O Gentle Highway...

To take this in segments, may be the very necessity I belong to.
Having not known any other paths to placate assumptions
Am I to tolerate the devices that now program my method to love?
I tinker on the dashboard of all my design

I shall see, in the murky light of all I follow, as I dangle that bone of contention
Grasping the tendrils of freshly ripped oxygen, decrepit, these elbows that punch inward.
The beat of this evening drum, assaults me as I scramble to wreak carnage on mirrors
This wreckage is blatant, carnivorous and all-consuming.

The Lovesong of The Detached, is now roaring into muscle
Burning the surface of all ache; skin is useless here as I wander into the oblivion
Of all my unknown weakness; brandishing knives in dark corners
Looking to slit veins that bleed broadly among organs that double-task

Sing me a song in Swedish that I may assign my own meaning
To allow the molting of decay to begin, and not stop until the rosy sky of dusk returns.
A quandary of cells has belted itself in strong, stubborn iotas yield a chorus - grotesque
Muslin for skin, stained with restraint; who am I amidst this busted glass and drivel?

Scorched, tempest blares, bloated deformities rise, as nuances of destruction become exalted.
The disdain plastered to my temples, recoils in the abject humiliation of recognition
O gentle highway, remuneration - nearby... Come coax the mountain down and away from itself
Glorified in the rubble of forgiveness.

This dark hair frames a stranger with eyes too solemn to recognize, the basted glow of loneliness.
Had I burnt my history to a crisp, where would my today reign?
Iron-encrusted epicenters of emotionless frivolity latch themselves against-
A buoyant determination to hang tight until comprehension exceeds doubt

Quilted care immobilizes all I seek to burden, these words - these words - this ink...
This ink that crawls blindly, withering away at my resolve;
What, in this night, believes in, believes if, believes in belief
Futuristic plateaus dart about in their discovery, irking some semblance of acknowledgement

A banyan tree to shade these feelings, to umbrella my urge to wail; to waken sleeping comfort
That roams in a brutal coma of deceit. This turbulent aura is tiresome, seeking care to elucidate calm
I crave a gentility from life that I am lacking, to lengthen the meaning of strongly pumped arteries
Prowling for some good on a night akin to softness and the ethereal flow of contentment.

How can they not go hand in hand, the lover and the fighter - ever spinning on the root of existence?
I suspect they tango long into that night that whispers faintly, of love without boundary
There was a time when to analyze a moment meant to capture the bewilderment of bliss
Bliss found in the sigh of understanding and reconnaissance of pleasure

Pleasure, a syndrome that  pounds the halls of unwise choices yet continues to love just the same.
I seek the glistening nutrient that covets erogenous meaning, built on volumes of depth
Not flagrant, misguided satisfaction, burned down by the wilting memory of delusion.
So, to carry on in wisdom-infused purpose is the order of my 'now'.

To bow to the feisty spirit of adventure, with remembrance that life be tasted when the ardor swells.
Anything less is an offense to the many memories of youth and all her wild abandon.

Is

A soul, as it speaks, is weightless in its curiousness 
Fluid, in its susceptibility, intuitive to need 
Colloquial, effortless, sensitive
Brave within its vulnerability.

Relating

Frequencies relating to wavelength
Relating to energy, relating mass;
Constrictions doling out conscripts
To pass or fail-
Enough vacillating.
Bounce responsibly from concept to result
Resolute in 'String Theories'
Strumming,
Vibrato belted
Time lapse
Continued.

Clear

How honest can I be about the nature of my needs;
To what level of revelation can I elevate
My willingness to transpose what I fixate upon,
And set it free to billow out and away from my protection
Without the slightest bit of remorse or expectation?

The spectrum stretches in any direction,
What influence will cause this day to plunge
To pull away from the trusted privacy of all I horde
Allowing nerve the free reign of full throttle
To break free from closure and inactivity-

Into a world filled with translucent meaning?

Drowned.

I remember a time, when the song played softly, just before bedtime.
A reminiscence I love to recall, though this today holds true to that time.
Hope was pouring in quietly, as potential held its hand, firmly, confidently, controlled.
This aged version wonders, in all those years that reach from then into this now-
What has woven itself into the striations of muscle that I was born with, to carry me through?
Beyond the regression of daring, my steady grip has tightened in what has now come to be known as
Hesitation. Twice-thought tripled by ten, decisions that still shout out for signs
Signs that best laid intentions will not always seem prudent, and so too, must they be examined.

Should I flay these words with a slice of ignorance-bliss?
Pour the elbow-laden grease into strokes upon canvas that prime promise?
Practical magic is there, living in the place I call home, longing for hands to poise and strike
Galloping off into a day spent 'well-dreaming' into ribbons of liquidity, born of ego-less demeanor.
Reasons have been coagulating for scores of months, stemming the flow of therapeutic valuables
Criteria breaking breakthroughs that lift me, heavy-handed and judiciously
Into the prowess carving mega-highway of idea-birthing wonderment.
I'm tripping in and out of the fryer: burning, sizzling, blubbering about, in a snot-dripping waste.

