wingspan

location:environment:
: tahsis: on the couch

once upon the peak
anyone with a beak
has something to say
both the fowl and jay
wild flutters of feather
in all type of weather
when singing all day
your fears fly away
home safe in a tree
what it is to be free!

critique of immense fear

location:environment home alone: wishing i was a farmer


Immense; critique of cripping fear
trama of a drama, or is it vice versa;
carressed in the clumsy embrace of a curious lover
drunk on cheap whiskey and expensive vodka
cozy morning of paralysis, puking and purring;
where i am galled by the gore
we inflict on each other for fun, or perhaps entertainments sake
i wonder at, preciesely,
how many murders on stage or screen i have been a whitness to,
how much pigs blood in close up, makes for a tasty parody of mortality?
in the belly of the beast,
that is where the infant of opportunity can become enjoyment
but the ego of the mind resumes the role
of manager over earthly pleasure or spirit pains
pointedly as pimples pearce the peace of a fair complexion,
perfect beauty broken
independant islands crop up as ideas,
membrains of memory pulse with electricity
switches on and off, gases intermingle floating
with glass balloons thru a landscape of emotion
silence stroked by wild wind to make the sea like a storm or a sheet?
give voice to the self professed shade;
lounge singer or burlesque comedienne
each moment packed with nervous energy,
abounded in spasms of twitch-skratch.
peeling back of the multi-layered character flaws
sandwiched between truths
to know a deep pit in the backyard
where we dump our rubbish and shame
a papaya tree is the only thing
that appears to grow from there,
last i saw it is almost at ground level.
how sad does something have to be before it gets funny?
humour creeps like maggots out of the morbid.
space is eternal, held and supported by time,
striving for calm is a simple acknowledgement
of the vastness within the vessel.

origin of white bread

location:environment
home:late by candle light

origin of white bread
what is the point of having a point?
where something is going is dependant on where it once was.
problems i have been giving to myself
stem from a place of fertile fear
doubt abandoning reason, i could blind my eyes away from light
expressing attachment to a particular outcome,
desiring instead to be free
from a cage of expectations and hurt feelings
an unsaitable appetite of longing,
a hole in each human that is daily filled with more
money, rest, work, peace, hate, love, bread
what is the meaning full circle?
is it like ending at the starting line?
recognizing the point in the pattern you have been into before
when water boils to vapour or freezes to ice;
does it not rejoice to return
to the liquid fluidity of it's medium point,
volitile to neither extreme
once more, resting on the line of a room temperature
everything needs it's perspective constantly evaluated
excited instead to include the practice
of having everything i need
plus pain
be aware of a remote control
on my own wants or at the very least,
the way i go about negoitiating their reality recipe
create the wholeness of experience as a compliment
pinprick point of profound time complete in cycle
to see one self; and to see all as one.