the abandonment [rise]

clash flesh against flash to sound that trebly roar from the palms of our hands to the high domed sky and look to the others who share our joy our tears our confusion our heart that cranks a rapid pace and plays the bass for the choir that plays reprise and pays the coin to feed the empty hand

and:

could he truly dare to speak those words as though they commence some completed thought that here amongst our several minds there lives some sincere  divide [divine] [refined] (rewind replay the tragic the fun the happy the longing the one) single perfect model of life that wraps so happy around these words that state themselves in reference books //we're false we lie we could not care how truth defines our name\\ and yet we give we still respond we file : one by one : to have our thoughts they're borrowed they're sold they're lost amongst the varnished revolve that spins it grows it idles it throws these phrases to our jaws that click and break and love and wait and spit and drink the stew

now:

rise frail friends from your wooden chairs back the way you came from seperate parts of seperate worlds that never asked nor begged nor hoped that never breed the same replies that never care for this the greatest lie the sanest truth the roof the floor the wall the wall the wall the stage

and:

its a fair fury that held our hopes for all these years in fresh fingers in boney prose how could ever we truly give our simple souls to the crystal loom and drape the garment that ravels out upon our square set shoulder blades or bite the cloth and tear the ends and treat our pouring wounds

-and the empty stage to the empty pews-

..you left me as i left you..

here on the streets in the failing light the bodies bereft of mind make feigned attempts to resume the dance the one that filled the stage that filled the limbs of the puppet muse and dazzled the hungry eyes

make me the same i want no more to have this empty hope

~we cried~

it was me that hooked my pretty hands to the hanging silken thread

and all the same though many plees you layed towards my callous resolve you knew the script you brought it in -you wrote it one dull summer eve- did not you know that once you penned those words that clash so false too soon those words that clamour so eagre so true to romantic dreams you wrote the words and so did i the ones that follow the rhyme and tear from structure some timely demise and give to verse a well deserved . long awaited . betraying . hated . inevitable . happily stated and never denied final eternal demise.

it was expected by sheer design

you always knew and so did i

the words that wait

-before the ticket was stamped-

before even the paper stained

that ink drenched opening line

rend it from your frosty lips

please wrap your tongue around the sting

and i promise to do the same

dear

sweet

friend

utter that demanding line

though happy

though sad 

the end.

...but we have yet our names to sign... 

the abandonment [no more roses]

no more roses they said and felt significantly it must be so no more roses to sow or sell or make spells and cast reverently into the skies no more roses they said and felt utterly so that this must be the last of the straws at the bottom of the cask no more roses they asked

not even for a coat to wrap around my chilly bones and cleave fretfully behind the roads not one they asked not even a petal to make a bed not even a thorn to make a train to ride away from the snow no more roses not even a stem to set hopefully in this glass not even one nor should ever we cry or dream or hope

to rend them from the tomes that these flowers once so honestly frozen and callously held between fickle fingers shallow yet true and feel even outwards grasp blindly sincerely and clasp and dream of roses

 in fields and sheets and oceans of red and yellow and oh so many facets of those gentle haloed friends those lost those lamented those longed for oh so yearned so needed so pleaded

they there on the steps out on the bitter street never sweet not any more for no more roses cascade no more roses remain no more roses pour ambitiously out from the fettered dew drenched roads and wish on delicious lips on wetted waiting whispering lips skip out these words of plea that never would these unfortunate fools ever for even one moment have even ever believed that for even ever not even one more moment could there be not nearly even one trace one trickle one sweet scented sumptuous red alluring rose.

"??no more roses??"

they asked

and scoffed

and left

and rose.

