justin peake


A ritualized flight up a spiral staircase,

marbled and emblazoned with

heel scars and the eternal burden of

passage, only loosely crunching

the soft soil beneath.

We can wake to see tomorrow's bird song

only if luck grants us that. The air

cold and the sky blue atmosphere.

A removal of the top white,

the sound of large mechanical beasts

playing in the morning's still.

How can we limit these times

when some times are too much?

The day has been saved already and

from inside this mansion its screams

float through the halls.

Settled upon the medium snow in a

glass globe just shook. After all these

years where is our voice's onspring?

From where does this cadence benefit?

A plastic bag, entangled in a tree, high

above the helping hands which might

remove it. The spiritualized lightness of

an everyday smile or the penetrating of

laughter into our resonant skulls.

Even after the years, some of my words

haven't changed although it sure feels

like they should've. But then again,

what's left for continuity?

A fortress of moments and stacked

skyward toward some hopeful heaven dream,

toward the unknown. We build away from

density, less accommodating.

Compost of the future spewing into itself.

What might building be about but future ruin?

Have you been asking yourself questions?

Did you find any answers?

There is an immensely large branching

structure, thirty percent in shadow,

while the orange light bathes the rest

of its surface with a temptation of

gladness. A strong wit and an all seeing

eye, the strength of a sycophant, and

a cold glass of lemonade, all freshly

pressed from an immaculate mind space.

How does one wait for an impossibility?


The snow will give you a hat, then shoes,

then a cloak, and then a tomb. The way

of satisfaction is to rest well and

awaken to a newly lit flame, fueled

by the burning accolades of yesterday.


Our trust in the ink-fall chalice,

artifacts we uncover, unruly

unchained speculation a gap in our

know how, how to, how for, how now.

Bringing about the longing for that old

process based practice...

a feather

tethered by hand, rejoined by hammer

all by candle and a smell of musty

book bindings slowly off gassing their

toxic abound. The flames in the corner,

that leather wine sack and the

chlorophyll smell still wafting from

yesterday's clothes.

A repetition torn from previous allusion.

An introspect and an impasse.

All waiting as the combinations fall

one by one beside each other clicking and not.

There is an effervescence here in this

place, somehow on the downslope of

shelf-life but palpable nonetheless.

Some strange conjurings have happened

here and all that remains is an

intuition of them. Marks made and

remarked. Library of intention wilting

under the thirsty heat of scrutinizing

minds, page after page.

The window is shaded.

Outside awaits a word; some

sort that decisions have been made,

advancements discovered,

and new children named kings and queens.

Namesakes of conquest and equanimity.

We all fall into this life, some more

obstructed. Hurdling toward an

atrocity so gratefully bestowed by the

torch bearers who stand outside even

at this moment, waiting, abiding,

maintaining the chosen frame, a work

of intense devotion, unfortunately

arbitrated and unable to stand with

its own sister for too long before its

legs get tired and it starts to

whimper under the undisciplined

cries from its own short span.

Too much privilege given to the oldest son of

our mind, not enough rigor or

not enough floating, aerated emotion

energy flowing in its veins. But he works

hard conquering intuition, the armor of

logic and presupposition of earnest right.

A farewell to the confiscated dreams,

chained straight away to lead balloons,

floating to the top of the surface of the earth.

At least we might reconstruct them at night

as we slumber... rambling from

hope to fear to wish to mystery to

carnal beasts running through the

most off-limit portions of our

endearing wakefulness.

Good morning and goodnight.

Sweet dreams and hello.


What is an elliptical thought?

Three steel beams jut directly toward the

up, flavored with flapping forms and

cloudy wings.

Nearest me is a polyphonic hum, a cycle

shorter than long although perhaps

there is a longer term oscillation


What constitutes these sunsets is an

orbital plane and some heavy heavy

object we are.

With a wrench turn, perhaps twenty

degrees, we see a drastic perceptual

shift in audacity and the coherence

with which all previous lines were


A dusken effort in a mighty restful

tone perhaps mocks the magnitude of

the future, or maybe it's just that


This chair, extending

my spine and even potentially my mind

runs counter floor which extends

my feet.

How is a constantly shifting perception

in any way related to what we know

as true? This is a fair question no matter

which side of whatever game you play.

In time, I will write from a future place

of which I am only intuitively aware


We may all be guilty of embedding nuance,

but how to judge and follow the

trail into that?

How can revolution be? How does it

avoid self-effacing proposition?

How can stasis be evaluated? Are we

spiraling toward anything? And, if so, in

what direction are we going?

There is a picture of a horse, majestically

poised to assert its overarchingly

exquisite manufacture at the cost of a

a tree and perhaps a bit of time.

What is the soundtrack to our enlightenment?

Is it in reverse?

I hope one day to parse all I've ever

said into a word, write it down,

burn the paper, and forget it.

It has become apparent in the afternoon

light, here with you, that this moment

may have better been spent earlier but it

was not available to us then so,

what of that? Allow me this befuddlement...


The hissing birthright, a high pressure steam,

the cackling wildfire agency portion

distribution. A squared off edge and boundary

seeking the morning jolt. Awakened.

These blobs moving in straight lines but

somehow never hitting the mark.

A subtle conversation murmurs in the back

while chortles and muffin smacking dominates

a foreground.

How much silence is contained within

your speech?

This box, these words, boundless fragments.

With every sip, a red sweater heaves and

breathes, the laces tie and some

opera unfolds the destiny of

a voyeuristic object. It's tricky to

assume a cough of salutation.

Perhaps in the near future

we will change the vista...


Those furrowed brows tell another story:

low frequency waves of insight,

absorbing the overflow of willing vastness.

These pops and clicks might only be

fleeting but they tell the story of

a rupture, a discontinuity, and a

rearrangement. How much we must

look back is a question to avoid. A terminal

screen, displaying a thousand motions

scoffing in the direction of

the gutter. Those placements seem so

perfect but nonetheless unintentional;

an unsavory illustration, a table too

short, industrial disinfectant,

and a mop.

The underbelly, the barnacle,

and the boat capsizing. An uproar

for injustice, quaint and possibly

endearing, these lifeforms may be present.

