Deafening

Silence dissolves all objects

Unrelated to any counterpart which belongs to the mind

Silence has nothing to do with the mind

It cannot be defined

It is our proximity that feels directly

Silence is restriction

It is feeling without a feeler

No intermediary, no circumscription

Sound which comes from silence is music

Pareidolia

Quite an inconsequential significance 

This recursive feedback loop is. 

Coming into the world the same as I will exit as:
An amnesic.

To think about the myriad ways impermanence manifests
To posture rewritten history upon innumerable sets of constants 
A totally useless ephemeral honor

Ouroboros type labor 

I see fun, beautiful nonsense controlling itself
Enfeebling entropic forces with rhythmic sanctity
Eluding all definition or description
Is the unremembered worth living?

I'm looking for a song more belletristic
I'm gonna miss it all
But I've got it Now
That diaphanous prepidatiousness in our eyes
And our mirrors which equivocate it right back to us

Keeping Heat

Waking up, I never went to sleep
My skin a bridge
As I enter the unspeakable world

Although not impenetrable, we are omnipotent
In the same way God made the mountains
My heart does not choose to beat

The tiniest waving particle provokes rhythm
The marriage of illusion to a futility however likely
There is no point in sustaining bliss

Going to sleep, I never wake up
My skin a fabric
Woven into the totality of reality

Concrete

Through dim eyes
Crunched paper bags half–empty bottles boxed
A frequent perched-on penchant
Form the borders of a sleeping/waking space

Don't fret my friend
Don't bend under the weight
Although I'm not sure what this two-fifty will do
Or what you will do with it

Specter

I am the man you can't describe
Walking down the street with no name
I dare you to look me in the eyes

Only in my mind I am free
My time on this Earth my only penny
Nothing else to do but turn in and see

I am the man you can't conceive
Void of thin air rastered foggy frost
Living on moments that cannot be retrieved

Only I am worn from my consistent stride

Almost forgotten for what I'm searching

God knows when I'll arrive

The Good Observer

I can describe but not explain
I am passionately indifferent, painfully observant, and obtusely cautious
Devoid of greater transcendence, unweighted by perspective
While like you, I seek unity and clarity

I can hope but not persuade
That you will follow my analysis
Of a state of mind at one point we have all shared
Permeating order and fiction
Scribbling out a path of transit
Makes no difference in my book

All the world is a stage
No choice but to play along
But I am ever so aware that I am an actor in this
And that is what makes me an Observer
I'll never know which is worse, only what most prefer

Memoria

Nascent coming to consciousness
Clothed in guilt and shame
Collectively detecting transcendence
Pure beauty is her mind's attention

Rush of dopamine and oxytocin
The synapses insist that
A sublime harmony exists that
Must be worth saving

As to whether this is something objectively true
Is this the same for me as it is for you?

Her mind is ephemeral
Has evil chosen her?
That lying, specious demon of hers
It must surely a part in this

Her memories are snuffed out
Can’t remember her name
She's changed her tune
But all around her stayed the same

Slow whispers enfold her
As their kindling draws about her
With a quiet asphyxiation
Turn from original sin

Faster Future

Killed by science
This specimen was a sight for poor men
While they stood there stone faced and silent
Each was afraid to ask when
The air became so stale and sordid
It was doing a more adamant job of holding them there than the floor did

Killed by wonder
This is an act of treason
On top of the chains was branded a most sobering: "The pinnacle of man's stand to reason! "
For now all our patience will be fulfilled
Every tear wiped dry
We have perpetuated life, we are no longer flies

Having lived our limbic legacy
The least of us will perennialize atavistic "potential"
For latent in us lies novelty sentimental

Coira

Errantly scattered from clouds
Like misguided lightning
We are forces of nature, too

But I am only a drop from the storm,
Soon I will evaporate until another takes my place

Law of Life

I who breathes,
breathes among six billion,
who speak vicariously with each other.
Who am I to them?

Those who cannot speak,
speak from within.
Home is within them.
They inherit the Lungs of the Earth.

And who has learned the limits of an individual,
a learned corpus of action and counteraction?
What has begun to invite such an eternal perseveration
inside of the most minimal existence?

He who knows,
knows what is undeterred by particulars and self-fulfilling:
The ancient law of life.

Out to Sea

Have you ever experienced something,
something that carries you to the brink of your self?
Something that almost rips you out of your own skin,
because your soul wants it more than life?

It takes me Out to Sea.
That vast and endless plane.
Timeless, always nascent.

Without even a glimmer of afterthought,
Patterns and images break on waves,
Amalgamated and free.

I cannot single-handedly tame it,
but I can guide ships.
I can teach others to navigate,
To weather storms, to command fleets.

For it is in that stormy sea,
That we are all in the same boat,
And owe each other a terrible loyalty.

Yes, there is something latent
In those peregrinating vessels that seek harbor.
It is my desire to diligently share with them,
the experiences that brought me Out to Sea.

Valtari

To the sound of your name,
I float like a ghost,
Wistfully.
Will sworn to meta-physicality.

Beyond any hill or heap,
I would mount the skies
No sooner than anything.

As you gradually pile among the clouds,
Your heavenly hosts,
Awaiting any chance at glory,
Shine stone-bright and inaudible,
Sacred and remote.

To the sound of your name,
I would march alongside them,
The steady beating of the chest our metronome.

Caged

I have no desire to subvert you
Some days I don't even feel it

I thought I was picking it right,
but it was the wrong lock
There was no lock
I'm locked up in here

Imbued with a mirror image,
I can't get it off my chest
I want to see you better.

If I use a skeleton key,

Then what do you think that makes me?

Frantically forcing the bolt to blow,
I neglected to keep your words in mind.
The shock wasn't exactly innocuous,
it knocked me right out of your head.

With my back against the bars,
I stared into the broken shard of mirror.
As I spoke the words, nothing audible expelled:
"Dead-center in the chest."

The Fly's Savior

A leaf on an oak is the cynosure
That great spire towards the heavens
Breaching.
I sneak clandestine leers against the Sun.
Nature's stare shakes us to our roots
A gentle breeze,
An indifferent maelstrom.

A Distant Cry

These worlds, seen as they lie,
Conditioning the lives of some
And anachronistically challenging others',
Inevitably become finely honed and carefully structured.

It comes like the thief in the night
To lead you to an overwhelming question,
Much like a quixotic dance
Or a Siren's song.

Where are you, o bellwethers
With that irenic equanimity,
Could you be the spark that ignites
With a concupiscent charity?