The Death [and the glass]

when this world no longer turns but hangs dim in some other sky

when stories are mute and none promise ever to spin out from lapping tongues

these forms once draped in cotton and gold

(and rotten and mold)

now forgotten now old

(now cold, un-told, sold, the saddest most tantalizing ode)

collide.

amidst frozen stars these two again for one last time stretch out arms towards one another remembering fondly those awful crimes and stroking firm wounds matching maligned they dance that fabled dance and grasp from the universe some practiced  design and make a score a thousand times performed once more once more some sweetness burns some kind old phrase hanging delicately out on the edges of time remind these pieces these heroes these fiends that there must in some perfect mind be a perfect version of a perfect prize and then their fingers let slip their grip but not with horror nor with glee nor pride but with honesty for once this time with truth with hope with grace replace that false design with just a smile a simple sign from one edge of the empty divde to the opposite side of endless time two massive spheres of absolute each as grand as the other press together and for once after all this time say good-bye.

.gather round this priceless scene yes drink in this final turn for no reprise for this dancing pair will rend itself from the archive.

~look across the divide~

The Death [and the longing]

..............................


when once blue skies lingered over the bay where war ships lay prone silent still no whispers wait pregnant in their bows the sailors sleep soundly in the gentl breeze {drifting in from subtle seas} and on their finger tips bring dreams of fantastic unity and each is foolish and happily unsaid those fears those regrets not here not yet "on some foreign shores let them rest"





-and for just now sing-



simple melodies and think never so long of the final song rumbling slow deep on distant horizon on some other page yet crave so sweetly that unhappy dirge as well you know this tonal love:



a single pipe and just one drum



beats a simple score



[a theme familiar]

that begs the orchestra to join in harmonic praise for well [too well] we know these clouds>>>>



Help me now erect this pole and capture the storms

how i miss them so... ... ...





[and so together we dug the foundation and grasped the high metal pole and set firm in silver sands a beacon of our despair]





the ferrel clouds errant above the oceans glistening field have but one thought in mind at any given time and from over the edge of the earths unforgiving rocky fascade


where rivers end



where seas fall



::where ocean drifts to eternity::





these black clouds wrench up their tired husks and fought the falling torrent and now launch into the sky
               {the angel's tragic home}

hungry

...

The Twin's Reunion

take to your comfy seat again and know you have no options left but to smile laugh clap and scream at the empty stage [enter ghosts left]

the pin rests heavy at some intersection where this line crosses that and its great arch passes over nimble tides and scratches curved lines on colored sheets fingers crossed it mumbles to itself as it draws this new line far far and further still from womb and onwards still and no rest fortune favors only the wretch and muses in their jellous dance think our scribbles inane and useless hearts chained //rattle rattle// in a length unknown lost long ago their wanton desires lost long ago their free empires their crowns their sceptres their fame and traded in for empty bowls eat well fools eat well for your roles demand reprise.

>>is there supposed to be some beauty here in perfect circles or lesser lines playing completed degrees for i fail to see what glory shines from that going nowhere coming back going forth coming back<<

and of no concern and of no return and yet pick up this pen as though thrown in anger and continue this broken prose it matters to non who writes theses lines it matters less who reads and who dictates sermon or prayer and how well the audience hear at the back they sleep at the sides they love at the front they long to play and rush forth from out the stands taking to the stage and plays this man a frightened king and plays this fool a happy clown and plays these friends the chorus dance

}we purchased a script before we came as we felt certain we'd have this chance to show our lovely teeth and watch closely as we lift our skirts{

::its clear this line made promises to itself that it would wander wherever it would and in some strange way it kept this promise but it appears it was never to itself for it finds that whilst it dallied and traced new curves and escaped that awful spin its anchor weighed too heavy its centre itself the pin::

and the audience reliquish the stage and the twins resume their role and from the skies the backdrop falls and the ovation raised from within and this the monologue and then the reply and this the duologue then

.you.is.the.same.as.i.