Those tufted claws, prowling silently in the

blades of medium height grass. Moistened

with the drool of quenched hunger.

A carpeted green and fresh cigar smoke,

an agreement and a Saturday;

these processes that bind us.

The modern safari, the ultimate bias

of neighborhood. Where do we begin?

The first question comes after a


Avoidance is a silent witness

to despair and all left to show may

be a doctor bill and a bottle of codeine.

That birthday cake, shimmering in

jewels and inedible trinkets signaling

the hedon's cry of joy and unfathomable

pain, engulfed in the flames of contempt

and coddled by the loss of tragic grief.

Once, I cried for it. I have dehydrated

myself practically into nothingness.

That tear-shed we share, a great natural resource,

might be a hope we seek, beyond that which

seems pragmatic or thankful.

It's unclear what follows.

A hollow reed, a channel of comfort,

a diligent respite and a challenging

weight to which we muster the courage

to address, cobblestone streets never

fell so quiet. Those parsonages:

an archive of footsteps, passages and

trajectories toward dreams. And all

along, the old woman in the doorway

wondered who I was.


The hardest thing about creating a new physics

is the principles... and maybe the forces.

Which I guess might be everything.

He got out of his old powder blue sedan and

walked directly over to me, winked, and

handed me a greasy paper bag. It's

perceptible weightlessness caused me to

look inside immediately to find it empty,

except for the grease.

I must've looked puzzled.

“There's nothing here for you to know.” he said.

I suppose I understand now what he meant,

but at that moment I was mostly annoyed and

sweaty from the three mile trek.

“Of course you don't understand...” he said “

least you speak with imagination.”

Of course, he was right.

My words leave my mouth and I see a stream

of color like sparkly dust, twisted

and unfurling tobacco smoke.

Some thoughts are perhaps more magical

than others, holding a deep complexity

with layers and layers of metaphor.

A somehow intangible force allows us to

weave these things together. But what

might become of the hidden? An unearthed

metaphor excavated by the newest lenses.

There is terseness and matter of fact,

perhaps quite gray in appearance .

A mildewed window of charming

engagement, waiting to die, untouched,

in a locked study filled with books

from nineteen seventy one.

“They need it most.” he said.

I had honestly forgotten he was there.

On my way home, I stopped by the cafe. The

tiny bell on the door announced my arrival

and as I sat down, there she was.


A garland table setting tossed, embodied

and organized into emotional fragments

piecemeal parchment of moving bodies

toward undulating ecstasy.

I see what you see in me.

A tartan tapestry well worn from a sheep

shorn in the early morning hours of a waking

day dream.

Champions scorn, a forlorn to bear

a crucial consort conjuring the

illuminating essence of the shadowed


All logic aside falling prey to a backslide

of wishes not surmounted by acclaim...

I thought away and you fought astray

the ethereal terms of progress, broken by

the jarring turbulence of a wheel half cracked

by the long rutted road of sacrifice.

And this is paradise.

Your somnambulant gargle, the curled up disguise

of a heaping crumble, mishing and mashing

those expressions till they fit that paradigm.

I see that pantomime.

A river cresting quickly, flood stage but

don't get picky over what you can and will

leave behind. It's not my design.

Time holds all flowers.

A wreath won't float. At my behest

you tell a joke and we writhe and laugh

all morning.

Rolling that cold damp rock over, we

see the soil, the mist rising

to meet our curious glances...

...too much for even romances.

Defamed glory in the back pocket of a ripped

up pair of old work pants, tired of

the same patella wearing at the weave.

To tire of is to die, love; and

urgency might at least bequeath the

secrets they hold beneath.

I never told a secret I couldn't keep.

But the repetitions of disguise tarnished

my twinkle eyes.

That dance rough and rigid, with

the grace of a pigeon, tantamount

to the squirming life-fold they uncovered.

To speak in number perhaps a deed

or blunder, except cryptic to decode.

A puzzle for your mind to explode.

Have not want.

But quickly drop the iron and press

the needs in order. The bell rings and a name

flies with simple utterance, a grunt controlled.

In contours battle, while the rowers

paddle to the constant whip whine of

the sail-wind struggle, I harp on the

belligerent prattle of harmony

in cacophony desire.

To be weightless in this moment is to drown

in the destinies of all things and

to spread the light of meaning

across the land.


There is in this place an ethereal swirl

almost as subtle as waves in grassland vistas.

It hovers maybe twenty feet above our

heads, limbs cold and cylinders illuminated

warmth projecting into the most comfortable

of personal spaces.

Having seen into the halfway workings of

the circus, a numbness pervades my disposition

about it; watching a clock wind itself beyond its


A click clack forest in a stalled response working

hard to find the trajectory toward an affirmative,

but where have they all been?

Wagons whisper elegant notions,

things beyond their know how. In a searching

moment of quiet they look to us, mechanics

with no tools, not patient.

Still working toward disclose, slowly repose

and backward forthwith.

Antagonistic coffee talk, playfully of course, looking deep,

still noticing expressions as faces:

masks and flashes.

Floating joys, suspended by laughter,

propelled inversely by the force and momentum

of a chuckle.


Answers seem to be falling through

habituated circumstance; the ruffle of a fiber.

Squeekish wise words may

not presume even amounting excess.

Having duplicates never hurt.

Thorn waffles drizzled in tar and a sweet

nectarine, venerated rusty shrine. A floor scuff

the nonchalant residue of a subtle traveller with

more precise nomenclature.

I thought to write might sound fine but what

about the holiday's delight...shall I make mine?

When comes the relief of abandon, allowing former

treasure to tarnish at the floor of a forgotten lake?

Replenished forms, flowers gotten, and

humbled from the pick fray, a golden serenity

washing through fragrantly adjoining sheets

whipping in the wind.

They will never notice the giggling gurus outside,

hammering their futures into masterful prints of

tomorrow's vaulted museums. How long can you

polish a brick before it shines like copper?

I've wondered that just now.

A sequential location to extinguish a flame

generation's blaze four deep (make it six and

squeeze through the door).

That holy lady channel, the one where

she prays... that's the one. Leave it there so

when she sings I can hear it.

Saluting the anguish as it bellows away leaving

that light pink purple glimmer in my eye.

