top of page

Shooting The Breeze

wherefore art thou beginning, forever just a distance away from the shore, the white mask


in the mirror, hinges on a collapsing door, over three hedges, under four trees, two gateways


and wherefore art thou, thou minstrel, wherefore unto the wicked fiend, you fiend, books


they don't read themselves don't they, infinity spiraling, eternal damnation at the bottom of


a drink, the glass, far less than half full, like the one sigil, the one sigil made of many, cut


from many a tree, many staves, removed from many a stave, the bark, and unto many a spark


the whole, completeness in an offer, what is it thou art doing here, trust me or not, to be


exactly what it is one needs or does not need, all of history abides, faith in the mirror to


break when smashing it upon the hallways diamond, and in every mirror a face, and in every


move to be made, the overture, a thousand symphonies played at once, and are they the


same, yet in response, each one changes by a single note in every tune, all creating rising


vision, and every subject of a note stepped down, a gun shot, spiders burst into flower


portraits, a thousand men rise, and a thousand fall, a thousand flowers blooming, and


a thousand more crumple into dust, all the colours booming as the conclusion is awake,


all the colours into blacks and whites and grays, and from the ashes the fire lifts in curious


curious and more curious ways, the degree of light bending within the mind to confess


how left and right become up and down, how spiraling stitches the seams, a thousand


more grayscaled flowers bleeding colours, bleeding colours, bleeding more colours, and


a thousand more from the drops, rise and fall of every thought, with every breath, more


fire in the motionless desert, more, how many more ways to explain a feeling, how many


more ways to feel nothing, another morning, another night, another on into life, dear friend


what is it thou is masking, thou sadness, all the ways everything can make you question all


what was once to be, a feeling that becomes an epiphany, an epiphany becoming revelation


the revelation then thusly receding from the shore, closer to one than another, than another


the laughing hardly ceases to be insanities reaction to endlessly drifting landscape paintings


one becoming another, lost in the revelry of nature to split miraculous, the white mask fades


away into every breath, breathing as one in motion with pulse rhythmatic, creating patterns


of leaves on the forest floor, of the skin of the tree, layering, the trees with their branches


the branches still with their leaves, moving it is, moving in time with the light, the light


bleeds through the empty spaces of the canopy, masking the ever-so-often, ever so slight

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

T E L L M E

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

Bình luận


bottom of page