A PSYCHEDELIC SMATTERING TO WET THE SYNAPTIC RESPONSES

In lieu of what is currently owed

—PSYCHONAUT XIII

The Drill, The Hammer and The Dust

This moment. This one. right here. This is the one.

It’s the only thing that’s real.
Everything else, illusion.
The drill, the hammer, and the dust.
This one. Right here.

Light shoots through the options,
transparent, temporary and taken from their frames.
I’m too bruised to notice,
but there’s a blush rolling under this skin,
something brushed aside,
another stow away.

Warm bourbon breaks the branch,
blends months, years, decades
into a single second;

seeing the seams,
template testimonials
served up iron sided.
Shedding a layer,
skinning a symbol.

I know my own shadows when i see ’em.
Streaks of scars running through the moment
this light hits the grain.
The cursor, a crucifix;
the result, indifference.

Bending space
between objects and falling fast.
Dishing out the destruction
in an effort to dictate
one demon to another.
Striking while the shit is saucy:
that’s the secret
to the street bound shadows
of an angle coming down the sidelines
when all you need is straight.

Desperate measures ensure difficult times.
It’s all in how you work at it.
There’s the wall and the water,
two coins with the same side.
They define the difference in a balance
while destroying what was.

And what’s left?
After decimation has its decree
and the lines are all dead,
cut off at the connection
just to make a semblance of sanity
while the slip takes center stage?

The dust.
The particles that are
and once were.

Transformed by circumstance
into the tyranny of tears
crushing in your chest
because the cruise is over.

I can reject it all i want,
but it all calls to
the same rejection I’ve received.

To do or not to do?
To escape this experience
or allow it?
All those points of life
left in the dust
of our crashing.

__________

 

Where It Isn’t

I am the space
between the rock
& the hard place.

I am
trapped beneath
a veneer
shed & shaken memories
pushed inside innocence
& pressed to form a function.

A question
beset with its kin,
beside its quest,
queuing creative juices
and jumping to the business end
of getting a line out of your head;

Holding it to the light,
limber,
& slowly turning it
aft & fore,
starboard to port
and back again;

Examining not only its exterior,
but gorging on its interior
& becoming where it isn’t.

We brush against winds.
Tides turn our wander
until we’re derailing
down the hill
with the rest of life’s debris,
caught up in a super nova
ready to implode
& sprout rivers where we stand.

Can you pour out all that is
to receive the one end
that needs no justification?

Can you squeeze the last drops
of every definition you hold so dear
to regain what cannot be lost,
but only buried beneath
buckets of bullshit?

Clarity is just a word,
a concept that leaves us confused.
We look for the spaces between cousins
and decide to divide our afternoons
by our mornings.

Dancing on wishes
washing the soul’s sheets
in that sweet water
that comes from paying attention
to the tiny apertures,
zooming the present in 7,
out of focus
as the future floats just ahead
on a swarm of possibilities,
planting seeds of realities,
yet to reap yesterday’s due diligence;
pressing forward
fortifies the cause.

__________

 

My heart.
Today it’s a big as the multiverse itself
& the tears fall for no discernible reason.

There is a joy,
a happy underneath it & behind it;
the motivation is clear,
like the water lines on my wrinkling face.

I wouldn’t do a thing to change this.
I wouldn’t change a thing about the map,
the pages & roads that got me here,
that lead me to this place of absolute surrender;
of coiling & uncoiling,
of folding & unfolding,
but I refuse to close it off.

I refuse to rebuild a wall that may well have kept the dangers out
but also kept me
& this love I leverage in.
Trapped behind the trials & tribulations,
between the sheets of time
& timing.

There is a freedom
that flickers in the illumination of investigation.
Showing me the way
past my initiation into this
& to the fountains of forgiveness
that i know are the only way to fly.

Bruised & tender as it is,
it still cries;
it still seeks out
& studies the lines of thought
that struck my first step
onto this small path.
The pain i refused to let go of—
so familiar, it had become my only family—
has been forged into the love that acceptance
knows all too well
& allowed it to be
for no other reason
than to continue through the fire
of the freedom I fancy.

My heart is the fire,
the pain the wood,
my attention to it the wind.
Pervasive.
Passionate.
Passing only what needs to be left behind
so that the future can grow as it will.

__________

 

Know, Thyself

putting a comma there seems to leave a different impression
to know
thyself

that break of breath
this moment of hesitation
opens up a different world
the gates of the mind
and the key of the word

Decompresses
Deciphers
Decodes
some deeper idea
but you got to dive in
delve into the cool blue definition of the idea
drink in everything you think you understand
allow it to pass through you
leaving more than enough room
for the next
wave

not
to have understanding
OF
one’s own self
but to have understanding
FOR
one’s self

as above, so below
arsenic and lemon
arson’s anthem
burned history’s pages to pave way
for what you will write
destruction is a form of creation

leaving it without a period
let it trail off and become what it will
but make it become something
bring back those born instincts

breathe life into dancing skeletons
breaking barriers like bones

hear that?
that’s you Hailing Yo’self.

 

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