I thought I could outsmart myself again, and dodge fate. That just is not possible to do. The stars have decided and now I live out the epithet of my days. I had a dream last night that I somehow ended up in the psycho ward in a hospital of some kind it was for some unknown reason that I went to this place firstly, but by no fault of my own I was admitted and found myself in a drugged incapacitated state. I lethargically argued to no avail that I was obviously mistaken for someone else and that I needed to be released without delay. I was ignored and lay in a bed made for a crazy man and slipped in and out of consciousness due to the administration of various drugs. Finally I slept out of the drug stupor and was able to convince a female nurse that there had been a mistake. I simply told her that I was married and had four kids and that my wife and I attended University. She answered in disbelief that she would arrange for my release, and that what I told her was enough to make anyone crazy…

Winter has always provided such a sense of alertness for me by making keen my senses and pricking my physical frame with cold needles of ambiance. Congruently though, there is also a sense of lurid night that holds dreams of winter sleep in the bosom of the earth. Like a kiln the dreams of winters slumberous tomb cook and cure in the heart of the soft visions. I walk through dreams in nights such as these. Today I walk in the transit between these two worlds of day and dreams light and the break of winter night's frigid somberness. I will walk in the wake of the crisp parcel of frozen dew at the apex of a lunar crescendo. This day is my night. The will-o'-the wisp knows me.

It almost wasn't even a dream really it was more like a waking dream. I feel my legs pulled up knees in palms on my side in fetal curl and somehow I am drawn out of myself and I see my body but only briefly then I am entirely contained in a shell I feel the soft almost leathery shell and I realize that I am actually a seedling of some type. I have a predominant feeling that it is a kidney bean that is struggling to sprout. Then I feel the chemical reaction within myself inside my shell, as the turbulent transformation takes place what is internal is moved out through a touch of an opening in the lining. Then as a moth leaves its cocoon, my spirit which has been slumbering pushes through the orifice. This will be a sequence that takes any undefined amount of time perhaps hours even. However, once the sequence has been navigated I emerge now awake. I feel like I am peeling layers off that are soft and damp sweated like solder and hardening in the air as I belaboring breathe.

Levitate
they call out "Son of a bitch!"
dark night thick like pitch
rooftops likened to the tips of my dragging toes
bend down the lampposts and try my nature at floating above the bastards that stole my skateboard where are
they
now
lumberjacks eating buffalo chips on the lunch bell
dropping hints of manhood
facade
crumbling bread crust in the hand by the duck pond
water still
Nutria's eyes demonic
hold my heart
on the pointed tops of evergreen crests
over in the valley there
are thoughts seeking out bronze in the linings of clouds
that graze the Cascades
The valley echoes every bit of lust and endeavor for understanding.
The deep void of the night can be risen above
And I guarantee it.
I guarantee.
I ---rant--.

Vox Deo

Parlay
Donde estas
Guten Abend
Blood on the hammer
Blood on the hammer
Knot in the scarf
Knot in the scarf
Bludgeon the blackguard
Bludgeon the blackguard
Hold the team down
Hold the team down
Necessitas
Oligarchy
Oligarchy
Dramatist
Dramatist
Underhanded
Pitch
Writhe
Scythe at the brow
Scythe at the brow
Infants turn
Mother spurn
Yoke lead broken
Yoke lead broken
Heaven help us our
Sheets to the wind

"Leonardo"
That despicable void that takes up the space between aspiration and action has the vacuous nature of sucking up thoughts and ideas never to be seen again. Where dreams meet the hard road, there is a cloud of dust. Dust kicked up by a galloping horse and rider that speeds ahead to touch a horizon of hopeful skies. Days bygone are certainly gone not to be touched not to be seen in dreams the images and ambient energy surrounding events or even days that seemed uneventful come back together and we can see that void is filled to capacity with the knowledge of existence and eternal creation of which you cry out as part. Who rode out ahead? Was it perhaps you on a better wind, or was it aspiration that took flight without regret riding forth regarding not your apathy and short breath