A caress to my still quaking mind, I feel it

shiver and return to resting fate, catatonic

and blissful.

Re-enaction of a pre-mourned birth, wiping

away some unsorted mess of undisturbed

debacle. How many images do I paint,

at once, superimposed? What capability shies

away from the surface of a hidden wall?

As light degrades, a tumult pervades any

inkling regarding fundamental position. Now,

this shower we exhibit, fine spray with nozzle

too narrow, constantly excavating the dirt from

the arrow.

Those boot clicks too well announce a strut,

unbelievably textured and rich. When will this

flip, its own agent, your proponent striving alone

for your own discovery...

This mask is made of sand and perhaps

every grain, its own mask, tells its own

little lie, gravely, amongst its companions.


Looking back at the unfolding flower of a

raveling economy, a bump: jostling a foundation,

strengthening the root, porous footing and surely suiting

the bed in which we stand.

Compost cosmos and recurrence at a frequency

too low to hear... doesn't even wobble. Speeding

celestial time to the tune of a whirring hum,

a four minute spasm of an infantile

outburst in need of fuel and stasis, food and rest.

Pushing out against all obstacles, acceptance

is a journey.

This reclining surface of a type jumbled

with repair tags from 1992.

A small merry-go-round of decision making those

boundaries unheard-of in one sense and enforced

in another. Cluttered by give and take, and more take.

Uneconomical symptoms of desire, supposedly

insurmountable in the advantage hide and seek

that pops up every now and again. The garbled

community tenets get conjured through fanfare

and megaphones.

Who listens to what... to whom... and when?

When they parcel those ideas into subclauses

and hide them under illusory implications

about your own well being, can you still


I had materialistic dreams of helicopters,

transmuted into lessons of loss

and tragic heartbreak about the relentless

starvation of need.

How do they admire themselves, ties tied,

strict reform as magicians tired to the brink

of walking sleep?

A difficult weed... pull it out

and hope there's not enough left to grow?

Discrimination at its core and somehow a

staple of agricultural practice.

uniformity, authority and moral imperatives.

No idea is merely an idea.

Put on a kettle as practiced for generations

and maybe get more comfortable. One must take

what one needs especially at the behest of those

who genuinely encourage such things.


And so, shall we endeavor to approach

an order of things? A lofty adjourn

to a skeptics tower? How might a procession

lead us down with new findings that might

barely shift?

Would there be a confetti cannon?

A fanfare?

This vestibule is shifting all the time so,

how might we even fail safely? All the time,

a surprise keeps us winging on toward a

less shallow haven.

This breakfast of dirt appetizes no one.

I sat in direct opposition to a dead man once.

He looked at me and couldn't see

I was handing him a lifejacket:


It was only a matter of months.

I didn't have the heart to tell him he was

a fool. His non-value net was locked and

loaded and all I could do after the hours

was tell him it had all been a joke.

The problem, of course, was that I was lying then

and I am not now. I do not believe in intelligence

as we know it... a philosopher's trap.

She couldn't believe.

So certain, in that flood light glow, that the

holdfast lightning might strike him down

for exploring the very earth of his own prison.

Bricks lay a lost patio, mossy oak leaves,

and a wind stirring, begging for a plume of

smoke to whisk away, a torch with no man

to harness, a wine glass clean, and

no more beautiful music.

I wonder why he left.

I tried to warn him of our arrogance.

I tried to explain to him that I... I...


There was a thin mesmerizing pause,

a gulp in the way of digestion,

momentary sedative

languishing and lavishing

really it turned so softly but not without

enough energy to breathe.

“Has it frozen in the chamber?” I thought it

even before I had a chance to think.

It didn't leave a warning sign but supposedly

they never do.

Presumption left us all a note on the fridge

asking us to do this and that and thankfully

I can't read.

This audacious conference:

difficulty syntax,

autonomous pragmatic,

head-worn, future scorn specs dad

character. Banal frontman.

Overly poignant insight mashing down

on those fruited bruises, juicing out

a menace rivaled only by poison. Hard

to take a cue from the unbelievable.

Tightening like lightning.

In a raft, I row.

Unavoidable transition space:

a con man's command. Like a

vacillating vocabulary shifting its weight

onto your back.

That's the hardest thing about it.

Appetizing victory feast, with ethereal

volume turned down but at least no

copy and paste.

Take those values back to the home they

built generations ago, on that plateau with

high wind, generous kin, and a saw blade.

At some point we may return to that

slippery matter.

A clock spiraled off the wall straight into

oblivion, the art of strong anticipation with

expectation of nothingness. And then

tear drop: kaboom!

The habitat landing where wood slats lay crooked

and miniature wave are crested by


Where we might play is the same place

as always, always changing, and always

unheard of until we arrive.


Jelly led, viscously oozing downstream,

the twig that parts the river ripple

dusting plane. The wind-borne particle

never settled. Never settled anywhere anyway.

That hollow swamp massacre mutilated

culture driver. Large tires create mud wake,

drying into ridgeland begetting new topography

an even newer topology.

Stuck a flag in that mountain the other day. Yep,

it's mine, or at least it was until it crumbled

into that glistening riv'r. Did so young

that lying bed flower up an overturned glob

of dirt.

Back to a sequence matched with something from

seventy five years ago and the dance called a tango

may have disrupted those early birds as the nest

ruffles and the egg fell to the ground.

Early born and fodder for hawks predating

the calendar scorned any sense of before or

after. This thing or that thing more or less

to what you have proclaimed... and maybe

this thing is important and what not.

What the scene told me I faired well.

Bode trying softly.

A waiting tuft of grass somewhere in that field,

longer and longer as the night crawls by.

Meaningless trickle of an ant budging that imposing

blade, hewn from part of that mountain, woven

into a basket used to catch from that same


As it wound down, I felt the lure tug and then it

caught and if those things had fingers I'd say

it hung up on its own. “Nothing personal” it might


Melodious cries from almost everyone,

lifted hands and resonant rejoicing from a

space sequestered from view. Muffled by cinder

block and privilege, the notion we keep,

not as though seek.

A temperamental schema turns its back on you

as soon as one needs it. Explanatory can't help

when the phenomena are...

Turn neck 'til smile...

Turn snow to ice to water...

