history - (my father bleeds - v2)

my father bleeds his voice into mine
the womb was a communication with my mother
i am a song that sung deep with the belly of the universe
a whisper that grew
became something entirely different
breathing a breathe my own
separating from the things that made me what i am
i am who they are together
and something else entirely
i am what is left
when they are no longer
i am the fluttering of my fathers eyelids when he slept
i am the curve of my mothers hips
and the weak knees of my grandfather
i am things unknowable
and i will be the same for mine
when my voice bleeds into another

stretch the sweet inscrutable

stretch the sweet inscrutable mended moments the recesssed room of memories the suede the textures of the past the darkened sunned and yellowed what was so pertinent so powerful as the present its presence is now deluted in the distance of time the space between doing and examination the shell the shedded skin false father of true son self that still remains
the needle drops the notes descend the music is a bitter pain a taste that sleeps but restless on the tongue in the ear and in the face of itself again timing played out the same again youre the one who has changed this is not as it was before now that it is again and same has no similarity dissect the truth your dissent of the past effrontery in presence of similutude negligence of the frame around the photo the age has changed the shape and colour
the curving curtsy of servitude your memory time is not transparent in your sight its secrets not bare before your hands prying

time is ripe

time is ripe and my dreams are seeds spoiled inside the rotten skin the flesh of this fruit fallen from the tree and now on the ground and in the ground of the ground ashes to ashes dust to dust I am what I was and will be again
god is naked in this biology transparent in the chemistry of the ticking clock the science of silence the inner workings the gears that grind my thoughts allow inevitable and the path that all walk to the end the wall that cannot be climbed
beauty is an invisible substance a molecule between pressed fingers examination lends not to knowledge the transparency of any things as all things and yet to each a name and nomenclature defining the space between

cracked lips a kiss - v2

cracked lips
a kiss i wish I had not waited for
a wandering whimper on the wind
whispered vespers entwine in the music of neverwhere
a wish i wasted on a silence spoken
after the last breath of a dream

every step that can not entice the choice
a shudder in the soft temple of my ratherthans
sifting through the throat of time

straining strings to pronounce the song
stilted through the voice of vacant dreams
i found the way to find you again
in the wash of the wave across the shore
a horizon walked along
a path that winds into the heart of the last decision

i never seek (from entry 'every laugh a dream')

i never seek but find
and which i choose does not matter
i wonder that it never did
and i never knew
which way wrought the path of a new beginning
i stopped but that was a beginning again
and lest i seek the reason that brought me
a season not wanted
i will wish for winter once again
a farewell to the pleasantry of sun
a seclusion that forces the mistake to be a wonder
surely this course is the manner by which we win the life we sought
beyond the safety of these occasions
to find the room that never leaves a memory more permanent than its record

a strange burden - v2

the light upon the breathe
that moved between us
there was no space left to hide in

barefoot on the slate
slick with rain
wet with a feeling that lacked a name yet
as it tickled on my lips
before turning to words

serenely sowing seeds of petals
that grew into the whisper of words
trembling before the ear
the truth an echo in the silence
there was a marriage in this moment

i am the son

i am the son of my quiet solitude i gave birth to myself from the womb of my serenity this is the epithet of speed of science of knowing the mechanism of every ticking trinket every wrinkle of my hand is not a river to know to conquer
i am the son of shut up and listen of everything that was and will be in the second that it condenses in the sound of silence losing its voice to reason
i am the passive inside myself observing the mechanism but doing nothing i am the cog that is nothing else surgeon remove my concerns let the blood bleed my woes away down the river of a map not yet written
beneath the smoke behind the curtain the lie that lays low and hidden from too much but never enough its the speed that kills the silence its the silence that kills the need theres only a signal to noise ringing reverberance inside my head

my father bleeds

my father bleeds his voice into mine the womb was a communication with my mother i am a song that sung deep with the belly of the universe a whisper that grew and became something entirely different breathing a breathe my own a separation from the things that made me what i am i am only who they are together and something else entirely i am what is left when they are no longer i am the seed from the felled tree the new birch that spreads its own limbs i am bust that will be dust again i am the ashes of my fathers eyelids when he slept i am the curve of my mothers hips and the weak knees of my grandfather i am things unknowable and i will be the same for mine when my voice bleeds into another