to the seeker

to the seeker
salivating at the bit for right

                 (and right can mean truth with a word
                  and is not the same)

seeking condominium truth
blue prints drawn

        following

what has been written
saffron silk singularity

a past parcelic confirmation
well aquatinted in color and ruse

and the leaguer is free

if a pacifiers fancy lends them to
osculating condiments of

your are

                        you are not

no questions please

playing to the memory of
   
                                         Memory
               
                    (ill-remembered)

as Truth 

procrastinating a meaning

          alchemized

       Let me remember the wilderness when wilderness meant

a tree grows
indifferent and cooperative

or have you ever smelt the fields of cows................................................?

And we could find the meaning of Will in seeds birthing
natural light

awakened in the morning             and in the afternoon
eat the heat of the sun

because that is the way

seeds
that can believe in what they were given


the difference between ribs and dust
and the dust was added

by


to the seeker turned preacher who believes
and will tell of it

and you are so sure
                                 let Us speak of it

as well as this and that
so we both understand

because this is what the trees are doing
and maybe they know something we both do not.

what would monet paint, had he been a waiter?

what does it mean to be cleaver

at work

when work is a railroad tie

unbriefed

noted substantiality 

and driven

shallowly       into a ground ill-designed 

peanut shells on the flour

          

                           (you'll tip and forget what that means)

                   ties unknotted

          driven immigration

    emulating skateboard freedom in a basement

basing its meaning beside what can be honestly grown

in fields

laughing amnesic

depending on your reading level

bereavements considered 

depending on what tevo says

and why is that a thing

defining

             mine and yours

and

               it can not comprehend the spring

or a breeze in the face of an ill-tempered Sun

a sellers rhyme

i once was a seller, a hairy combed feller, who made batches of bisquets from rye. 

who grew tired of the spicket 
auburned pliers-let them stick-it 

to any Mad Willy who'd comply

I prefer boxes of matches to pixels and faxes
and lend a helping hand 

if there's cake.

but what i won't do 
is blame phill for the stew

that i traded for risotto and stake.

when was the last time you saved a ladybug?

could tomorrow be the day where the tiles tend to themselves?

leading one behind the other 

or America fuck yeah...

lending themselves

to what could only be described as an

orchestrated

and meaningful annulment of plight familiar

unburdened in thought and thistle

                                you feel your own pain

and

it's helped along in its passing by 

and defining meaning requires the simplest of guidelines

         i've always preferred green over red

even as a child

building traps with string to keep the fists from finding

an easily turned doorknob

made for adult hands

to turn. 

were we all raised

conservative?

and

We are the rules

                     can make them 

as the wind blows between beasts of buildings passing cloudy days

captivation 

or

i've stopped killing bugs

choosing instead to take them outdoors

bites be damned

the best words i've read recently

"My beast wears rings and he hides under the shadows of my silent hesitations. each image is so clear, yet I have no hands to adore the precision. the finest gestures of the air are traced on my eyelids. I see them and they see me, but there is never a reply. No hollow flash when the light withdraws, leaving with it a crevice where the angel signals, only to begin again."     from, "fear of dreaming," by Jim Carroll pg.117

shit! If only.

the bookcase

it is magic

casing perimeters    metaphoric symphonies

colliding quietly

like footprints in tarragon fields 

awaiting reduction

like

quadraphonic truths 

presenting themselves to be wyvern

because the devil is not what you think

and the tower of love pictured impartial 

when written willows vary 

and willed men seed

memorized verbs into microphone ears

ill educated and hungry

it is magic that will save you

because

in the beginning was a word

and there are plenty of words on the bookcase