Rushing down that mountainside,

into the ridge line and becoming the banks

of a mighty rapid gush furrowing along

and carrying the little parts with it. All toward

a resting place, or at least an obstacle large enough

to snag it.


The stirring silence

of a million tumbling ashes

stolen forward without

restful seeking


Quarterly earnings unengaged

an unlit lamp smells

of burnt silk and

a wisp of hay.

Those shapes we recruited

have edged away the

boundaries they can't

support in the long run.

Now is a nicer time to

hum in the daybreak's


Ingenious and intuitive

the two alike wander

separately but tether


A new practice having already

been discovered, divides

the brain of a child's

imaginary friend.

Those 'I see you' eyes

formerly neutral and piercing,

back turned with purpose

and a task at hand

without appearing


A stack of wood

unhinged and released

into a bonfire


The rhythmic contour

of motion made

indicating a softer

way of handling.

A non form is begun


without hesitation.

Hurrying and scurrying

will not thin the

ache from


Aware of occurrence

delicately to shift

subtly so to not move

far from it.


The morning whistle worn,

the freight trains pass

each other in the yard.

One long fabric

stretching across the

east side of the city.

Clack lock, pull and push.

Cold echo over the river

we feel the cavernous

ritual center.

Once there was a boat

there on the bank,

a canoe.

Pushed down river.

Things I wake to,

visceral signals less than

bells in towers.

Closer to the ground

and winding through

the city's creases.

I imagine a home.

That lazy tyrant,

incapable ink,


The air puts an edge freely

on the angle and speed

we play.

A tossed joke,

slipped through fingers

engendered neutrality.

Condensation words.

Orienting toward some

configuration imprint-

overview spectacle.

Confusion I overhear

a whispered resolve

with direction.

A one time picture

isolated brainchild

and lonely no playthings.

Good space to stretch out

mash things together

and take them apart.


With a steadfastly

dilated mind,

one might see the

pigeons and the plight.

an unending unity

With a soft

focused insight

the nuances

become swaths of

engulfing light in

the evening.

Inner recesses may bask

projected out like a

net ensnaring artifact

and deciding its purpose

but not beyond the immediate.

A genderless doll becomes,

over and over again

an object and its subject,

a seeking and its sought,

a meaning that is wrought

without activation.

Beside the tiniest thoughts,

I put down my coat,

a short stay, waiting for the signal.

Putting the plough in the dirt

seems all of a sudden

so delicate and pure

and the sweet aroma

of moist soil, tilled

fresh and seldom.

I gathered my things

and left lazily, each

floorboard creaking its

own tune, down the porch

and into the street.

I swear there was someone.


Having only spoken these texts

over a million times across

a million miles I can assure

you are still only hearing

a blatant exaggeration.

The real things are tiny

kernels lodged in

a grotesquely ordinary

hibernation, stored up

for whatever may come.

What needless quest for

surrender do we find in

paramount cases of delight.

A weary traveller knows

nothing about rest yet.

Hopeful, we bestow

forward warning

from beyond.

A lurching wireframe giving

thanks to itself from the

inside state an indecision

to proliferate. Stronger

senses evenly behaved.

What's more, on that teeming

hill, a daffodil seen from

the midnight sky from

those many miles, they look

and then they smile.

A terrain rough and tumble,

too dry to remain in that

hovel held in by

premise and demise and

an unwillingness to improvise.

Shade trees, deep thorns

and a shiny attitude.

This young bird, still fluffy,

found its prey.

It knows its own fate

better than we but flies


Haven't given it a name yet,

it flies so suddenly.

I'm not sure that it's even

keen on returning



Puzzled places

building blocks

connoisseur's conundrum

deflated drafting.

Under a flower pot

is the first place

I'd look for a

key hidden.

One never has trouble

thinking the way

they do.

A tautology in training

bubbling over a

simmering circumstance.

Easy affidavits and

clerical obligations

simply ignored

and others misplaced.

Floating in vacuous

conceptual space

free of a context...

Philosopher's dream.

Looking into how

time implodes,

investigate the long thin

thread which emerges.

A hostile thought

wrings a rain of

distilled condensation

of memory motion.

One over three, a collecting

space, heldover with morsels

of fundamental approach.

I hope for us all to feel

a gentle splash from

beneath the filament

pulled strict around us.

Aged wooden bowl

splintered but smoothed

infusing utility.


I've been walking.

All of us together.

Those two rocking chairs.

Out past the pastures,

in the middle of the city.

Salt stained streets.

For the wildest habitats

we make songs a chore.

Those two wrens and a gull.

Precise lines meet.

Delicate mess entangles.

Those patiently watchful eyes;

myriad formality

a playful nonchalance grieves.

A fine time arrives running

less than a fraction of a moment.

...but long moments of silence.

The endless bounds of the earth

is the only shepherd I need.

A peaceful, warm unity.

Every place is a natural wonder,

a treasure hidden from view.

Time eventually erases all things.

Where meaning is concerned

nothing is simple.

We are delightfully expressive beasts,

our art is not a pastime.

Their speech is our song.

A parent's soft vigilance.

Formal theoretical constructs are

no match for a dynamic being.

Some cannot afford social norms.

The piercing reality of the present

is more elusive than anything.

Take your own time.


I have awakened from

this dream maybe twenty


Every time, awake is different places.

The image sticks with me though,

all of it.

I knew it then, deeper in a

hope space.

And then, there was this one

moment that conjured all

of those dreams.

Almost a perfect silhouette

though free from shadow

and still quite luminous.

Only trouble was that now

or then rather, the mystery

became even more real

and complicated.

A beautiful thing really,

I saw two dozen

sparrows against a

gray sky.

Twisting their flock

doubling over itself

while the man in the

rain-suit walks by again.

I've made some soup

for us, would you care

for some? You mind?

Those little specks of

rain are rolling off

your cap almost invisibly.

I wish you'd cinch that

tighter. I'm afraid you

might catch a cold.


Deliberate medallions

stacked three feet

high like a pile of

rulers edgewise.

Canonical shifting on

ball bearing fragments

supporting the immense

weight of all worlds.

Blank canvas curtains

hiding the real and

receiving our surface

projection knowledge.

A syrup top patiently

understating its prized

bounty to a market

shielded by taste.

