The Slow Feast

Any semblance of waking life in you to push?
Damned by grave hands if the will is not strung?
Maybe a playground is in you to find
with a hide and go seek orient of the mind?
Chance there is hunger way deep in the billows
your tummy will nudge you in sleep under pillows?
Worthless adventure it runs away home in retreat for the answer that sinks to the bone.
Grace by the side of all struggle and test.
Beats like reprising the heart in your chest.
Greater by means if the fall of the land is the slow feast of fascists in crooked demand.
Home is the base of all strength and all fear
and we meet it so sparingly drug out through treacherous paces and pulls at the stomach of sacrifice holding up greatly successors of edifice, brutal and brave we are one every minute if only we sung like the breeze when we're in it.

Lift Up A Smile

And it shook every stride on the tips of my toes there is movement in waiting and haste as it goes. Making whole with the past for a distant relief when I foreclose on fear and go dance a new leaf. Lift up a smile surrender's at hand to the light and the call to the song's reprimand. It's near and it's laughing with eager surprise all aglow with excitement like 5 year old eyes. Hearts giving way at the top of the stars like the great revolution of Saturn and Mars where the fiendish and wise will go drum up a scheme for the dreams of our children asleep on the beam.
Be far and be gone all but just within reach keeping close in our heads to the hands we will teach.
Sanity rides on that time of the day when you dream with eyes open and nothing to say

A Marvel Design

Fall back in line as you placate the standard who wishes you time lapsing efforts.
Hold out as long as that wind every Autumn that tells an old story and keeps you so humbled.
Never as loosely as when you found Summer and held up your vices on high for the whole town to come behold excess in all it's great fortune but witness no mornings with grueling recovery.
Never so strong as to dig up the courage to bloom unrelenting as true as the day you were born into surely what deems to be beauty all latent and screwed by the size of it's riddle.
Rise up and burst for the sake of the onslaught. Scurry and Strike for the lives of the blighted and gleam like a runway that welcomes all worrisome lives in the tangled retract of our choices.

Oh but the mystery hangs on us willfully, strangely what steers a divine obligation.
Each of us tied to the other with selfless and raw unawareness a marvel design.

Poetry Anatomical

Time like a treasure is wound up and whistles a happy go likely old tune that is true.
Send out the signal and wait for the symptoms of gratitude calling out deep in the blue.
Brash and aberrant the play of our dawn is an old mechanism that grows you a home.
Sickness envelopes the nimble repressive destroyers of vision and breaks every bone.

Ventricle winters inspire untraceable blessings and nearing the pulse of dismay
we gather up bits of the aftermath happily heir to the semblance of carried away.
Seize the emphatic desire to grow every drop every trace every sun every moon.
Drowsy blue head scratching morn on the porch over mountains of make believe speaking too soon.

Rightfully hopeful unjustified speakers can dance through the planet with blindfolded hands
or shake up the nation one dream at a time like a mystical army where atrophy stands.
Build it back up little toddler of chance we can purify death by the time we reach birth.
Woken by angels and soldiers each branded with certified stamps on the state of the Earth.

hymns on the grave

shaken like storms in the core of the almighty plan we are singing out loosely like hymns on the grave where the ageless go tally up sums of the day to exonerate forces that stretch out for miles and retrieve that old burden that keeps us in shape for the future to come is a light house on land
If we drum up the friction that lubricates life we may draw from the wreckage or sink in the sand

Streaming Reciprocity

The reciprocity that handles is velocity & pride, and only worth is the conveyance that can dance in happy stride.
Are there some numbers that become us when we graduate to form and hold our woken hands before us baffled by the broken swarm? I will sway a happy transit, we will vacantly reside in all that builds us up remembering the face we hide inside. There is genius in the mourning there is tragedy in sleep, there is magic boldly working helpless howling when we creep inside the poisoned eye of reason and the voice that holds you still is just a humanoid replacing happy hindrance with a thrill that carries empty and endangered like a freshly chosen meat. Is there meaning in the madness of the step inside the feat? I and Entities are humbled with the humid turning tide Like a babe inside the answer of the question you can't hide.

The Plexus of Worth

serenity saves, i would ask if it's so
i would wander and worry and gander and glow
i would howl at the heroes and reach out a plea
is there some kind of sage inside beseeching me?

we calculate naturally, pants on the go
little markers of makings that mix up the flow
and it's power empowers through tick-tocks of hours
and solely but shrewdly it coldly devours
so wake the One Spirit we beckon you gravely
if not the light savior then darkness enslaves me
and how then or why, the whole question remains
are we lost in the hills or hung up in the reigns?

truly ambivalent sources would carry the song of good tide as the apothecary
of trust and endurance for each one's own hold on the breath and the breach of the young man grown old.
for reaching out heartily brimmed with thanksgiving is nearing the plexus of worth we are living so settle your madness to even the plays of the vessel we implicate seething through days.