top of page

Chaos Brewing Up A Cross

the sign post at the crossed roads back before

the trails met back before there was time again

drifting by the landscape design oft had for a

garden innarticulate creation basks in the abyss

bursts through the screen door unto a two way

street cars go by holding one and the same free

minds think nought found eyes on the clock it

a freudian slip capitalized the f in if for forgotten

whimsicality fatal meandering thoughtless dawn

death defying mastery of spindles pin prick too

sharpen infinity pinched cursive only girls twist

only womens room in the back of the spidered

broken mirrors speak soliloquizing splintered

bleeding read it was a speciality that it was a

wooden mast of the ship sailing with heaviness

weight of the side flipped which will it be today

tomorrow was yesterday ever ending in delight

never to be found again in the rite of white

half a moon ago it twas just written beneath

sign the ink in scripture circling each plum line

vertical incline enter from the exit glass chin

jaw smoker crystalized words at the beginning

writing star shooting through out emptiness

alive in the mind of the night sky trailing each

the constellations three twice round the planets

entirely stitching up the seams of the scenes

directionless upon the stage reality disappears

more quickly than the pocket watched rabbit hops

down through the hole in the cap of magic

undefined indifference yet definition madness

soaring reality's most reaching dream dreaming

sleeps most dreadful dream consciousness of

the serpentine slythering in minds crookedly

creating nothingness wherefore unto for most

unbeknownst irrelevantly, what it could be and

where what shall be shall be, what it is for one is

most definitively past on both sides removed

more about the consumption than the

consummation of another date marked grave

beneath the tree tangled in the roots of a stone

each thought drifts on alone and every night

the same devil rope swigging vine like history

Recent Posts

See All

The Hourglass

Point A Needle To The Sky, Centered Minds Point A Gun To My Head, Circumstantial Ends Point A : The Diamond Sutra, Centrifical Forces Yet There Are One Thousand Arms Tied Up In The Book Of The Dead An


never was there such a hand beneath the sin play to the part of the devil's grinning twas there such a death as to it


bottom of page