All matters unaddressed

linger here between

a hot drawn bath and

cooling cauldron.

Deactivate in

untimely sedatives...

might unmount all

traces of ritual glue.

Calling all names

at once a mouthful

of silence stillborn

into imaginary chalice.

Wooden ladle bound

to hand in purpose

escaping only to be bound

by another.

New caverns to fill

with meaning and chance

and echoes of our

permanently eyeing mind.



fathoms explain

through a dusky baseline's


With perceptibly increasing

palpitations and a jolt

unfit for that calm

morning's entrance,

unmemorable failings

moved past and absorbed

quickly with resolve and

eventually a keen eye.

What have all your

unfortunances kept

you from? Perhaps even

worse times than these.

They only tell

one story, of precious

selves and surrender

in the heat of battle.

The new perfect

grooming of the morning

pedestaled for all of

the judges to approve.

Vestments of fear and

conformity, I feel

empathy for those caught like rats.

And then there are the

funny cars and the bags

of organized refuse

and the dinner bill.


A full pull on the

thinnest thread

straining on the weight

of moving bodies.

Equal velocities enforced

static gesture leaving

after image framing

soliloquy afterward.

The tricky in the loop

sticks out paws and

bats an eye at a

curious delight.

Uninhabitable cubes

grinding themselves

into shapeless objects.

There is formula

building and

from here it

must break



silent partner






bird doubt




ideas served

by image








































of lies
















































































































Against preeminent

cerulean sky


A strange bird takes

posture even

more petrified

than the brick and mortar

of its perch.


downward of

some sort of rite

its gravity may fail

to give it flight.



any terminal state

and resting

statistically at the end

of some orange


To be

at the

scroll of a new

canon might

unhinge even the

toughest door

unpassable as the

hold may seem,

there is no


border flow



some reconstitution


the delightful hallway,

whispers known

obliviously to

only the

fairest of jargon


exposed vein

of untapped requisition


spurts toward

us all a stream

of unencumbered

know how



most of us

all the ability

to overthink and



Waiting all

this time to


elate toward that


which may



its own



Fairly simple

to get lost

in the culminating


knots unbinding

a somehow.



In the ways


treats us

to the delights

of recognizance.














means an



be gleaned



A daily Bushel of

chore with grain

sonority, momentum thrown

and intent from

kicking up an open

dust door.


There was creaks in

a cool silence perhaps

light disguising a bird

the carriages stirs.

in store. Finally

a cooler


meets hoof,

power of pull

gravity stricken

subjects to the day

all of the


decay and

even as



to draw









... and even now,

as this silence surrenders

its disposable victory

entranced in the long

lofty fantasy of rich


a smaller utterance


under the floor

pleads from

an isolation

to be heard.

slightly gun-shy

and for good reason this

pony mounts only the

trophies paid for

by its rider.

exorbitant patronage

weeping the sway

a large overlay

tantrum cystic caress



a static cumbersome

yielding the feathers

plucked and placed

into that

mattress which

took years to lie in,

able-bodies and won't lift

a finger to swipe

the sweat from

her own brow.

this, an

espionage of

equanimity floated

by us

calmly we watched

as our lives said goodbye.

those handkerchiefs

blowing in haste

what a wonder

lined up all aboard

freezing till a-pulled

reminded whittle speck.

can what

we render

trick our own pretender...

fastened on

by twine and

a surface.

the mercy

asked for

a maker

given rest

and a another chance

one might breed

an enveloped

task as the

creases collapse

together at hand

and poised


for to go.


Headwinds awaiting

a gentle hand,

an astro-turf touch,

holding space

for when moments come.

instant arrivals

spurious main-glow

sentiments charged

balances left zero.

an intermingle

dodging self-concept

the sunny side

this puzzle

makes less of

history in hindsight.

partial skull frenzy

leaps and bounds

toward a lunatics

restful awaken

The figuring and


Only the maddest

will follow blind

Latticed monsters stringing

our path into their lairs.

The vinyl treasures of our

disputed youth glory.

social arrangements

dishonored and

on trial for failing

itself common courtesy.

a sharp

wren spoke

angular gestures

toward window and sun

five hundred flaps to make

seven meters whole progress up

and an engendered audience applauding.

Direct dive-bomb three stories above concrete

there can be no embarrassment where it's concerned.

moving along slowly there seem many failures.

auditing and evaluating begets these

now and then we might excavate

charming feelings and shape them into

a world we know, rather a world

we'd like to know, with sheen

and glitz. This allure is

poison sometimes but

its flavor is not


The slow





in the day's

beautiful light.


In stretching out

and wringing these

rags, I noticed an

inner sea stretching

as far as the land

wraps itself into

the winding shell

impermeable and

still somehow very

porous. I'd say there

is secret in the roots

ancient harmony

with a frequency

very low and soft.

The perpetual seep,

masking previous

tries of settlement

containing only the

traces of travel

trinkets from

eroded visitation.

Timely de-edify

with challenging

character. All

undertow pulling

hiding under the

frame of push.

These waves do

not stop for

any reason

at all.

I will tell you now the story of a man

freshly in from a large garden

a breeze to his brow

the dust puffs from his jean leg as he slaps

his thigh and howls high laughter at

these day-lit stars.

In his chair he sinks majestically

as he marvels at the wind in the trees

while the cars slide by unescaped.

An earthen handprint on what was once

a crisp white t-shirt exposes his

diligently prepared manual.

Cultivated over years to cultivate, he

rises each morning before the sun because

it's cooler and quieter then. His white

hair, tussled by the wind, stands straight

with its dirt and sweat. A long stare

sits comfortable across his eyes and

perhaps he is smiling but it is impossible

to tell.

There is an inevitable creak in the

porch board when he stands to move

along further into his day. The patient

purpose begets a slow motion collie

with the world outside of home,

his hat back on his head for another

several hours.


I vote for a yes.

The evening


feels bubbly.

How about a nice story?

Doing the

work is what





A forgotten reminder

to close

the doors

on the way


Jargon flies landed

on the bright

yellow stalk of

curious thistle.

Their dances delight

until pattern

breaks with

the day

and vanishes.

Transgenic reflection


fifty miles long,


A mountain is a story.

