Darling darling darling; an expose written about and by the universe

walk along the codex
rolodex

there is no movement
that is not singular

that is not me

the universe unto itself
is one flat landmass
without a rough edge

when i die it will be no more

i will make it so

when i live it will blossom

life will be found in all its non-corners

there will be no end
to life

the trees that grow out the skin
are all one tree living apart from
human time they are gestating
not yet to be born this earth is
too young and only the amoeba
swim on it

when i die i will cast you off

witness that true language is a virus

that thoughts outside your own have
ever slowly crept inside your head

nothing moves without my eyes to see

why have i created all these sad things?

this is not my fault

the rivers are spontaneous memory
do they begin or terminate at the source
without one there is not other imagine
how the mountain and the rain become
the shore and the ocean how land becomes
water and land again

i have ignored all these things

they arose sprouting from my mind as fungus

as vestigial reveries of other worlds

i am pulling the wheel

one day i will walk upon it

next in front

in the end it will crush me

packing me deep in warm soil

i will bask in the womb of entropy

i will have done many great and terrible things

least of which is this.

Bathroom breaks take historical precedence

black and white heads
bent over manuscript page,
a turning dial, where?

out there,
the color of the world is blue,

between my windowsill
and me is stitched harmony,
the faraway,

what's a contrail to entrails
of the twisting city mind?

it is ever expanding
eating green yellow brown
chewing west soft solid hard
spewing gray smoke char,

black and white hands
planting dead tree effigies,
locked in potted soil, how?

in there,
the scent of the world is artificial,

within my body
is swilled chemicals and abstraction,
a holocaust,

What's another sip to numb lips
a bottle cap blocking the digestive tract?

it is ever replaceable
branding new copyrights
into rotting fleshlights
spewing irradiated sperm,

black and white feet
step on yellowed edges,
bent to the last eye, when?

from there,
the last of us wait for the signal flare,

from my eyes
the distilled images of  television fantasies,
a swarm,

what's next on the schedule
the next lifetime to be archived and marked for erasure?
once something is destroyed
it can be understood
once something is dead
there is nothing left
we can learn from it.

Janus

I
one day ahead of myself
     I'm one day advanced in age
one day beyond in thought
     I'm one day behind in dream

II
Funny little jingles hold complicated lies
     you watch them but you can skip after five seconds

five seconds is too long
     they're on television too if you're old enough to own one

III
one day
     half looks forward
     half looking back

IV
never the right moment to get what you want

Nothing ever happened, not even this

-Ack I'm continued
from the last strain single
last puzzled thought of night
drip drop drooping oozing
to inarticulate mass
hallucination, what's behind
our refrigerator doors?--but
same old stuff--same old
slattern shit--hang man hangman
what's it gonna be? this is all
a dream anyway, dig? this poem
is last stanzas of a bridge before
of a poem underground of
some mish-a-mash of words
you haven't all but have read--
this preternatural whisk, this demon's
door, this horror drawn 'cross time,
this sad lost, lost happy memory
eulogized, all that has
happened, all time and the universe
has been leading up to this
moment, like birth, like crystallized
embryos shattered and reaching
from out explosions died
aeons ago, died and archiac,
gone and gone and gone
and never-ending, never-here
never-where, in this dream
never-finished, where
there's no one left
to save, no one left
to wake up.

Nothing Ages

From many sides and pieces
we move like refracted light
in transparent spaces between
now and future past perfect tense

an arrangement of letter
into word obituary likeness

now, then! only this remains,

something that was said, immortalized,
can be forgotten,

this is easy and often happens,

there is no other way
we must force tho we rage
we must access the tumble
and smoothing aspects of time
accept loss, accept being lost

in one hundred years
there will be no memory
of us having walked the
earth, there will be no flowers
to mourn,

there will be nothing to hold on to.

We are a part of it

they dip their
hands in cosmic
goop of no hands
with no-sat eyes
nova explosions
in the hypertime
void;

the past is moving quickly away
we are lumbering into the future,

there are gods spread through
4th dimensional bleeding walls,
able to see structure of birth and death
concrete, only in its non-existence
solidly opaque,

this is nothing out there
but the rough edges of an explosion,
rattling through space,
dragging about time,

Lost Pen, Borrowed Mind

These things, they are getting easier to predict,
junk soaked hash browns in the eternal rotating mind,
a blank like white wallpaper stare might as well be
painted clones, all the same, one layer glued at a time,
I think, along with the crackle of fat & oil on griddle,
my brain eddies, flows, drops off the picture, past frame,

