eyes from the ceiling; teeth from the floor. all in contribution to an idle being. more a dig into a wrist watch or a lie under a rock, it is a hard place to lose face. and so we counter our evenings with mornings, alright. and it is the morning which breathes into our lungs. we take it as the coffee takes us; fighting for our features, flown. like birds on wing, we are leapt to be leaping and so we do. and so we do.

all timid in our repose.
all aims toward our disgression.

…

it’s a feeling that you recognize; your mind taking over its own thoughts and having out with an idea with no posed question. it’s like standing in the rain and seeing the sun shine through the clouds. it’s like pulling teeth and finding your smile all the better for it. it’s like aching for a cigarette while smoking one already. it’s like finding a reason to stay up when you’re so exhausted you could fall asleep standing. it’s like running through the wind and getting blown forward instead. it’s like failing to find pause in otherwise strange and foreign lands. it’s like discovering your knuckles have grown. and when your thoughts play second fiddle, it’s like basking in the morning dew, it falling down around you, finding you fleeting for its own beginnings…that beginning which seems like an end. that end which feels like a beginning. and as you condense, it flows.

there is a bridge situated somewhere that finds us grappling with its sides. from just beneath, we waiver and cling tightly to its end. there is a road up there, we think. cars driving. people walking. dogs barking. cats meowed. figments of another mindset. functions in the way of things left to be leaving. and so we lay forth our bags, emptied into the river. that river in which we set foot; now swimming; now going with its cause. and with pause, we take leave. and we are left to be leaving as well.

a laugh into a dark, sacred movement. there is nothing which plays than what is played; nothing which teaches but that is taught; nothing which moves but that which is moved, lightly. i shake and shudder with the evening’s truth of nature: it is but a giggle at morning’s naivety. and so i tumble and tumble and am lain forth to be tumbling, still. and so i am. and so are you.

when you only use or yearn
when you always live and learn
when it’s not a choice, return
to what you had before
when even lights were ever-born
with just a buzzing from a fog horn
work is done

drop left and take the corner back; sea spent beneath the boardwalk, bent and lost amid the canyon’s breath and hurdling through the air. there is something regarding a sized up mess
of curfews clean and casually wrecked upon the drifiting; less a portion of a pilfered dress than a lunatic you judged and left behind the curvatures of man; behind a washed-up lover’s land; behind a curtain cut and hemmed; behind convenience stores. it’s something well worth looking up when you know it’s there for more to take upon or to drift along, humming. and only when the laughter dies and only when the seasons cry and only when the living seems to shrivel up or lie around a town which only winks at your demands all left inside doors closed and rooms you cannot man alone, trimming christmas trees with trinkets; a gingerbread man…

you could drive behind a river but where’s the other side?

a step into the open air at dawn…it’s like a drop onto a fresh cut lawn.
and oh but with the natural light all coming down upon a vibrant landscape, it pushes the breeze from view and leaves the trees all budding; newly to life from old lives in winter’s full bloom.
now it is but a likeness to the heavens, all colors in the spectrum, light. and moving back into a pleasant way is the city not so gray and fleeting from its arms.
it is but a wild moon approaching.
it is but water to the seeds all grown.
it is but lightly from the wind now blowing out all birthday candles, perplexing patron’s windows…yes, they look out but oh, still glass between us, reaching out but far away from touching the flower torn from earthen soil, crushed and sprouting again with each april till.
vowing not to view such idle things could lead you to hate your spring. so you open up your screens and trade the picket fence for a camera lens, all lifted loveliness to display across the room. and as far as you can tell, the wall is nothing left but to be removed.

a pause and, finishing the sentence himself, he tugged on a will all whipped. as far past as was going he took to a limp and gazed onward. true that it is but a gallant wave of a discussed deception, but oh, the parliament denied its very being and took to the lights like nighttime, causing pause in the first place. and so, whimsical as he was, he coughed three times and went about with words. droning along with an elephant’s pace, he would be out with it. standing aimlessly under street signs and pacing wildly to and fro, he took it upon himself to be silent still while beginning a phrase at dimestore prices. decimals into the earth. and yet no decibels with wisdom’s worth. and so he caught his breath, to begin with. and to begin with, we mustn’t be drawn to ways to dispute greetings or conversation’s loose toothed calm, and then drawn merely to the curb where no words chirp.

and so a drag on a cigarette and an exhale through teeth.
it is almost time for tea.

a plaintive grin and a stack of pennies now strewn about the floor; now just a laugh into a dark corridor with the evening playing tricks on the mind when it’s mine. when it’s yours, you falter. and i, in time for nothing but a maniacal windfall or a tight-lipped angel of the nth degree. sure it should’ve been different. and sure it could’ve been fine. but oh, with a language so limited; all in all a drunkard’s dream or a slimming smile or devalued copper, seeming altogether damned amidst a portion of paint, peeling, now laid back and humming like the summer breeze along the siding, leaving it made of dirt and sticks.

a giggle into the night.

a crime upon no shimmy up the drainpipe.

a laugh and a crash and the roof caves in.

it seems a precious thing to waste, our power to preach.

and so why not, when you have the voice to do so?

and why not when the words spring forth?
and why not when the reasons realign with the north?
and why not when the prizes aren’t left at home?
and why not when the penchants aren’t for greed?

well, why not ever and forever, always?

excepting where there are no ears.
excepting when there would bring tears.

there is only why.
and why not

acrobatic tendencies arise, arise.  once you have arisen you must slide, must slide.  and now that you are standing, you must dive, must dive.  and once you have dove into the sea of tranquility, you must swim until you sleep; you must win until you weep; you must spin until you’re weak; you must be strong until you cannot be. and all the while, be waiting for a way back to the deep or the distant shores.  for once you’ve arrived, you’ll only want a little more until you’re backflipped.  until you’ve spun shit; until you’ve hoodwinked past progression over tightropes and high-wires you have been falling down in on. 

and once you’ve fallen and the net has dipped with the weight of your slow falling, you must again arise, arise. 

and once you have arisen, start over.

it is a precious thing to waste, the human mind.  especially on trivial things.  it matters what you love and counts for what you love to sing.  so sing it from your souls, oh lovely lights; oh rings encircle what is right to be left slinging.

it is a precious thing to waste, our finite time.  especially on fiction or tumbled dreams.  it’s mostly what you love and not what you love to hate to bring to passers by on broad streets laughing endlessly.  so have it be brought from your souls, oh wasted minutes; see no sights of troubled wings left to be flown.

it is a precious thing to waste: this life on lonely things.

so if you need to, sing a sad song to be paired with sadder songs, singing.

and be free.

all wizards take note of the starry, starry night.  take heed of the planets as they line up right; left to see and be seen. 

all witches take rope and tie knots in the sky.  please all penchants for good into sight and be left upright to flee or be fleeing.

all lovely take loneliness all bottled and act up.  act out or be acting; act right or be left to the moon and be glad for its pull and pull back.

all explorers take root and be rifting.