Sub-audible slow time


its way

around an aspen


Could it follow from

ahead that

we might even

give these words

a name?


Fluid filled flywheels

turning on their own time

conjuring emergent


makes us aware of things

that may not exist, but still

managing to hide each one.

Renouncing objectivity

got me a free ticket

to sweet breakfast.

You listen harder when its quiet,

shockingly loud it


when amplified

based in logarithmic


One day can be a long

time if

you're not


The strengthening nourishment

of a good


can do wonders

for a calcified mind.

Inches measures

signs and signals

domains and frameworks

dynamic perspective

drawers with drawers

linear arrays

folding structures

expanding and contracting

absurdity profound

sunlight on wood

the sand of concrete

embodied dialectic

unfathomable intuition

a gesture non-meaning

intimidating labels

tautology fiction

manicured geometry

accepted institution

the palpable presence of mind

triangulation and cohesion

invisible ink

social myths

perpetual form

the high frequency

observable autonomy

fearful science

easy footsteps

when path

is everywhere.


The world grows wild

an abundant sweetness

of dark rich earth

and uncountable forms.

The straightest lines we see

they are our own.

Rulers pressed tightly

against a resistive contour.

We drape our wishes on it

our grasping mythology

with the deepest hope

for resolve and rest.

With every blink of the eye

the cast of a net

fixated on the future

but certainty is here.

Hope may not be something we do

but something we are

embodied in our action

is the only denial of nihilism.

The vast emptiness is full

it is there, containing.

everywhere that is empty

is full of possibility.

Patience can be excruciating

a filament burning

coiled on itself again

and again and again.

We can be pressurized beings

reactionary trajectory

stochastic absurdity

driving us forward.

There is a glimmer in the street

a bottlecap mashed

deep into the pavement

by traffic.

Similarly these thoughts in our minds

mashed deep into our

awareness by repetition

and force.

All questions here need no marks

the abundant striving

demands no overt inquiry,

implicit is wonder.

And so the day begins

gently floating down

upon us, offering us

a dawn of acceptance.


Seasoned cycles

spearmint wrinks

judgment subtle

slight wrist

rigid nodules

whirring paper

unity hammer

brisk scurry

morning smoke

friendly fire

televised prefix

capped mane

urgent velocity

flapping caprice

unhinged entrance

passive voice

enumerated files

bolted upwards

listen stealthy

flying machine

unplaced up

beleaguered now

cereal tongs

stirrup choke

way finder

steel shoes

country grass

lovely staple

ungrown seeds

people rides

dinner fare

quiet light

enter prize.

intuitively aware of the wrapper

a thought spoken only in brief

chance encounter may have preserved

any lost feeling of remembrance.

only the pacified steady hand

marginal to crutch under arm

can balance original and martial

art form blanket to jurisprudence

stay with us here without invite

a bold trick to perform anew

the implicit beckon to become

undeniable in the purest contexts

that bursting essentially your own

tethered to the form likely future

many maturities lie ahead more

in the wake of their catastrophe.

Coming back down now to aggregate

a rock formation shiny and splintered

sliding on its faces and planes

I dare not say where it goes.

innumerable losses and infinite gain

how the timeline curls around

in a moment, comfort wraps

and in even more it binds.


An inevitable return to the building

blocks, to revisit the most

essential forms might yield a new

and inquisitive perspective for us.

Those simplest interplays, at

odds with one another and

the ratios and frequencies and

how they create the console.

I never expected things to fall

from the sky the way they did

but at least it was more

of a pour than a tirade.

In jesting with equinox, the

solitude abject toward distinct

undulating irony, I suspect

these signals may deflate.

Even though those statuses quo

threatened to kind of behold

mine own virtue into a dimension

flat, where to put a cage.

I suspect that you have arranged

a service for me to imply that

in this magical forte, we will

triumph beyond a wall.

Now that we are certainly

moving toward an increased

dynamic state of the artist

intention, may we find us?

An intent listener, but massive

distrust, oppose the thumbs up

ritual, a bee line trip to rule

the ways and means decision.

This format wriggle free untie

the greatest decree for what is

this reliance I perpetually

enhance sub-linear progress.

Many questions today regarding

the sun and the moon. It can't

be too bad to risk a severance

in the name of open road.

I have found coins and cushions

ashtrays, and pockets but

those words I minted got spent

on the first food I found.

Indigestion sits pretty fire

beside me in bed as I retire

candle wick smolders none

fast below the steeple.


When you step back,

and just allow the possibilities

to become clear on their own

you might realize how few there are.

Technically many,

even many more than that

but with what you're seeing now

there are many less.

I suppose I'm talking to you.

Letting the robes

drape over these forms

morphing into one another.

There is a point at which you may

realize that given the inadequacy of

any specific moment in regards to

sufficiency, we might aspire despite it.

Repetition is not repetition

in the long sense, but the shorter

game ends with longer bursts. A

talented and multidimensional eye.

Simply trying to work through it

could yield some new perspective

on syntax and grammar as concerns

any melting pot aesthetic.

Of course, there are plenty

limitations here and I'm just

getting started. So spare yourself

any undue scrutiny.

Try not grasping at the things

you should be surpassing. Those

things by which you define

yourself which decline yourself.

This vigil kept over you may

not last forever but while

it can, it will, and know

that it will go and stay gone.

Standing up north forty third

understand the art of smack,

a talk esteemed with feel and

you know, it must be real.

How could all of this be? Still

culminating in apparent spontaneity

It will get sorted out later,

in a room with a view.

For now, hideout disputes the

magic touch, fiddling onto

search terms beholding only

the brightest light.


What was visible became

understandably and imperceptibly

more apparent with its disappearance

the mirage of recent foresight

without any words or sense of

wary wander, around the corner,

spoke from some unending channel

meandering byproduct of at least

two thought structure anomalies.

unlabellable as anything betraying

quandary, payload of current moment

becomes fodder for next week's

unwavering appraisal toward some

sense of mortgage about success

and maybe a buttercream pastry

indulging itself.

This writhing mass of potential

in its pasture rich desiccant

fulfilling an electro-luminescent

glow at the behest of an undetermined

patronage paradigm.

