?

Am I in charge?

Just when I’m getting around the bend

I hope I know.

I know that olives are good


Saturn

Logical coinciding sliding doors and phenomenon alike glittering stilts illustrated in illuminating light conjuring images mirages of mirrors and duplicitous remnants of my mind. I am illusions and gliding on dirt like ice. I cant seem to keep connected or in motion or still. Dynamism and decadence shine like statues of monkeys. We are creating the empire exporting capital to meet the demand of those that own and have owned for centuries. Power that lasts lifetimes, and lifetimes that are spent in service. Diminished quality and decidedly dim fates prescribed through social order and callous considerations that neglect and persecute like eagle’s eyes. Save them for presentation above your kitchen table, where titans of industry devour gods and churn them out in packaging made to make your dinner last until the end of the war.


Monkeys

Stationary revolutionary sitting around complaining about, all these sounds coming at me while im reclining, tragedy in Taiwan, that wasn’t in my tarot cards, company’s logos keep me company too busy entertaining my brain to recycle my cans,

A bunch of status hungry monkeys gonna drive us into the ground

I want an easy way out

I’m driven to desire all this useless shit

Spend my money on temporary happiness joyful bits

But the economys doggn me and I got a defunct fire alarm

Pigs are purportedly cattle prodding peacekeepers with pensions

Wallowing around in neighborhoods without white fences

Turning mud to asphalt and home to parking lot pavement.


How many preambles do I gotta create?

Please.. pal, it’s a silent incantation for a new wave from the bottoms of your heart. the old stories made in the heat of your dreams. You can do whatever the hell  you need, make it magic, make it calm, be okay, you know the peace is needed, there are too many things right now, trials and dark powers at work, like a fantasy book almost, like an dream that has been seeded in the minds of people, but lacking shape, apathy ambivalence, vagueness, confusion, heartbreak, dismay, needed to be addressed under duress with due diligence

Want it to be a background muscle that I can use…so make it happen captain.


Italia II

He hated the thought of persistence through memory. Such an uneven and unbalanced event had life appeared to be. In his current distraught state, nothing could go unquestioned. He was rewriting. Going over his old beliefs and analyzing them with a critical and disappointed eye. His own anger at himself frightens and arrests him as he held in his hand a now useless love note. Embedded in the note he finds a thought he’d had when he was standing alongside an old friend . He was scared to fight change and was of the belief that fighting to prevent it only led to a distorted and outcome.

She jumped the train. Or the train track. The track was empty, a train wouldn’t come for another hour or so. But it scared him. She kept telling he was hopeless, and he agreed with her, so it didn’t bother him. Independence made him laugh. She pretended it did the same for her. But she wasn’t very good at pretending. He liked the grey skies, she thought they were aesthetic but wasn’t particularly fond of them. They both agreed the tracks could be picture worthy and regretted not having a camera. His mind was cast in bad luck. The beliefs that he was faultless, but flawed, left him slightly behind. Her shoes left her prints in the mud, and he stepped in them. He wished she would turn her head back to him. Shivering he made a motion to pull his hand out of his pocket and reach for hers but hesitated.

The abyss motioned to a fantastic array of nothing, and the void laughed. The characters and the characteristic black atmosphere held the mood and quickly returned the laughter to silence. The void liked to travel or even if he didn’t, often ended up away. The abyss moved too but stayed longer. The void hated allegories and hypocrites. The abyss was fond of them and was herself a hypocrite. Still the void didn’t mind.

There was a cataclysm she embraced from the moment she saw it coming. 

when I see you at the end, least I know I got a little bit of a it

The fact is that I don’t know how,

There’s that light again. It’s always here on time. I don’t know what for. It’s just a light. I can’t see where it’s shining from. Oh. It’s brighter today. Or now. I’m not sure if today is now, or later. Whatever today is, it is brighter in this moment. Why? Is there something…wrong? Am I, am I supposed to do something? Wait…its getting brighter, why? I don’t think I can do anything. Why? I’m confused, it’s really bright. Almost too bright. Why? Help. Why?

The room is empty. Save for a chair, a table with nothing on it and me. I can see today. These are the days I like. I don’t like the dark. I don’t know where they are. They always come when I can see. I am waiting for them. They ask me questions and I tell them the answers. I don’t know why.  

Several months after his sixteenth birthday on November 12th 1963, Calvin found a profound interest in the stars. Not a night would go by without a longing gaze into the dark and the tiny points of light doing nothing to push it back. He often wondered how despite the shear overwhelming number of them scattered across the night sky it held its empty composition.

His lab was anything but orderly. It painted the picture of a classic and somewhat stereotypical mess of papers and scribblings of a mad scientist. The question of whether or not you could consider him as such was still up to the imagination. The theory he was soon to propose would be at fault for the general questioning of his sanity and possibly his disappearance.

