And they quickly approched the audience

Have you ever felt that overwhelming lip quiver that sends your whole body shaking with adrenaline filled heart palpitations that change your breathing habit, sucking in too much at the wrong time, sending your brain into hypoxia?

It's the moment when you either hear news or have to say something that is completely shocking.
It's the time when you heard that your girlfriend had been almost raped because she got too drunk at a party. It's the moments just before you discover the results of your cancer screening and that summer when you stumbled upon an email that your partner was cheating on you.

Feelings of dread with Musgy Spanier's Riverboat Shuffle spinning trumpet trills ascending in the background. This ain't no Eliot Smith kinda day. And she can't say that this is the worst it's ever felt like, things could be much worse and she knows it. It's the fear of the unknown you know, that kills us in the moments of feeling your future wrapped tightly in a rice paper egg-roll.

Now I just have to unwrap this present that's in my face she says from her ego-consciousness to her heart. Everything that you once dreamed in the form of things around you to make you happier had come to fruition, where's your happiness in its genuine?  Her heart replies.
Now her gut told her in knocking punches, so as not to ignore,  there's something wrong with the situation even though it's fine the way that it appears. This saddened her like being out at the rolling sea with no sight of land in store.The picture she was painting while listening to Bach had been smeared.

But what if she's just afraid because of the change and the unknown, because of the lingering ghosts in bedsheets and wallpaper? Her heart said to her brain.
 She told me that she felt like this was an addiction. She was always chasing after the way she felt when they were in love, when their lives felt right because they were together. They were chained together on a prison yard, picking up stones to make mortar.
She would do anything just to make her happy; give up her job to move to her hometown, meet all of her oddball requests, and finally to stop asking about making love. This is where the telephone polls started snapping.

After all of the laundry was done, the lawn was mowed, dishes dry and dinner hot on the stove she realized that there were still boundaries that she could not cross. There was sensitive information in her heart that required rules so secrets could not be revealed.

By this time their symphony felt like it had its' peak in the planning of the future, but once it arrived she sensed a summer of discontentment. Once she gets what she wants she always wants something else. One could say that this is self-reflective of all of western civilization. The Grass is Always Greener, Have it Your Way, Slap into a Slim Jim.. etc. You get the drift, she always wanted more but at the same time they found themselves with less of the things that they didn't need and it made them both a little happier.

The change that they craved on mornings when they were stiff and stuck in a vapid grave yard on a crusty couch, hung over and sorrowful from fighting the night before. At least they were too old for that now. There was only a few more bad habits to iron out.

Dishwashing Thinking

I'm getting ready to board this foggy staircase
that leads to the hallways poured with colored doors.

My bags are mostly in boxes labeled,"kitchen, fragile, uncertainty, progress and evolution."

The emotions are in transit to a cloudless summer night where I will process
this life-changing moment, greater responsibility with unfathomable commitment.

I'm still sitting here though. I'm taking each day for what it is, a series of sun and stars pegged on a board with opportunity and dishwashing thinking sticky notes. Still trying to formulate a peaceful plan, one that sits well with the rhythm of my stomach, being organ driven.

We have tried to rinse down the spoken fear and anticipation with the juices of fermented grains for far too long. Now I've been scolded for remembering the hiss of the poison that came from your lips before you passed into unconsciousness. You're not accountable for the moments that you don't remember.

I will be very aware in times that draw near to maintain my fierce independence through purposeful movement aligned with thoughts from the woods derived from soil.

It would be easy to feel the power dynamic shift as an anvil strapped to my sternum.
But I breathe out anchors like puffs off a blunt and I still see the part of my picture that I've drawn out. I keep sketching in my mind with pencils,markers,paints and crayons.

Paper cut crunch

This is a double sided hutzpa salad dressing shaking a skank session under halogen bulbs.

There's a logical,yet magical way that we both created this paper cut crunch that splits us through the center of Ohio. I get the side that touches your stomach since I've been faced the other way all of these years.

With all of the embarrassing dangling carrots that have pulled away like credit card you think you have completely paid off, I'm hesitating in taking a bite.

But of course I'm taking everything too seriously.
It is only the flow of life to make choices that challenge
what you once thought was true.
My Calloused hands are not numb yet
but I am conditioning my obsessive trained tracks
to turn and brake in new ways.

There's still a window that I look out of on this speeding bullet.
I see the parallel lines of where I could be. It's a disguise and I know it.
I am not surprised that I am manning up
or sacrificing desire from lascivious lovers.
I have tried to block out the beams of that penetrating gaze
of what could be, like sex on the beach, it's a day dream.

Magnetic attractors are swinging

I'm beginning to let go of the worry
as the sun enters my veiled corneas
in the full production set of the aries-mars
archetype who is midway between equinoxes.

