Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Moon Vault



Glowing time bombs, locked internally, intelligently growing among the bare bones of a passive armistice.

 Pacing across fossilized corridors at the speed of ancient sound. Warm in the embrace of healing tertiary layers.

Past, Fear, Far from Grace. Lost, Here, curious face.

I need you to search for me with the carefree precision of an archeologist. Lost in dreaming, a surgeon to the earth, oblivious to the iron codes of wastefulness.

This search is a joyful one. A treasure hunt. A labor of love.

At the bottom of this well, sounds from the surface collect and grow old, until the pressure of time gives birth to reflections.
 Entrusted to the care of a family of crystals
 that coax wax impressions of your immaterial face on the other side of the mirror.

Today, I remove my mask and bury it. Another delicate time capsule for you to extract, lured to the surface with the ringing of musical chords,
That unravel algorithms of interpersonal cosmogony.

Spread these artifacts out on a table of fire. Untouched by distraction as your guests pass by your door, as night gets darker, while reality bleeds out into a soundless ocean.


Friday, April 8, 2016

(operation overhead)

Intersect with Domino Country.
Vestige Collision path undetermined
Horizon of the Solar Plexus
Summer of the Dawn Particle



Dekong sorleratak
Shome vai behitil Vegkahna om dhelos
megatekletic  su mo ui,
Deshome behitil om.



Thursday, April 7, 2016

Up here. Always There.



Waking up from red persuasion, we have fallen dramatically like the curtain’s slumber.
Fearing erosion from Medusa's revision, saddened by the lobotomy of a river's crown.

There was, even in that time, a part of her that wished for the mirage of two tributaries.

Lack adds up. Wine cascades down into my sense of nearness to your litany. Which is better?

Up here we just the learn the patterns of the clouds. Moisture collecting at dawn across that horticulture you hopefully left behind.

Take this with you next time, even when your wish to disown entanglement warps the intestinal mirrors of Calcutta. 

Joyfully, aimlessly, endlessly, just because.

I don’t know what to do with you. Just the willows hope that you will grant their wish and stay.
Within your dance of dreamlike disintegration. Lucid before you give yourself up to our impersonations of your colorful contradiction.