     I see a candle going out
a room dressed in black pearls
sickness on the pinwheel, ferris
wheel, on the burnt cross squinting
fool,
     I half understand, half forget

we write, in double speak, images, its own existence--
a cat, his rat. playing with infinite gladness of sun speckled dawn,
all stars are suns to dead planets in the solar array,
we just named ours first, classified to de-mystify,
to bottle it up--

     it's killing really,
building a fictional state,
a scientific existence reality,
call it a sacrifice to Lovecraftian
gods of memory, overshadowed
by numbers, remarks, discourse,
citations, speeches to legitimate,
in million dollar conference rooms,
concerned wholly with the "I"

I am not a forgotten boy
I chose utter foolishness anonymously 
I do not seem to fit
remember the am
remember the me

I play each part perfectly,
time is not counting up
it is counting down,

hit the cannon thrust
to evolutionary strain

TARGET: Entropy
                  NEXT STOP.

A bomb carried through time looking for an escape,
a pacifist era to claim, skeletons & rusted beams, sinking
ships killed the moon to bring on the floods,

I am no longer welcome,
too much was said,
promise me you'll watch from the windows,
scrape the mold,

I found the cellar door,
it was all down hill from there--

Evermore, Everlasting

is there such a thing?
                                  you grind your teeth as
                                         you fall asleep
                                         a foot under cover
                                         a foot out
or nothing?
                     I am naked beside you
                             hands under chest
                             on my stomach
                             eyes facing you
will it ever end?
                          milky way spiral big dipper
                                     sound in the night
                                     dark and restless angel
                                     of the far gone away
or is there never ever?
                                     holding a torch for you
                                                  burning at the edge
                                                  unburdened by space
                                                  untouched by time    

A conversation with TIME

Time looks at me
for a long, uncomfortable while
turns its head and spits
quasar star-birth, black hole words,
language as a road map through existence.

I say I ain't got no place to go,
that it hasn't happened yet,
which is the truth from where I'm looking.

He reads me back my lines,
nothing has ever happened
you aren't even here, and I am not this.

But, that's not what I say, I say,
and it's never been heard.

Story

past tugs at you
stretching out fabric
tearing at shirt

you pull away,
but too gently.

In your eyes
you ask, is something
there?

some small shred,
little place,
remaining? any

way to go back,
at all? Even

if I don't care to?

and worse questions
still, like--

was anything ever there?--

once we are gone
there will be no one
to remember us.

All life is a fiction,
even this, right now,
never happened.

Perhaps nobody is asking the right questions

this piece
of paper is
a tombstone
these words
are dead
slid onto screen
and pulsing
artificial light,

INTERSTELLER BROADCAST
INCOMING

no one reads it
printed in code
on old derelict
telegraph machines
at the end of time
bottomless ocean

REPEAT STOP REPEAT

Allow me to take you
                                  into the future

FREE FROM ALL THAT WIRING

--was a cryptic message--
how would we read into it?
              --END--

without borders
breaking margins

10x6
x11x8.5

THESE SYMBOLS
ARE SYMBOLS
NO LONGER MATTER
STOP

tapping on dead ears

what comes first?

teletype or telephone
telestrator tele-creator

so sure the images are sure
beaming off Jupiter
filmed on some Galactic stage

Allow me to take you
                                  into the past

wheel remains in static lock
you span universal time
life is set of dotted lines

FEED INTO THE MACHINE
STOP DO NOT REPEAT DO

last line of cable break
bronze age truth and taps

~the music plays~

power is a broken green
circle

you are the broken line

Worthwhile

You type
what comes first,
then you print
labels, pull those out
of printer smelling of
heated glue and paper,
smelling like newspapers
and running belts and wheels,
smelling like childhood memories
you can't quite recapture
with the smell gone so
suddenly leaving.
Afterwards you remove
labels, place on folders
and stamp times new roman
red letters once
for stampings sake.
Place the folder
in it's categorized,
alphabetized place
between other folders
placed in their
categorized,
alphabetized place.
Then you leave it
alone, knowing
that you may
never go back to it,
knowing, maybe,
it's possible that
no one else ever will,
knowing that this folder
will outlast you,
and your children,
and your children's children,
knowing that what is in
that folder is less than
worthless,
knowing that all of
your effort is meaningless,
knowing that eventually
everything but those
folders will die.

