I collect and compile.
I cut and paste.
I post ‘pon platforms.
I never tag…
I’m never caught.
What you get away with you have to keep.
It is catching dust.
Is this neglect or being prolific.
When is a work completed?
When are we completed?
Is death a goal?
Where lies heaven?
Will we care there?
Amnesia is a bummer… Sometimes.
They forgot me as I hid.
I forgot me bit by bit.
I came back in need of a feather duster.
The scale… The scale…
My heart… My heart…
I paid in full.
I pour out my heart…
On the page.
to resent the leap
it took for me to leave a peak
for verdant valleys
and urgent tallies
of recurrent follies
that humbled and brought wisdom.
I tumbled across visions
interwoven with religions
‘til I read words telling me to let it flow.
So here goes…
Here goes nothing and everything.
Here goes a heart open to aches that furrow brows.
The clever reign where the not so clever feign that they know.
Faithless… the turning… the yearning
for a space where nimble mind may alight for a time.
We seek surcease from uncertainties.
And trade them for the clinging taint of certainty.
We sell ourselves out for comforting back pats.
We sell ourselves short cavorting with our backpacks,
heavy with the accoutrements of our acumen.
We carry untold treasures.
We tarry on cold ledges awaiting the faith for leaps.
While the faithful sleep like bambinos exhaling frosted breath.
By frost the bow and bridge are called to being…
chakra shades and all.
Sacral space evolved…
The lower being and higher being merge.
There are no lanes
in this endeavor where forgotten pains
emerge and make it clear nothing is forgotten.
The ill-gotten goods you unconsciously despise
for what they remind you you have become
if you are mindful…
If your mind’s full… Empty it.
Breathe a little.
Reclaim who you were born to be.
Let that which must die die.
Reclaim your throne…
Don’t frown here in the darkness.
Feel it as it goes.
Don’t call the law.
Embody truth… again.
wearing this shabby treatment on the sleeve
where the heart used to be.
jaded and jangling danger
veils fall away…
you’re no angel ether baby…
lips sync with the halo…
formation foundation fame leads to polarization effect
love hate relations slip back and forth on thin lines
and razor edges…
fickle flickers and aching tickers…
go hand in hand…
skipping like stones over seas of trends…
plots and plans…
two wrongs make two wrong
the self-righteous are often too wrong
for far too long to amend their ways
for fear of shame in admitting
some would slay to save face
question the quotings…
memes set in motion
seeking emulation of some ideal
that works in theory but not really
not for these nimble nuances
that dance an upper room jig
zigging and zagging
dipping and dabbing
you’ll never master by dabbling…
failed spell casters resort to stabbing
jabbing sour grape rhetoric resides behind lips
they poke their heads out now and then
some are too power inebriated to spot them
yet we are more than just options
free the pictures of captions
they tell you what to see
they leave naught to imagination
they tell you what to think and you believe
social media guinea pigs are we
or are we?
Facebook is a freebie
That’s becoming just like T.V.
Freud and Bernays…
Practice and theory
we are made by what we make
we are mated kings and queens yet pawns at play…
in what are we engaged…
love now before it’s too late…
don’t be strategic
be honorable and brave.
wash off the world
wash off the taint…
look deep into real eyes…
stoke the fire that’s faint and fading from neglect
take spark and make conflagration
glow in the dark that the lost may find their way
waver not… lest you would make all prior efforts waste…
hide no more…
unveil your radiant face.
I don’t know what will come of this… yet.
I’m facing my comeuppance… blessed.
Karmic aggression… quick…
Is that not a fort?
We cannot afford more mechanics of war.
Through machinations madly devolved…
to base beings… in haste bleeding…
what we could be seeding.
It seems our dealings constitute a beating
of oft’ dead warhorses
and death knells
we dance to dirges…
What is the purpose…
What is the proper pose
some propose if not groveling?
On the surface triumphant yet cowering…
cowering from the reality and the harrowing
notion that delusion, illusion, and deception rule the day.
What are we empowering when we let such and such hold Sway?