echo and narcissus

and thats really all there is to it she replied as he whittled the last of his wax into a thimble and

barely audiable uttered the same reply in response and this did not calm the nerves of the twins

as they slowly raised their heads to see eachother and themselves and they screamed instantly

in the same voice youre more than enough and i have you here and you have me there and we

cried as we watched the scene as it made us angry to know that these models of existence could

never be more than a dream on the scaled lips of bitter angels rattling off story after story just

for something to do as they wait for some excuse from the bottom from the top and then say

again once upon a time and then eventually it appeared the ears turned inwards and no longer

we waited our minds comfy and blank and empty and begging and we all at once said enough we

know the story and we know how it ends and now you sit and patiently listen as i rattle off this

awful trite over and over and over told story of one and then another and a place to go and a

place to leave or something sadder or faster and when you have listened to this story over and

over you will perhaps after some eons drip through the cloth know that you want to hear no

more of these fantasies and the angel cuts us off and now changed appears to us something

unchanging.

• the angel's retort.
• the audiences' realization.
• the twins' reunion.
• the death.
• the abandonment.
• the eternal.

works (re)cited

He made a motion but felt uneasy it seemed out of character to make these attempts at constructing monuments to some monument praising cycles for cycles it makes it harder when you place candles before the wooden steps and then back back back steps to see the whole structure marvelous in thought and jarring in contextuality where quality begets animosity and why shouldn’t it what kinds of happy connotations take their nests from sprawling trees just to make light by wandering shorelines and this could only give rust to statues and dust to latitudewhereingratitude lies bleak and self serving earning degrees of haaaaaate and dining tables set straight against weakening teams of tired ox dragging and waining and waxing and lamely fall drift of sleep in sizeable connotations related loosely and uselessly to lonesome weeds pushing sadly to the sky where never but any dreams did lie and ask this question of the dreaming brats just why and no answer theres no need to give light to destructive leads that crash heavy in our chests to stop suddenly and whiiiiiiiiiiiiir no need to see no need to care no need to repair the opening cloud let pour lets pour ourselves down from the sky scattered souls torn and then strewn and lain barren across endless panorama to give proof the lag is still daringly making his dreams a nightmare for these platitudes and stretched out lips burn the sentiment to some other idol sacrament sacrificing sacrament sending prayers between radio towers and no frequency tuned non care or non know and fare this treatise and share this meekly outlined carriage for two abandoned in healthy inflated shapeless traits given from it to it and back………

….scene above is taken without permission and used without gall in a sense that tends to offend which is the best circumstance for self inspection when asking for favours of gods in tow that we always hoped would lead us home and we turn back and say is this as far as I should follow and it replies me are youtalking to me am I supposed to take you somewhere who could you possibly mean what am I to you and the preceding lines should be read as a confused wretch who will no longer respond to pleas and the following lines should be taken on face value with the subject and the object reversed and the verbs all used as pronouns as follows swing on by the hollow cherry tree it is my gift to myself but you can use it too I loved it when I was a small dog and now I am more than you perhaps we can gather our thoughts on the subject and erect statues to our personal threats…..

Whilst in the process of caring for this tomb I came upon a settling fear that lingered some time in my mouth ran cold ran hot spilled cheerful cheerful cheerful what news of this old crying dame spread back to our hovel here and caused much jest and mirth so we felt cold enough to rake up the remaining fowl hopes and crush them together stomping with bare feet the mess that dribbled from the mesh and cupped up the demanding parts and left the rest to the crows by the door who chirped and seemed smiling that april morning one thousand years before the first dawn rose sluggishly from some other world we stole it from them took without concern……

….again it seems fair to make clear that all the premises listed above point to a conlusion which adds brevity to already small….

And now its become less and how it looses steam after all these volumes written haphazardly as odes to their illumination and for their termination cant hope more openly than this elemental praise and cant wake more fervently each and every single goddam fucking day to play this record on a turntable evolving the wrong way down like spirals chasing cars and cars making illegal turns and chased radidly through imaginary forests and fields like a zoo full of people or a church full of zeal and if this is some wish bursting longingly from my heart then I will start to have cares but if once again this is some trick the puppet likes to play or some dance the dirty devil wants to make happen on my charming pallet edged tongue then surely I am the fool and clearly I am the last bastion of faith in the entire choral lament and how else would such a story come to an end but with the only character playing every role and when the lights come and the lights go and that sad echo rings heavy in the stands this man that pays top coin to see his own one man show claps once claps twice then feels….