Unending self-awareness embittered

a teacup of pleasantry and almost

emptied into a gut of irreparable

fixation... wet, limp leaves.

Even in this harsh light, suspended is

judgment that often belies astonishment

toward the favor of complacent and baited

fortune-telling as if there were no daunting

exit, awaiting to usher us home.

Getting out into the atmosphere and

above the waiting skies makes

the fallow minds receive new seeds

in a time when clarity is commodity

and the health of the nations

depend on people.

At some point, we might relate,

in some elated perspective which

amasses sojourning weary emotions

into a warm whirlpool of relaxation,

stretching them back out into the

infinitude they have coiled.

And of course, few durations will

satisfy the insatiable.

Owing to the confines of this

mysterious subtlety, I'll suggest

we follow through with only the

least suspect of motivations or else,

maybe a nap and some tea.


What was that sound?

The one from just now?

How abiding did the tranquilize afford

with less reach toward attitude than myth?

Where did those arisen possibles

originate and what chances have

they to arise again?

in fast pursuit of a goal on fresh

grass and a strawberry bush

around a trunk that scales

high into oblivion, rooted shallow

below the feet and pulling like

a conveyor.

Interpretive models and the

shapeshifting opinions of onlookers

at first puzzled, then decided, and

then contradictory. It's natural but

less so than non-judgment.

Nice little settlement we have here,

tennis shoes and a closet full of

various coats and parcels, the

smell of cardboard is winter.

Now, say hello to the mirror.

Where in these market aisles do

we find ourselves? and over-to-

whom do you turn yourself?

An egregious eagerness behavior,

the surreptitious demise of

lonesome aptitude.

Making sense is not a game to

be won lightly in any manner of


Time-wise, a lengthening stride

to carry home the materials of a craft.

Why should I look back?

To falsify some fictitious

future failings?

Here. Just now.

It continues to happen

a little more,

even now.


The patient weight

where the quickest sand

devours every present

with a yawn.

A tidy proof of

encouraging bright,

a sum totality

bringing forth together.

And form as it may,

crumble to be over-

shadowed into a future

glory remnant.

Marked and numbered

dog-eared for the next

appearance, rising to

a culminating eye.

A tether to that thing

binding through to the

knots and undoings of

a healthy kinship.

Static quiver holding

potential dart motion

down-pointing and alert

for immediate grasp.

Short glances and soft

steps on heels to leaf

through a slumbering

forest deciduous.

Ever present calmness thick

and tacitly ruptured

with cacophonous whisper

enduring the distances.

Dew, a thick sap of the days

emanating further than

the eye can glean, but

felt every inch.


then all of

a sudden the light

bursts through the canopy,

the morning clears and a brisk

wind cleaves damp circuits with outside

needs, growing close to social worth

only those topsoils' frontline

defense toward a foot

hill shifting from under

the heaving set of new

possibilities up

until eventually

the gaze turns

to the ground

and we

can all

see it


under the



prime angular projection

gauge seen smaller at

first moving leadership into

a third order spelling.

that array from

first flight

still churning until

a small dimple

unsummoned helping

hands form behind

and all around

shaken each other







like pins on

these ears


a gear



domain polished at a banquet table

languished over


fable, a disruption

in the


felt and heard

too much.


synthesized timeline

less growing

and ever stricter to

give some credence


an unending strategized

could which notion

impair the


and wit logic








of implicit


which flits

from one about

ear to the



less abashed

than the



an unquenched thirst.


simple steps backward

a pillow leaving traces

and collaging together

dreams every night.

where do they go?

how long do they stay?

fifteen sounds all at once

smashing into each

other at some unimaginable

speed but

still slower than


When the elbow

gives way to

the disastrous

counter motion,

the ink manages to

wrap itself in


The late night crew

bustling about

no grievance to spare but

maybe some

poetry about

loving life or something.

Some unpredicted place

at this hour

and the reiterated


still keep everyone

just crazy


Nicely serrated windows into

deconstructed particles

issuing their

own edicts

further ahead and even a

few moments behind.

As long as the

breeze blows through

then the


will fade

framed by some


sense of longing


hastened by


jazz covers played at high



even quantity


assure satisfaction.

How does the taper

take off

and where does

it start to

wind down

into its

full potential

of rest?


apparative fragment

figment was here

once and now

shifted among

its other less lofty


circumvented paradox

strategy engage

a deafened fortress

the rumble of stones.

bewildered by the sheer

edifice of options

in front of the eyes

pupils dilate

face relax and

soaking in all of them.

Patterns emerge there in

that state of

unfocused abide

as soon as they fall,

a residue

treeless and formless

recedes into

the fold.

How many repetitions

until the faint



Now when we think

of intention, it

can be fluid

even though it

always has been

It's unclear the relevance.

When what is in mind

is a process base

a foundation informs

the rest of all the


In assuming a true trance

of that state, the

pilot guide

can only watch the strategy

unfold - one stone after the other

in one pond after the other.

But without

the stealthiest wind

holding soft to

a canon of

human response to



collectively and


without undue



inevitable limitations of medium driving

forward an endless set of options

distilled from cloud cannons, heralding

an esteemed department separate from

its governing body, restless and perturbed

a meager wisp of glitter full stream toward

an uphill roll.

in studious caverns unique with pixelated

depictions of never before seen phenomena

a variety of restaurants and construction

equipment, a short moment of detour

can bring it all back to its referential

doormat, unbuckling the fasteners at

the threshold.

to see the customs and administer the

duty, open awareness falls softly around

our shoulders, wrapping in a comforting

abandon, all of our least intuitive accounts

of what might happen if we do not abide them.

