Lips Stuck

Tremors of shuttered light blind me at this height and I can hear the squeaking of rusted metals grinding.

Sun burns hot on black leather sticking to damp cotton and the breeze lifts the light again.

Is this moment when?

Waiting with breath held tight a shift in posture and release comes with chilled ache.

Saturday night was the last time I saw Moon and she wore red lipstick.

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Druthers

I’d rather be elsewhere, out of this abyssal dream; for no longer could the woulds of yesterday propel me onward down this path.

To remain asleep would be akin to self-preservation but also equal its death.

I’d rather speak not, as my eyes open; for in this moment I can see more than words could become expressions.

To say that which cannot be described in speech would convolute its very meaning.

I’d rather wonder, rather than know; for knowing would mean no longer imagining.

To cease creative thought would mean to burst the bubble of divine inspiration.

I’d rather be awake rather than not be, would rather see rather than speak and would rather think rather than cease to inspire.

Calcine My Thought

How is the air we breathe

among broken bulbs

and scattered hopes?

There’s a cure over there, a miracle here,

sudden success and luciferous luck;

on the wall, the ceiling,

the coughing couch,

and the laughing lounger.

Love is contagious,

laughing is infectious,

the hiccups are viral,

and yawning is a phone

call to calcined denizens.

I’m A Lyrical Gangster – On Religion, Or So You’re Told

A Man and a Woman create a Life,
raising an infant with Faith to appease Strife.

With air to breathe,
the child has the breath to believe-
in the higher power that is Love,
we look to the sky above.

Stories passed from old to young,
behold the power of the human tongue:

Bountiful Gaia provides all we need,
from shelter to food in the mouths we feed.

Gratitude turns to Servitude,
make way for Greed,
up goes the value for the earthly seed.

Tools make weapons when there isn’t enough,
Death manifested sure makes Life tough.

A human falls, alive no more
Hope for revival turns into Heavenly Lore.

“Make Peace, not War,” some have said,
but nobody’s returned after they’ve been dead.

Death brings about Fear of Death and dying,
emotions collide,
there is Pain in crying.

Belief emerges in that which there’s no denying,
and Light is shown upon the face of Truth.

Truth be told, Truth be written,
Fear is the bug by which all are bitten.

Manifest Death, manifest Fear,
Hope and Faith make Angels appear.

You can be saved, if you believe
Life is worth living when you know how to leave
all of your Pain and suffering behind-
just be grateful, peaceful, loving and kind
because
after Death there is a better place-
full of Love, Acceptance and Grace.

And for those that folly from Truth,
remember,
Betrayal of the masses robs one’s Youth-
for you’ve been warned of a place called Hell,
where you go after a life lived unwell…

or so you’re told

It is Fear that strikes the mighty blow
into hearts uncertain of where they’ll go.

Who’s Hungry Enough To Eat Now?

The killer of killers has come to breakfast,
he’s hungry but not enough so for eggs and bacon.
Patrons of the diner there to order their belly fulls,
but none can speak, for all have sinned.
They wait, watching with eyes as wide as dinner plates,
palms wetter than the space between their legs,
mouths still full of pre-chewed grub and swill,
hearts like locomotives barreling towards a wall,
suddenly realizing the only way out is through him.

Thickening Shell

Safe inside my bold cocoon,
I knit from Memory’s tendrils.
All this time I’ve stood alone,
carrying duffle bags of broken forks,
gathering nails from beneath my feet,
and painting the walls a dark maroon.

Concrete crumbles against my shole,
I brace with a glass of discomfort.
So long it’s been with my back broken,
listening to silver tongues spit poison,
bruising from adrenaline’s jittery fists,
and tethering my heart to a lump of coal.

Darkest hours build thickest layers,
I harden my soul sip by sip.
The time has come to stand up again,
Coiling threats into tin clumps,
Fortifying my shell with an impasse,
and allowing myself to forget all cares.

A Long Thought

* As long as there is thought, there can never be a present.*

Say farewell to the days, as they go by,
for they are never one
and the same.

Each day brings forth
a changed sun,
a new sun,
and each night
brings the same
moon against an aging wall of broken stars.

Why bother to understand
what you already know,
the sun always shines
and moon,
a deformed rock reflecting the sun,
always reflects.

Why give thought to
the sun and the moon,
both sources of light,
always sources of light.

Or

Why give thought to
the stars that twinkle,
projecting,
just enough
light,
just far enough
to resemble
pinholes, in a
seemingly endless vacuum of space,
always twinkling.

As the days go by,
and the nights go by,
how often do we realize
that sun is still shining,
the moon is still reflecting,
always reflecting,
and the stars still twinkle
the same light,
always the same light.

Is there really a past?
Can there be a future?

How can we tell the difference
if all we have is
the present moment
and our memories.
Can memories be trusted,
or are we unknowingly deceived by them,
over and over again,
constantly making up yesterdays
and hoping for a future,
from Memory’s fancy,
that never comes.

Are the voices in our heads
from the past
or the future,
and can it be
that both
past and future
may be unknown to us.

The only certainty
is that not even the present
is certain,
for the present is the most deceiving
of all,
always changing.

Can it be, that
our memories are not
just from the past, but
also from the future?

Was not the past once the present?

Is the future a prediction,
a mere thought,
or more of
an expectation of an extension, of
the present and past.

What about the present,
the most short lived of all,
instantaneously becoming
the past, and
incapable of being the future.

Can we say that
there is no present
but that we are either
holding on to the past
or worrying about the future?

If, there is no past,
no present,
or future,
because our minds
are forever expanding,
forever creating,
then what is there?

The answer is simple;
there is only Thought.