The mail, it comes and goes; the weather, it has its way; the clouds travel unaffectedly
The cars puke smog; the chatter of materialistic garbage peaks; the swapping of what is and what was-
Falling, jumping, running, grasping, clamoring, stammering, hammering...
The noise of insignificant inefficiencies, deafening my demeanor, bereavement- beware
What is the use of all this discombobulated abandonment of reasoning and enrichment?
I'm dragged here often, into the bane of daily motor skills; a place where priorities piss off
Pilfered, prognoses perturbed.. protagonists packed punch, pulling prowess- purged.
Immersion of that place in my heart that hides just out of reach, to this self that could use its love.

"Hands and feet are all alike, but fear between divides us..."
This song, again, this movement, this modem delivering messages; a modicum of 'The Right Stuff'
But still I "turn away..." "Human as to human..." "The future is no place to place your better day"
"Hands and feet are all alike, but fear between divides us..." "How can I turn away...?"
"Human as to human... the future is no place to place your better days."

I hear you, I feel you, I embellish nothing in this time of heavy heart and uncertainty
I hold fast to decisions that were driven hard into the earth and set in stone with cemented haste
I stretch and moan on the mornings that attempt to 'do me in' as my mind wanders loosely
I this- I that- I- I- I clamor, stammer, hammer this self- this being am I, living under constraints
The blueprint is being made, the wind, might I add, must blow forward, advancing on proof
That yes, this time was difficult, and yes, I felt a touch of scraped knees when the day pushed hard
But more importantly, beyond the wrath of my self-criticisms, I loved where it mattered.
I have four hearts to cherish and uplift; the rattle and hum of all else be drowned. Period.

Smoke and Mirrors

A lean attempt
To lower resistance
Resilience, sought
-with a fine toothed comb.
Harrowing,
This consistency, day after day,
Impaled upon inactivity,
Unwillingness,
Morose guilt.
Who am I in this bereft greyness?

Feathers dance
I recognize their joy
The wind's consistency-
Guaranteed.
Arbitrary loss
Performs nightly
Among the ballad of the starved.
The blame, tacked heavy to my breast
Effusive drivel
Tacky.

Who am I
Slowing for corners
Plowing thickly
Through basalt
Defeated.
Shame reflects
Bouncing off triggered intent
To woo and then choke
Any would-be brethren
Canalize.

Carnality
Bent on victory
A fissure, a cleft, a minuscule deft
One inkling of 'open'
To pry and dig
Arpeggio's amplify
The movement of Love-
Returning.
To ricochet and regale
This microcosm of beauty.

How is it I came
To argue so boldly
With my own softness?
To punch and drag- kicking
That vulnerable cause
To love and be loved
In an ode to the Sky;
The Sea; to blissful degree?
Barren, my vault
To explain these offenses

Speeding up,
Roaring defenses are cut
Nipped in buds
Plagued no more
By the stunted aroma
Of perfume turned bad
From the rot of regret.
I can only make amends
To the pitch that wailed away
Irretrievable moons.

The dialogue is oozing
And I am less a proctor to safety
Now that evidence presents itself.
Jurisprudence -encore
For the second day running
Slivers spray outward
Spines twist
Readying...
Bromide weakens.
Thank fuck.

I'm coming
Into a difference
In a manner of speaking
Innuendos, beware.
Igloo, melting
Ignition, sparked
Igneous rule

Ignoring,

Idle chatter.
Indelible.

Broken

Nothing but wind to disrupt the natural patterns
Of a life lived secular, strong, devout.

Birdsong and coffee, bond me to the morning
It is a clean life, away from the machination of others
Pushed out and for miles in revolt of mankind;
Forged metal and hinges that squeak from use
Careless hands, unwelcome.

This imagined world holds room for one
One, along with one mind - expanding.

Hold fast to this assumption
That eventually, time will afford itself
The luxury of love, touched with purpose.
Purpose, poignant, licked everywhere
Proportionally- welcome.

The day loosens its scripted intent
Formality dissolves as gentle reminders take flight

The birdsong turned amorous now knows envy
The verdigris of 'lack-of-use' glows,
Warm skin coos for company as the old standard dies out
Encrypted in logic, layers of understanding
Flake away softly at first, aware of growling silence

Then, slowly, the quiet bangs drums and every hemline I own bewitches me.
I'm fucked by overbearing needs, demanding yield

Meet me down the familiar road that only you and I know
Touch me without speaking,
Your hands trace over this neckline of mine-
Landing with a boom,
All ache breaks free

Fever-
Broken.