Vehement and partial, I imagine a cloak.

blocked by view of some other perspective,

all the other ones kind of fade in and

out of peripheral context like glimmering

stars. inside they contain ephemeral glances

about almost anything in those boundaries.

with a chariot depiction a willful

stride toward direction impresses even

the mighty legged public who one

day might succeed in some small

rest. any day now the rise and fall

might cover over its past history lines.

flagrant spontaneity brushing onto

the cheek of an elusively optimistic

child, a thumbs up to the world and

a handsome business card doubling

as a hallmark condolence, only

brightly acknowledging allegiance

once or twice a year.

beyond any or all of that, the most

important elements remain to be seen,

held hostage by a dart and a pin,

hiding under what hasn't been

found yet. a small chamber for all

the data, sieved through all known


Horseflies circle the tail of a small

tree, sliding down and into the dirt

and poised without pivot ready to

shuffle up and downward at the same

time. Duality of trajectory we envy over

a drink and a sad song.


turning upside down with respect to

point of reference could be a

decent way of imagining the

impossible. the bouncing down and

up, invert, and then the flexible sinew

of the constructed worlds can stretch

a little further than the last time.

some grounding element can provide

a point of departure for those

willing to balance on the petal of the

slowest clocks, allowing only

the most delicate wind to leave

their return space ajar into the

evening and even well past the

beginning of new days.

full subsumption might begin with

a presumably serious question but

without any specific directive in terms

of decently approachable

discourse or equalized mix.

how solutions can arise out of

proof fetish I have no idea, the opposed

positions of yesterday reach so deeply

into tomorrow that you can follow

the present moment into the fold of

its elbow.

Once the pulse can be established,

the phrasing can sit silently in

that space so pregnantly occupied

by the downbeat. It's the descending

elevation dragging itself ever so

lightly into a return point. The spiral

spins around us sometimes.

whether or not motion is possible

has been dismissed long ago yet

these moments of lapsed time seem

to fracture our sense of what

may or may not stick like adhesive

to a wall covered in dust and residue

of years.

somehow holding on for the ride

a wave of tension leaves a relaxed

muscle in its wake, the inner

burden of our electrical impetus

holding fast to the strings and

pulling then ever-so-elegantly,

a new talent becomes our ability

to infer it and quell it.

A new thing pulled tight over our

ears might ultimately help us hear

the things we are not normally

sensitive to, a deprivation can lead

to discovery, recontextulizing that

into a patient mess of forever.


variable surrounding amounts into

environmental wash cascading

into a textile mesh of the

thousand garments pulling taught

against each other all shifting

and sidling up next to each

other for another chance at

awakening... those elemental

passageways short handed into

tunnel vision speeding ever

faster away from that prediction

of fastidious remark and

childish account reaping in the

interest of necessary and obligatory

confining droughts into the lower-

lying crops which beg for the

elucidation handed down into

treacherous valleys of steam and

garbage... huts and the storefronts

in silence in an easy night, wispy

fragrant wishes cloud the streets

toward some eminent domain...

recoiled with two shillings and a

nice box of surprises poised for

yesterday's entendre of renounced

favoritism, leaning on into an

evening of gently delivered criticisms

exacerbated by an obvious flow and

seventeen different ways to talk

about them.

as the collectors assume their

individual vantage points, the

cloaks they don have slipped

quite derelict in the larger

scope, and now behind

bereaved taxidermies fish and

an even less pitied furnace,

corroded from high heat,

rusted shut and malfunctioning,

a play forward might see less


a startling jolt toward

whether any real perception

shifts might actually end

up in some way representing

an intentional character

or whether it perhaps

just holds space as a

new shape towering

over its future

scandals in




harkening a

strange emergence

that could prove

that trajectory

is maybe more

of a feeling than anything we could quantify.


One time, amidst a fog, I received a handful of pebbles

and somehow only two of them seemed to stand out... in their

roundness and their uncanny apparent moisture, as if they had been

dropped from a cloud except pushed from below to the cloud of

dirt we ensnare as our own. More often than not, I was inclined to

investigate their respective inner compositions although not until

after I had safely tucked away their companions in the kelly green

felted pouch which I had fashioned for them earlier in the evening.

It was a well-worn thing with a yellow button snap on the outside.

It had every indication that its color scheme had been intentionally

cast in the 'cartoon garden' realm. I appreciated that fact on many

more than a single level. So, as I stood near the edge of the

embankment where I had received them, I thought it proper to

hesitate at least twice before casting them skyward: a display of

polite comportment. I breathed a sigh of relief as the thunder

erased my mind of what was then the current matter at hand.

It was an old voice that spoke next and, of course, I'm

not exactly positive that I remember any of this. It was a simple

task to have devised such an elaborate investigation into the

underlying factors of that moment, it couldn't have happened to

be anything less than it actually was.

The lectern and accompanying feather mask held firm

against all of the questions you haven't even asked me yet.

At some point, the exterior lights turned themselves on and

there were perhaps five minutes during which we all accidentally

recalibrated our sight. "I saw you from the window, there." he said.

Now, it would be fair to assume he was telling the truth

but the way he was looking at me made me question almost anything

he said. "I think you should hold onto those..." he said, edging

slightly closer. It's not immediately clear whether he knew about my

current debate but his answer fit so perfectly that I adopted it.

It's not everyday that we get to see every waking moment of

human history through a dream state, brought about by a lack of

familiarity with the fetters of conceptual coherence. These were our

words in that moment and were it not for the saving grace of

regularly occurring public signaling, we may have dissolved in that

very place which, as we all knew, was really more of a non-place; but

semantics was further away from us at this moment than the mirage

of the pebbles dripping through my hands.

{ 48 }

none, nothing, and always.


in a blinded moment

all the same horses

gather, flocked

around what was once

a barrel.

we hadn't a chance

to bask in the remnant

of blossomed alertness

freshly ground into a

sweet pepper.

annoyance, proven remedy

applied perfectly and

with none to spare, an

apothecary's needle.

bundled alongside some

easily brandished ice,

one cause and one effect

stood still together

just looking.

a sharp arrival sat

lonely on the edge of

its own cracked vessel

wondering when and if

the chalice fell.

nightly blunder wholesome

assumption toward less

tiring and more rejoice.

now with a refreshed idea

some resolution might

begin to take full hold.

thought becoming less

frequent more dense


I'd never ask for a guilty

conscience leveraging honor

but maybe a cherry pie.

head to the wind and

mouth agape and from

nowhere a scream aloud.

impressions beholden to

an extreme form of non-

liquidation of morphology.

it's more about how it all

fits together and which

ways appear to be up.

and now we may begin

to see the unseen.


Sometimes, there is less talk,

as if the weather is holding hostage

our in-touchness with it.

I'd like to see just once how

it all started.

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Mycelial Acoustics


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