I’m far from having all the answers…
or all the questions for that matter.
Don’t know if it’s me or the world that’s madder…
We are the world…
Some say there’s no matter…
Ask us when we’re tranced up…
or martyred or hemmed up by charges trumped up.
First world problems…
How many worlds…
How many pictures?
How many words?
What is not scripture?
What is not scripted?
Who’s not conscripted?
Where does conflict live?
Where does it knot?
Where does it stop?
Where does it start?
Where do I start?
Where does the world end?
There is no when.
All is movement.
even unseen wind…
The winds of change
blew someone’s hat down the street.
Chasing it, stumbling, them and Cadillac grills meet.
Ludicrous… liberal application of elbow grease.
to the wheels of the beast’s conveyance…
shouldering beliefs contrived and given
to achieve an end…
Perceive what is forbidden
and what remains unforgiven.
Redeemed is just a shift in perception.
What you deem yourself you become.
Some seek possession.
What possesses but demon?
What corroboration but seasons girded with trappings for reason?
We go with societies flow.
Contrary to nature,
we mold ourselves,
culling our souls for these nations,
committing spiritual treason.
The well of ancestors is deep.
Even the genes you don’t wish to but must keep speak.
Are you listening?
Or has the world’s noise drowned them out?
Many walk in shame but sound devout.
Who’s that whistling?
What’s word of mouth but needless distinction
for wayward diction
best geared to fiction by omission?
Hearsay I dare say is heresy of the highest order.
I speak universally…
Not under the auspices of the Holy See to no degree.
I seek to dispense with deception totally.
I won’t concede to any attempts at holding me
to words that didn’t come through me.
For these are the only verifiable divine conduits
upon which to base congruency.
I’m only true if I’m true to me.
You all are me.
We all are I.
I love me…
Open your eyes.
This is what I do.
This is what I am.
This is how I move.
This is how it was planned.
I engage in art.
No master but I.
No push. No pull.
No power plant.
Just pens, points, and counterpoints
plus poetic flair
and morning gratitude air.
Billion dollar brain…
Priceless as the rain…
No pressure. Make it plain.
Martin X and Rosa Drives…
Love my ex. I hope she thrives.
I have a new muse.
On wings she flies.
She’s no angel either baby.
No cupidity. She’s no fairy.
I treat her well and she treats me fairly.
So I do more.
Expand your reach.
This is not your due.
Beggars can’t be choosers
even if they’re paupers by choice.
Everything is by choice.
You did it to yourself…
Reneging on so much previous resolve.
Build it again, for what?
I don’t even need it.
I have other things to attend to.
Will my nonchalance offend you?
My heavy regard was insufficient.
Today proves much.
Too much to no avail.
How dare I bite the tongue that feeds me?
How dare I trade purpose for vassalage?
Is there more to this than stifled rage?
Am I petulant?
I am not a pet.
Out from the dust.
Ash or whatever…
Catch them all… unawares.
Yet I’m in tears.
Despite logic and justifications.
I am in tears.
They give lie to all I would let burst forth
peppered with expletives and brashness.
They give truth a chance as they wash all else from view
and find my mood matchless.
And just so all is clarity.
I want what I need…
a match for my fire.
Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion.
Thank you. I think. I will.
Look how it turns out.
Yet the jewels say what’s real.
That is just like saying
I’m not fooling… anyone.
I do not care how gullible.
The victor doesn’t have to victimize to rise.
Altruism – Crystallized all ways true.
Pry per pi and phi.
Slain- resulting from psychic poison.
This world and that world-
layered one upon the other.
Hand in hand—
Scenes clear- clarity unimpaired
by desired destinies that make disappointment
of the divinely appointed.
I have been built by intuition,
humbled by former positions,
misdiagnosed by pseudo-physicians.
Something is lost in translation.
Something is gained in translation.
The essence remains in origin.
My essence retains conscious collagen.
I lay in the akashic sea.
I fetal float.
I become conduit.
I don’t allow hubris to ruin it.
Daiikiru Akasha Maximillion