Hallucination

We always feel so heavy when we're high--

We think an altered mind will make us fly.

Salvation

A painting is a meditative space

Whose beauty lifts the troubled soul to grace.

When They Won't Listen

Here's one of life's neglected rules:
Don't waste your time with drunks and fools.

Finding Happiness

I see deep beauty everywhere, in everything
And thus I've found true happiness--of it I sing.

The Shirpa

Behold the god I froze in fractal time--
He now survives forever in my rhyme.

Messenger

Before you look at angels with delight
Remember Lucifer is one, named "Light."

You In Here

As poet there is nothing I can do
About the fact that all you read is you.

Misreaders

You think my poems analyze or blame?
Then you don't know how poems play the game.

Schumpeterian Poetry

Embrace destructive creativity
In all its lovely ambiguity.

An Epigram

I pray one day my words in my mind's womb
Will stay here on the earth as my mind's tomb.

Origins

We once were gibbons singing through the trees
Our voices carried on the morning breeze

And with our choral singing there above
We marked our territory told of love

We walked upright among the branches swung
To reach red fruit and all the while we sung

Of joy and happiness then we came down
And walked the ground and built from every noun

And split our song to Beethoven and speech
So we could gossip smalltalk even preach

But when we're at our best and when we long
We revert back to Shakespeare and to song.

Leading My Chariot

My horses, black and white, on wings they flew --
A panther and a snow leopard will do.

The Cockroach On My Coffee Cup

I must construct myself, discover who
I plan to be, erect an ego through

The forces, personalities all bent
On normalizing. Once, when greatness meant

A recognition of the beauty in
A soul, a mind, a masterpiece, the sin

Was in destroying it, but now the goal
Is to ignore -- degrade, de-wing -- the soul,

Ensure sweet ignorance prevails. A moth
In feather-felt dim evenings where the wroth

Can hide their hatred, or a butterfly,
Kaleidoscoping color fractals high

About the treetops in the sun in joy --

Who do you want to be, become? I show
My choice in eddied words, constructal flow

Of sounds that shape the unseen bed beneath
The surface lying like the truth. A wreath

Of words I weave in bold cliches and smart
Mixed metaphors to challenge workshop art.

A bold embrace of green surrealist tropes,
Postmodern nihilistic nonsense gropes,

Rejecting them through my embrace with lines
Romantic poets might have penned defines

My style, of who I choose to be, embrace.
Thus those who fear me fear I will displace

Their worlds -- I will, with all I can employ.

Umwelts

We came into the darkened room of time
And recognized its change throughout its climb.

Illusion

The mountain rises high into the sun –
The light that shines, it makes all things as one.

Renaissance

When we see Sappho marry Barthelme,
The art of words will be renewed, and free.

Holsteins

The cattle stand upon the hill at night
And moo the moon to milky white delight.

Telemachus' Lament

The wind that whips across the shining sea
Brings tales of loss and love back home to me.