You for ick & X-Stacy

Tantalize me, blind me
with only the very tip
of touch
by bare skin, finger-
tip and thirsting tongue
piquancy tastes of infusion
and shutterless delusions

Sip and savor
thick honeyed pleasure
open viscous and slow,
collecting each drop contains
seven heavens
in one sin

Shall we begin
by a scent
magnet eyes,
enrapt by craving
connection, in conductive curiosity
never killed the unseen energy
crackling its static ring
of five
alive
ones

And generosity
left to ecstasy
takes lying down
where I would
see
in twice meant
lurid along making life lines
by hand.



Drawing by By Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri de (Unknown) c. 1896 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

To Rise Above

To Rise Above

does not challenge

volume of voice;

Rather, 

to Rise

we must become

light-er.

Start by letting go

of what was never able

or willing to support your weight-

in words;

it may be all ready 

too late

to try to fly

on your own.

Up or down, to fall or float

dares us to face that timid demon;

in doing so, we learn 

a bit about freedom-

not of choice or right, 

as in 'Fight or Flight',

but to maintain and conserve

the quiet right 

to let go.

And move on,

to knowing

there is much more

than time

to exist and resist

changes 

of the heart.

Painting by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson (1802) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Pass the looking glass

Face your fears,
is always more than
a dare,
underlying there is
the resurgence and recurrence
brought back by time and tide

Heavy in the air
inoculable preoccupation
to reflect
the return
a long lost relative redness
in the cheeks,
the submarine crystal eyes,
tiny peeks in a clouded
mirror

and there stares
back the terror of truth,
thicker than mist
draining all the same
Vain
by surface shine
in a spectacle
she sees a blind slave
whose never seen herself
anything but brave.

Painting By Tarbell, Edmund Charles (1862 - 1938) – Artist (American) Details of artist on Google Art Project [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Second helpings

It would be asking too much
if someone said
wait one-thousand-milliseconds,
one hundred jiffy's,
a billion nanoseconds, or a Fermi
but really that sounds silly,
so seconds it is to please be quick-
witted, reactive to surfaces
as echoes and sound is also a wave
that warbles along at seven hundred
and sixty
miles per second,
superficially.

Just so you know, it is all calculable by
a minuscule measurement of  radiation
and reach, emitted by caesium (-133),
tiny things we cannot see nakedly
invaluable like love and currency.

Honestly, you should know also
that it takes 6 full grown alligator
seconds to gain any kinetic benefit,
by stretch or strain,
of any muscle-through release or gain.
And all should plan appropriately,
it takes twenty-one seconds to pee-
really
on average
you have been warned
seconds and faith
take quantum leaps.

In one unjust second, a bullet barrels by
two thousand five hundred feet
while a snail sidles over a puddle
cruising 1 chasmic centimeter
and in that same moment
we swallow, we make thoughts,
we blink, we take it in, more than oxygen-
we reminisce wanting more from before...

the world changes drastically for one
second, and
again,
firsts are never enough
for any one
Now.



Painting by Johannes Vermeer, (b/w 1655 and 1667) 'The Art of Painting' in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Hand me downs

I never claim to know is mine, 

                                                     alone.

Perhaps it is a preference of plagiarism,

a nose for improper prose,

an insatiable appetite for 

all ilks of altruistic anthema

I could not think 

of a better wheel design.

We have learned.

Where there is smoke was once

                                                    on fire.

Needs and devours

as borrowed without interest.

Solutions are simple echoes, 

                                                   echoes

what you said you heard

and comes back if it hits the right note

accord.

You know how others wrought words 

                                                    work

more harmonized than mine, 

in truth themselves together 

as wording that works

for real-ity-itty-bity life-like

                                             Projects

and Practice.

By stretch of imagination or by the life-

span of a metaphor

                                                    by suspension 

and leaps

abound archaic and built to last

for a time-as taut truth

entwined in tension.

Look 

out. 

Given eyes 

                                                    to see, 

Only art may remind us why

color is requisite to sight.

And why white space is free 

breath. 

To covet a glance, off the top 

take without change 

of rubberized opinion

or overcharge for overdrawn spirituality

                                                    from a paper One.

I imagine 

remembering clearly-

                            some scattered lines of poetry

in tangled threads, 

rags over-stiched spines, 

poets opine over each others

dead bodies doing it wrong

turning the soil, lying there

and re-cultivating the Garden of

                                                   I Will

re-Discover.

                                          Know only 

slowly may one go

to pull open space we need

vacancies never free, but insist

on appearance and flow from Others 

Currents

pulled into time by tide. 

                                           Drifters

we are all sifters, thieves 

of sureness,

presenters of possibilities,

tailors 

                                           of time-

space,

altering whose in whose

reality-one time, 

rerunning reminiscences

and savoring our own essence

familiar

in-decadence in fortitude

never mine in any time-frame

                                           alone.

Image By Charles Robinson (The Happy Prince and Other Tales) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Lip locked

“ Matter turns out to have no other substance than spirit itself…In a pure monism it would make no real difference whether we called the one reality God or Nature, mind or matter, water or fire or will, since in any case this substance must be the seat and source of every kind of distant existence…The great stream of “life” is said to run through matter…” -Previously Unpublished Essays of George Santayana, John and Shirley Locks (1969)

We all collide in photonic pride,

mix and co-mingle our palettes

to each his own.

Humanity.

Expressing our cannibal cravings 

in a hungry kiss

as an arc of attraction

thru and through exchange

of energies

as Desire.

Fruits of our Labors.

Mind molds matter  

more perceptibly erected

as spiritual sculpture; 

foundations for 

the body in clay.

Is symbiosis the essence of 

phenomenal bliss, sweet

soul mates in super symmetry?

Dualism fusing with monism,

electromagnetic discharge 

as feedback static

grounded on belief

in single resolution

holographic by belief?

Negative. 

I feel the friction 

in the denial of not knowing

the all that all do

under clear conviction

that nothing is known, certainly,

except what we don't know

Absolutely

nobody knows as much as he doesn't

in real time, 

or (f)actually.

Embrace the wind,

a kiss blown, a fallen star, 

a swollen heart or dry eye

moves nothing but air.

And there we stand, firm-

trying to get through

mind over matter.

“I might sustain the theme indefinitely that you nor I nor anybody knows as much as he doesn’t know. And that isn’t all: there is nothing anybody knows, however absolutely, that isn’t more or less vitiated as a fact by what he doesn’t know.” -Robert Frost

Painting by Edvard Munch, "The Kiss" (1897) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Believing in Ghosts

A nice break 

to heal...

The real world awaits

-our authentic attention-

not to mention

(Your) Life is not on(the)line

& is most simply an Alt. identity; 

salty audience driven arrogance

boasting and posting 

egotistic in-

significancies

(please)

 

Pixelated phantasies thrive

in social (media) circles,

round and empty 

vacuum souls.

Dive deeper into delusion,

alternate versions of you illusory

packaged for others to see,  

so-Pretty-are all empty (boxes),

apparitions inside avatars

for show.

Friends, 

Floating in your mainstream

is not what it may seem

carried with the flow

surface deep on Lethes 

and Styx. 

Not only ghosts 

pass through doors

of intangibility.  

Painting by Théodore Chassériau [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.