There was noting that quite enticed him like the thought of what lay in the depths.

 The question it raised alongside this, was whether an entire universe had not indeed been destroyed but, instead moved to a darker unknown part of the multi-verse. This of course makes little sense without the previous theory proposed by the forerunner in inter-universal travel, Lionel Frank. It wasn’t exactly a theory, one would more likely compare it to a machine or a discovery. The machine started as an engine. The evolution of the engine carried it far into. It functioned on an algorithm calculating possibilities. Tracked events that could’ve occurred and at the same time never did. The ceiling of his study had been dismantled and opened. But there was a problem. A lot of the new places were both dangerous and to some incomprehensible. In order to travel between them there was an initiation they had to endure. The paperwork and non-disclosure agreements were enough

I dont want to idealize or present an indication of something beyond m. A sort of evolution or drawn out staircase drawing a line towards intention.

He was trying something big. He had a lot of questions hoping for a real answer to them, he started to make a list. He only had to be confident that he was at the edge. He had his hopes. He had his core beliefs, founded in what he believed to be the truth.

Perhaps, he ponders, was it love that was at fault for his peculiar draw towards the sky? He wondered if he was the same as he had been when he was young. If in redrawing the lines, he’d found himself somewhere no different than where he’d left because of the gravity that pulled him back to where he started. The stars above him as he ran outside were unmoved and the world was small. What he saw was the upper limit and the world stayed within those burdens

“Come another time we will be seen through new eyes. Filtered, edited and rearranged in a way that might make us feel plain. They didn’t get all of it we’d complain. What they missed is what they’ll forget. As we are preoccupied with information and gathering whatever we can in the modern we forgot humanity.”

“Sounds preachy to me.”

In the silence before he spoke he wondered what the silence meant. He knew he could break the silence with louder questions but he couldn’t understand it. There he felt hollow. As if before he pulled himself from the depths he sat on the surface no looking through the water  

He found himself in the in between. There was nothing to explore beyond the outskirts of the suburbs with those who didn’t dream of a poetic

In a tiny little second during the heat of October sun bled gently onto my cheeks and time seemed like it could outlast itself. On the dry outskirts of suburbia in a body of battle scars and confusion. I knew there would be very little to come. Or maybe I could only reliably believe that there wasn’t much to be revealed. The clouds held in my worries and covered up infinity. My small world could finally be contained, and I felt as though a new beginning built in the static of the stratosphere. I had been spending a lot more time walking with the recent turn of events that left my bike tire deflated and functionally useless. Only serving as another source of poetic and eerily situationally accurate metaphor. I was wandering below the highway in a tunnel I passed every day to go to classes, and when I’d walk, I’d think. In the passing moments of inspiration, I’d draw lines between the world and the concerns I had about my self.

Long lost wanderer of an empty battlefield. I didn’t know where I was supposed to go. Or why. Before me there were plans. Not freedom but despite my active pleas to be forgotten, there was nothing I wanted more than to carry on.

I’m stuck contemplating some heavy shit, and unfortunately ill equipped to write about it. So, for now you just need to stick to your descriptions of the world around you your concerns are too elaborate and must be expressed through the lens of normal perception. You need to live within your context for some time without breaking out of it. We all have our ideas about the way this world works and without some assumptions here and there you can’t properly perceive. The human mind works by assumption and as you shuffle from states of understanding you are solely a consciousness, moving and understanding that which passes before us. By understanding the little things you can more fully understand the whole. Repeatedly asking the question trying to get a better answer is useless and you end up bashing against a wall that won’t move. You have so many outlets to look through. Most people discuss how we want to understand the nature of the universe but it seems like we forget that overplayed in that statement is the fact that we don’t know. But often we don’t let that sink in

I can’t assume that there lies a known nature of mankind. We exist without knowing why or for what and are then left with those questions to sit in the back of our minds while we carry on existing. Amongst the clustered soundscape of the cosmos and isolated on a biosphere we are only wise and can learn quickly. But we ride together through uncertainty and through that which is made of what we are. In the sm

He woke up bathed by sunlight filtered through the blinds and cast down on dusty floorboards and on a bed with no sheets. His eyes resisted opening entirely but the cold of the wood at his feet crept up his body and the haze of early morning began to lift. He stumbled across the room to an dresser

 in the space between the edges of his min.

I’m on the wall watching as nothing’s moving

Time’s last chance is a slow dance and it’s pulling me along

But I don’t wanna go as the rooms spinning out of control

And all the lights in the hallway let it go a long time ago

Causes dark where I sleep and it’s cold where I lay

You say your black and then you’re blue please tell me what’s got to you

I don’t mean to be mean but I can feel it in my blood and in my face your causing me pain

I can’t think straight cause you say one thing and the the next with each broken sweat that pours out of my forehead I don’t know what I’m supposed to be

Can’t remember all the roads we used see turn into empty streets