….most of what is outlined above can be seen nightly at the theatre down the road and costs nothing but your time so pay up pay up roll up and sit for the most spectacular event of the season that comes to you directly from the broad side of the moon and…

no tickets; events cancelled; invitation only

but there is probably a solution… its at the back of the book… after the
glossary but before the lexicon.

SEE ALSO: YOURSELF

would this art ask for faith

there is no honesty to this art and no truth told [old hearts yield selfish desires] this fire reeks cold like snow and like snow falls this beauty goes only down and underfoot is trodden into the earth never birthed or realized for what it wants to give for it gives only of its self like the old irish man told

>this art speaks no deeper truth than that which
is revealed upon first
inspection<

[redirection]

is an appeal to the self for your health this will never end for your wealth this will never bend

youthful thoughts twisted in your mind find only those echoes from a thousand decades once

loved once cherished now loved now cherished no needle punctures deep enough to find fresh

follies huddled together neath ancient earth for these are your questions answered posed only

for gain refrain from probing deep within stolen thought for this art asks only for your attention

not redemption and no exceptions train sane vanity in locked chests grasp open sores and ask

these if there lies within ‘the faith’

>I wished on the desolate shore praying up and down moon and sand send gifts from the ocean upon the drift I will render unto you my all for merely a whisper of honesty torn from choirs of salient truth and wait wait wait an eternity I will wait<

and yet again like he once penned [provided it is not too long] for patience falls short of desire this longing is built on ash and sinks until the spires loom meager in the drenched sands and waves wash over and hope denied turns to wasted lies these revealed now as absolute truth because absolute is nought but a dream so it seems broken

and oaken coffins once filled with>>>

::death reveal dust in the due coarse of time
let not this love linger let not this hope grow::

for it wraps tightly around the supple neck and binds and lacerates the divine skin thin or translucent once white pale fresh now red purple flesh and spills forth

real flute sound plentiful still one note at a time trickles fine lines down curved neck over untouched breasts and unadulterated hearts beneath this line crimson and sweet meets maker escapes the source bids fond adieus and moves rapidly down

over unscarred skin towards ill abused navel and down and down and drowns sadly in the place that will never receive

pain neither in nor out that wrenches life from scarred tools grinding hard against one another in mysterious love or anger or misunderstood obligations and this negation of life is death as it ought always have been and now know fully that this into which you have placed all of your hopes and reams of wasted prayers brought sterility to those once most virulent of…

on the veil

::this image is for sale::

It’s the one from your dream last night youll find it difficult to recognize because it kept changing but it’s the one the same as her as him as it as they it’s the face that meats the face theres no grace mighty enough to reveal its identity for it is identity pure and true and few [or many] encounter and all will still agree
that
this face they knew
that this face they loved
that this face they hated
vindicated berated kissed
kissed
kissed

until it faded and lay there something beneath this face was no face but illusion

(confusion unintentional)

this face is the face that sees itself and says

goodmorning and goodnight I miss you I love you I know you I knew you I am me and see never never see beneath it looks face to its own face and this face is surface and beneath is surface that begins a journey into the heart of something sincere

but
what fear lies within this veneer should the veil prove yet to be nothing if nothing is concealed beneath then there will be no surprises it suffices to say that the surface is all there ever was and crack that shiney glass there beneath is vast empty dark so fine so fine nothing gained nothing lost repair the crack continue without remorse regret without fail this veil was all there ever was it is what you knew and it is what you will continue to know the hope though

the hope

is that beneath is something true through the looking glass you find you and knew all along that this was the faith

behind your honesty that your face was not a disguise but a beacon leading passers by into and out of your whole

hole/soul and yet again what horror remains when the surface is as nothing that what lies beneath a vast

atmosphere of nothing was everything that veil that hides the self is nothing and yet

that self

remains

concealed