Do not think about this on Prezi do not think about this it is not here for your pleasure not waiting self-less for some deathly embrace as if it were not already perfect and rising starkly, gently behind you perusing the pages of your eyes passing no judgment straighten your back and fly into the sunset as you were meant to – objectless, void, unsundered by the...

Metaphor: The unknown attempts to know itself. It marks itself. Space arises in no space. Identity marks itself in time. Time transforms identity. Identity dissolves in time. Space yields no space. The mark unmarks itself. The known is newly unknown. Time for a new metaphor.

a tiny window gathers the world echoes morning’s rush of life amazingly, my fingers trace your carved shoulder like they have never known geometry somebody somewhere is getting coffee, walking the dog, dressing for a long day – but not we, whose worlds have just collided under the gaze of a tiny window that no one is looking through because we are beyond...

sometimes you stand on the borders of things waiting for that little nudge just the thing you needed for you to fly 

down down down inside there is a silent speech you sense it with your fingers as they absent-mindedly clasp the empty space between your palms a holding on to something that never was the words are unlike these, and your eyes cannot fix them into harsh dualities of coincidence cannot shatter their glass frames and spill them into false awakening, for...

my fingers are tapping to an unknown rhythm a sightless pattern just below consciousness feeding somewhere in the background of my eyes it swirls, dives, escalates, tumbles and words - my God, words! appear mysteries profuse my skin invisible knives punctuating reality letting the dreams out all the while tap tap tap   and more: you, unquietly reaching impossibly leeching, receiving  growing dreams of my dreams with another...

Today I put up most of my poems on the site: http://elements.spiritalchemy.com/poetry.html Poetry isn't good for much if it never gets read, so despite the fact that many of these poems are embarrassing for one reason or another, I thought I'd post them as a kind of experiment/record of my own transformation, since transformation is...