There is a ripening effect of this year already,
the solar return to the galactic center
asking us if we want to pull on the door
that changes your mind or be pushed back
into that crowded room that spins
when you stand and try to focus your eyes.

Our fallen milk chocolate allegories
of where we originate are finally synthesizing
into a hardened story line written on kitchen-greased paper
with blood still on it from the butcher.

You can't lie about blood, clots, arteries.
Even rivers thrive on veins.
I'm surprised the water table isn't saturated
but then again you have fresh and salt water
running through your veins,
why wouldn't your water contain their blood?

A scenic substance is not the Ego

She has turned her head and made the choice
to use her turn-key switch located on the clock between winter and spring.


I just shuffle on the canyon cliff-side above the seasons.
I'm looking for an astounding reason to say, yes or no.
The view from above has more light and clarity on the scene.
Although I'm not sure where the separation between viewing and doing
happens on the stone spine
or if I have already slipped down
the shear wall face and this evaluation of myself IS just me looking
up to the boulders coming towards my skull
and hallucinating my own death.

Every new path can be and is like a rapid of orgasms,
un petite mort. You die and expand
your vibrating lungs into a flowing era that is succinct with the map
that you drew out before you entered this languid body.

But what did the map say about this intersection with her?
Can I force myself to remember
the detailed holograms carved in wax by Metatron?
No, this is what we meant about Risk, it's the catalyst
that serves to complete the karmic revolution
where choice meets fate, where divine threads come together
to battle and weave. This reality is an alpaca blanket.

This life that once was a dream.
I now am convinced of the power to manifest
But that Doesn't mean I am a master at harnessing it.

In the darkness of the dawn I could hear them whispering,
"Make sure it's something that you really want otherwise the circumstances
become wrought with good intentions but poor forethought."
They brought in paths from the past to question my motives,
lucid smoke screens to get me to agree that I should to
wonder and not wander.
And to see the present from all sides
means to be still
and not plan.

What if I don't move forward with the vision
that I've encompassed and colored in?
Will I be punished or rewarded?
Do I sail out to the edge of the sea
to see if staying this course
will lead me to the promise land?
or do I
jump ship and hope to find my new life
where I'm no longer a sailor?
No longer this pulsar
that hides part of the light
to keep the darkness happy.

I don't leave it up to the Zephyrs or Aeolians but I do try to listen.

In the forest of my youth there is a sycamore.
The roots are strong at the base
of this watery tree but some underground
limbs are now rotten and softened by the elements of time.

If the loggers come in to cut it down today they will find
legions of patterned heartwood
as delicate as an orb-weavers web.
The stump however will never be destroyed or wafted by gloved thumbs.
Its entangled root-system still will feed
the microbes and invertebrates that rely on its structure.

Going Direct not like before

This isolation within the heart has brought me closer to the true meaning of my hearts' journey.
The compartments that I've tipped over
splashing my hopes and fears, a child who goes crazy
in the bath tub never thinks of slipping.

My conception of time revives my face
in the eyes of mercury retrograde-right now I'm direct
because my picture is more defined.
Half-way was before with only grey fillings
and erasure marks over our outlines.

There is an Autumn wind that blows and brings
mystery with dark almond eyes from centuries ago.
Even though it's Winter it comes anyway
and soils my perfect drawing, scatters ashes and smears brush strokes.

This karmic thunder that mimics the Spring,
it's a guise to win you over, to make you think
the concrete under your feet isn't something that you mixed
with your own two hands.You have the grey unknown still stuck
under your nails-the illusion is not even feasible.

Fostering the Kinetic

Everyday can be life altering.

In this Autumn rain I can feel the earth eating the dying.

The squash vine whispers to the nightshade hymnals

that concord with the pace at which the maple leaves hit the soil.

This is the season when the people molt.

This season every system dying jolts its transmutation

into a message that emotes, emotes, emotes.

There is finally a wake-up that screams, You are the same as the trees!

Except we are all trying to cut each other down

and this dilemma is nothing short of a cosmic discord

that takes the earth shaking and volcanoes quaking-- your mouth wide open

kind of emphasis on how your life will be changed.

Now that we know that earth with resume long after we're gone.

Now that we know that this season of death rattles

where the dying bodies of plants, people, machines and ideologies

are called unto the valley of the shadow of death,

there is nothing to fear except fear itself.

The phoenix is the anthropomorphic version of your ability to transform.

If the only constant is change

then death is the only paradigm

to total metamorphosis.

Under this energy in motion, our emotions pull the current.

Our waves that change the landscape are capable of great visions

and actions that can sweep away the boulders into the sea.