from whence clarity and potentialities flow

being proximal
a sort of swell, satiating whole
streaming into me
heart is where the home is
a priori prodigal
intelligible as could be

luminosities

silence the watchword and voice as the vice
wide open as the windows pouring rain into your eyes
with sailing songs of remedy sung out into a surge
inducing accelerations to crescent states of being
truly the elect will never compel

Hatching Five

Outside my window,
I raced the sounding engine's whistle only days ago.
A volcano given way to pressure,
there are jewels in the river.
Ash flowing downstream launders my skin of the memory.
Smiles are not painted,
faces are not made of canvas.
Drinking lye,
etching truth into magnetic stone.
Dissolving value and burning,
burning my eyes again.
Reflections prove precisely what you never were.
Oh, how I should have known,
the soothing glow,
it told me so long ago.
Oh, how I should have known,
the words we formed,
they sound out your name.
Oh, how I should have known all along.
It is only a word, it is only a word, it is only a word,
I will always remind myself.

positive oscillator

our bodies accumulate brilliance and reflect on the sun.
permeating the marrow and shining out/in to the vacuums and void.
inevitably perceiving the shifting as instance.
misunderstanding as to why all the others lie their trust in promethean cities.
please heed the beacons in the firmament.

symbiolic

this is a struggle for your senses, so surrender.
it's not like you use them or need them.
a cadenced swarm of timeless light and faceless shadow.
you never leave home without it,
make a camera of your mind and see.
a format is so simple,
and you'd rather think about yourself.

you're not real if you don't have a ribbon

we exist in symmetry, and somebody lives in the sun.
madam, whose presence flows through us always.
dearest luna, please keep us streaming through to lucidity.
oh, please just keep us alive.

shared polarity

fusion gives into gravity just as social submissions progress. a mountain is made of molecules. do you think they will give us any space to breathe? who are you to say, when your point of view is from six feet under? we're all going to leave someday. one can outwit the stratagem. which will you be? loosing venom was so last year, and soon i'll be growing my feathers. now i know myself by another. the old signal faded, blurry, opaque. a painting over elliptical eyes.