Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Yellow Dancer (Bear)


Just before you hit pay dirt. You'll know, they will tell you. They told you falling tides. I heard a terror in my ears. We're landing feet first. To heed the sweeping motion. You motion me away. To build the bridge I'm falling from.

You fell in a wake. To pay respect to passing days. To when the ticking clock. Would make the music for a song. I sang in a procession. With passion for the song. Sung on a stage in heaven. Broadcasted from the sun.

And you're a yellow dancer. Just basking in glow. Of my outstretched hands and arms. Clutching in the dark. Feeling out a knob. To turn you into something. Still confused about direction. Of the passing of the flock.

Horizon Sky


The clouds in the sky. They just don't hold no rain. Man they look so black. They just hold empty feeling. The rain in the sky. It just don't hold no thunder. It's like a constant gnawing. It's like a constant beating.

The clouds in the sky. It looks like looming largely. It likes to hang around. If only to remind me. The horizon sky. It never shows no lightning. It packs it all inside. It's never more than threatening.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Your Song


This is your song. What you have to say or think. This is your song.

To each their own view. Or version of a story. Think and feel out of my hands. Words become nothing. They die out in some version. I hear them, you hear them. Transformation.

Experience, fear, biases. Translate into a personal language. That makes the outside world meaningless. This is your song. What your have to say or think.

Breathe Again


In the corner of my eyes, breathes again. An apprehension that corners my movement. The lid has been removed. The contents left on the table. Saturation.

Can you pick up the pieces? Can you forge a meaning in a puzzle that your constantly throwing away the pieces? You can burn them but they'll never go away. You can run but they'll always follow. Like the vision in the corners of your eyes. Always clearest.


Spiraling


Bound the hands with bars that won't bend. Tear the eyes look inside you'll never see. The folds the cracks the opening. Shadows cast the vision's clouded. It's a maze I can't find may way out of. All around, hands are tied, eyes are down. I can hardly see.

I'm circling my images. Am I playing true to form? These tests aren't getting easier. Am I playing true to form? Lie to yourself. To make things easy to understand. Like what the truth should be.

Lonesome Jones



When gravity settles in. The pull makes your blood boil. As you step off for the last flail or kiss off. We'll sew your feet to the ground with fishing line.

It's so unsettling. It's bounded. I'm down with it. I'm down to see it breathe.

We'll get a big kick out of muddy fangs. A big kick out of gaping holes and fiery eyes. A lonesome jones just sitting there like cornered prey. Realizing that nothing ever changes. Because gravity is so unsettling. It keeps you in your place. It tells you to shut the fuck up. When the consoling stops.

A lofty attempt at something big. May gouge those shifty eyes. But the screams can't drown the laughter. Can't stop more pressing issues. The realization never changes.

Monday, April 20, 2015

The Defeatist


Insignificance... it lives. It breathes... breeds inside. Its consequences manipulate. Every step or action taking place.

For the fear of it showing. Itself in speech and thought. The fear of finally branding oneself. With all its beauty and grace.

There is no stranger to the self. No face beneath the mask. It's there flourishing. With every precaution to avoid the inevitable... What am I afraid of?