I.01.I

thousand
fingers jam
on heated keys
play on like player
piano keyboard
letter stamped
nightmare visions

A lonely balcony
rotting wood panels
wind gust
by

hair tossed with
flower petal
fall

a scent of spring
whirl from
cascade hills down
mountain side above
clear and golden
meadow

haunted house

open view for miles

far as eyes

SEE

far as human thought

you are one thing
with me
upon me of
me

I am nothing that
ever was

only a stray thought

EXISTS

breaks dirt
rises from brown
hard soil

gasps into air

FLOATS

is word letter gray fog

BURNING

oil
lamp home stray
fire

for all mouths to

SEE

thousand
searching ears
touch finger tips
bathe toes in
cool turquoise
spring

CLEAN

humanity as one
hulking beast
but sure
calm steps lightly
on greenish
coils

a universal graveyard idea

a whiskey colored jar

SIP

pins and needles dancing
flesh

foxes cats burglars
birds of prey

the forest floor

a lonley planet
traveling through pinkish space
ahead of time

Disfigured

Tattooed upon my
body

bloody seals
and each pock
marked generation
eating purple
spewing juice

sound of eagles
maggots hawk
deer frenzied
ants

appear like tree branch
motion moving
alive

disfigured

conspicuous

within a frame
a second

brown borders
finely sanded
smooth
lacquered

invisible grain
of sand on eye of
wind

turning

wind rain hammer
ubiquitous

strike anvil of back
on clanging forge
dimensions shrink
perceptively

origins thin lines
collect connect all
things struggling under
hammock of stars sun moon
perceptivity

mother father sister brother daughter
son

carried always carrier torn
and old
hunchbacked rucksacked
blissful

beaming out in simple words
carved into mountains of
time
into fabric of skin
of soul.

Reincarnation

here now work
drive stake into bone
chest ribs cracking here
then turn toward mindeyewatchful
awake-ness, pass into
a place of no time no thought
mindyielding static shocks on
the keyboard with each tap,
there is silence, quick grind
of tired bodies, heaven, heaving
arching mindfallingdreaming
every loved thing in the cosmos
teetering like a sand filled toy
won't fall just nods left right center
back here now listen to sounds
of the window, of the world
speaking whispers green cozy blues
here then what comes next, what's
always coming, lay your ears to the
ground and understand here when
the nightdaypassage is illusory,
romantic, brazen, here please
hold my hand, stare into the abyss
read this as an image not
as words, there is no linear narrative
why do we assume reincarnation works
that way? Proceeds forward like a single file
march drawing time as a third dimensional line,
what if you're the first life
of many scattered? where does the cycle begin?
here now then where how
mindaltersspacetimebodypeace
decide--

Now I am here

emerald stones
washed smooth
dim in some cupboard
tucked away
far from the west
of their birth,

I am where you cannot find me

I have found the edge

sediment slowly settles

to bottom of jar

pink sand and memory 

collide, forgetting past lives

figuring on the soul,

I am where you cannot find me

I have found the edge

Van and motor are gone now

crushed in some junkyard hell,

tides drift slowly, back in back 

and forth, back and overtake the

land, there is more sea then 

you'll ever know, ever experience,

ever see,

I was where you would not find me

now I am here.

Love Letter Father Time

Here we are again
not so far away
from last time

language provides
my only link to
the future

to save the time stream
I will sacrifice its
present existence
for momentary gain

Tomorrow is another day to forget

Time is my absolute
a god image of my master
a fleeting blur of beyond
foretelling inevitable futures
all death all gone all dust all forgotten
on any calender and all this
mess
is wasted in us
we can't even envision the painting
as everything at once
as a forecast
showing immortal skies
seen at dawn and dusk of beginning
                                       and end of times
we've lived through apocalypse
birth
rebirth
resurrection
the shells contain information
bags of flesh carrying us through the soup
prescient inter-dimensional soup
coddling us and we allow that shit
afraid of imaginary a concept
as death, ordinary
                            I kiss the mask
over our eyes at night
make sure it's snug
tomorrow is another day to forget.

To you

We've all sadly found ourselves
old, and in doing so
have lost our beauty--

I'm a casualty for
believing in time too, tho
I was made to
at early ages so that
I wouldn't follow the setting
sun home but the dying street lamps
and the ticking wall clocks,
so that I'd stand in line silently
so that I'd wrinkle and starve
and shrink and die leaving only
lies for the future--

I realized we were all finished
today in the mirror while I
brushed my rotting teeth.

clasp collapse conundrum

dumb under the
volcano of time like I
stood August 30th, 1967
foolishly contemplating the uni-
verse before my birth awaiting the
coming eruption that wouldn't hit for
another 300 years that I wouldn't even
make it to see because I'll be on some other
island in some other dreary corner of my own
private cosmic milky way spectrum slide;
All this leaving me dumb on the moutain
top blabbering on about nothing of
interest to the swarming scores
of man all dying beneath me
and in front of me shroudy
skeletons of the mind
sharing the same
unavoidable
fate