.This is for then.

I Scribbled all the notes,
the tiny letters down
embalmed and anchored
tied and weighted ,
Think they call them heavy notes captive insoles,

hostages invaders,
tiny fingers hold the fibers of the paper
Reminders of you.
You can only do my bidding when my concerns outweigh my faults
rusty one sided breached gates
for when I have you book marked and saved
still life, dove tail joints, dog-eared contented a hug goodbye replaced, atonement.
When my spine is a crumpled paper giant, my brain merely dust.
You are the constellations in my installations and grains of truth

Without consideration or ordered hesitation
Hypoxic, hyperbolic
myth or fable now, a consulate left the names for someone else to say
Climb inside
allowance its all downhill and ablaze
tongues are truths
forged from steel
no serendipitous man to catch or repeal
No brace or hope or cape to cope.
be a sword, even reality is composed of twigs.
Under wired and underwear is unawares
My mother deceased now origins of myth
wrote my name
on the inside of underpants.
For fair trading?
She decanted a soul
I walked pantless to become closer to what I was.
Wear my Underwear on The outside
Model the system on educating people with the notion of Epic
self respect and empathy and acceptance

Cultivate Inside
wear it on the outside
in the hope of losing aptitude resistance  hesitance
a wish for resilience, depth and spectacular blistering

because names come from Legends
swearing doesn’t come from a lack of vocabulary,
perhaps insensitivity and aberrant hostility,
I fight fires with all the fucking words.
and none of them transcend or abate,
some speak the same epic language in synchronicity in tune with the irregularity, Infused, transfused red, white harmony
in synergistic angularity,
or perhaps due to the Arrhythmic beating chemical, electrical heart pumping mechanical familiarity . .

The ReturnAn …


The Return

An Idea ran about the world
screaming with the pain of the mind
until it met a child
who stopped it with a word.

The Idea leaned over those newborn eyes
and dreamed of the nature of things:
the nature of memory and the nature of love;
and forgave itself and all men.

Quieted in a sea of sleeping
the Idea began its long return –
renewed by the child’s sea-colored eyes
remembered the flesh, smiled and said:

I see birds, spring and the birthplace
unknown by the stable stone.
I know light and I know motion
and I remember I am not alone.

The Idea voyaged nearer my breathing, saying
Come balance come
into the love of these faces and forces
find us our equilibrium.

And the child stirred, asking his questions.
The Idea grew more fleshly and spoke:
Beaten down I was
Down I knew very long
Newborn I begin.

And the child went on asking his questions.

The Idea journeying into my body
returned, and I knew the nature of One,
and could forget One, and turn to the child,
and whole could turn to the world again.

Until the pain turns into answers
and all the masters become askers
And all the victims again doers
And all the sources break in light.

The child goes alive, asking his questions.
Muriel Rukeyser