Hang-10, Little Saviour Surfers

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                                             ng                        ^ 
                                        si                            ^  ^    
Sea self-actualization  ri                 *!%  FREE %!*
     from festering riptides drowning sense
Common to the philanthropy of few;
     foreign to all the rest

The inspiration of nascent saviour surfers hang 
tenderly to the f
                         all
                            in
                               g 
waves 
                       of 
                          HOPE

Cresting, then cRasHing :
     Recycling: refusing
     the human excess with impunity
           sending restless skeletons into watery graves
where fancy fish 
                      view mermaid plays
 
~~~~~~~ <-:///>< ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Resuscitated!

Consciousness is such a slippery thing
like oil spilled over water.
floating above the primordial activities of our being
I dare dive into sleep
flying in my dreams
Hanging onto the threads of pale moon beams

Like an icicle slowly melting
My consciousness slips away
And I fall into black
Thick gray soup coalesces into a frozen pond
Withered leaves fall dizzily toward the darkness
of my dampened mind

Time stands still for ages
silence shatters the moonlight into crescent particulate slivers
And I melt into the violet rain
There's an oblong arrow pointing into nowhere
I'm already there
Most of us want to know if we are alive
but not this spirit.
Silver nitrate sponge head rest cradles me

SznNaP !
SZnaP !!
Electrostatic defibrillation jump-starts my gelatinous heart
My spine arches violently
explosively I awake into a spectrum of technicolor
and bright light
I thought it was the end
but spirit decided to put up a fight

Consciousness:

Resumed

Technicolor

Lurid colors explode at a million different angles

The rainbow shatters beneath a black canopy

Refracted light bounces in oblong motion

as sun rays hit a violent sea

Liquid light at its greatest

traveling everywhere

At all times zero seconds

Pointing infinitesimal hues in the right direction

arcs of energy expanding outward

toward an effulgent horizon playground

Sliding

Oozing

Melting

A multitude of brightly colored crayons on tapered canvas

dieing under furnace star our sun

blending together waxy and soft

runny 

and moist

liquid color

painting what it wants as it is set free

The Crossed

Everything has a breaking point.
Only now my patience is punctured by an ice-pick
that was projected from your hands.
Yes, you are that vice.
Damned me twice because I crossed you like a T.

Concrete bricks immediately weigh down on my haggard shoulders
as I ache into the swampy mind-cipher of disgust.
A hollow thud ricochets between my porcelain ears
Thumpety Thump!
Terrible tympani thunderstorms erupting everywhere
but in your slippery palms around my neck.

Who are you to push me through this eye-hole?
Pin-top pirouette
one leg missing.
Only a stump.
The heart is a pump.
pounding it's rounds like a Gatling gun malfunctioning.
Visceral fluids suctioning my wizened self-effacing spirit.

Supercharged K9 captivations capturing all my frustration
into a fiery ball of molten cobalt expurgating.
My liver and kidneys commiserating.
Why?

I asked my gangly guru rightfully named Dr. Donnie Doubtful.
If he desired, he could candy coat the pain
prancing playfully in my brain.
Yet no, he says you were meant to devilishly deliver the hurt
coursing like a lifeboat on the raging rivers of my arteries and veins

Counter-clockwise
I devour your lies
Was I the narwhale net trapping your tongue twisting trash?
If the sun-king peltered my spine with impunity before you could stab me
with your eyes,
I'd be sucking down Belgium grapes on a bed of roses.

But I'm not.
I'm sandwiched between your sweaty porcini mushroom palms.
Entombed as some dusty mummy
Like a dummy
Because I crossed you good!

Love's planned-out pain.

Thistle thistle
roll-of-the-tongue lemon meringue spittle
Sweet-scented whistler lost like a broken arrow
the machinations of the midnight sparrow

The veins of time
took a joyride on a cooked-up crime
I like that I've become a speckled pebble
wizened by the rain

Chronic, irregular arrythmia
vagrancies very varied by my vitreous tibia
All-nighter fighting fire
fueled by my ire
This will be the last time that I take that chance with you
It seemed like I sprinted slowly 
only I was lonely by your side

You once provided oven-baked joy
held by a thread that belonged to a toy
Distant dependencies fed from your palm
gate-keeper day-sleeper controlling the calm.
Cobbled and cindered and cooked and splintered
The rest dissolved by your beautiful eyes

I took it in thirstily as if my soul were dry
but it was only perforated.
Poor, poor spirit had no retention 
I'm sick of it(now that it's mentioned)
being hollow
Swallowed
by the promulgated, 
a pennies-worth
perpetuated
Love's planned-out pain.

Chaotic Cerebral Calculations Are a Crime?

96 million butterflies fluttering within a cavernous cerebral cortex
247 trillion tessellating synaptic connections
Electrical impulses bouncing at the rate of 12 micro-seconds per cubic picometer of white matter

Hardly matters
(Because everything is relative to golgi apparatus mitochondrial DNA.)

These are my statistics and I live it
It took me ages just to give it
but my brain is a bucket of jello, jiggling as it plays

Bach's sonata in double-D minor
Symphony tympani reverberation over-timer
beating ventricles this way, that way, every day
as cortical flesh fluctuates in shades of grey

In my skull there are these wonderful creatures
Operating on my most important features
My cadence, my rhythm, credit I give them
for syncopating my electro-chemical activity
in this abundant neurological relativity

Dopamine, scopalamine, acetaminophen too
Just a few, the same for you, to keep from turning into goo
Pia matter, dura matter, sub-arachnoid space
Different layers, different players, in keeping the brain in place

Axon dendritification. neurotransmitter creation
endocytosis and macrophages
Never on vacation, a conduction station
and oh miosis plus dividing cell stages
all instantaneous reactions in time

These processes are hazy
Going crazy!
Maybe, just maybe
I've lost it
My wit
or I'm completely out of my mind

(the butterflies constructed this line by line
as if chaos were a crime)

The Sands of Time

As the sands of time pour down my pants,.I stop to think a while

Of kings and queens and the magistrate

in a fiefdom of beautiful butterflies

where buttercups and tulips

grace the countryside

the sun a million miles wide

(when, in fact, it is)

I stroke the sky with a child's fingertips

the hidden stars purr in delight

They wait to grace me with their twinkle

come the spooky night of grinning jack-o-lanterns

and the smell of cinnamon and apple cider

that always permeates my colored mind.

But the sand swiftly fills these pockets,

mounds with tiny ants that just want a friend.

They have me. I sprinkle sugar on their heads

waiting for their approval which they give

with littles smiles and bright eyes

Then the sun sinks below the sea

and the twilight radiates its golden canopy

sweeping my orange orangutan hair from my speckled face

I melt into the sands of time with the wanning of the sun

the collective consciousness of all living beings 

consumes my mortal essence 

but have no fear for I am 

forever embraced by the One

The Rational Irrationality of Regret

Regret
Grave regret
Daunting REGRET

What does it all mean when your brain is teeming with the tiny tentacled creatures of regret?
Now don your silicon swim-cap
Here comes the monolithic metaphor many men have manifested in their minds:

The ice crystals slowly melt onto my bald head
I'm imprisoned by an electrical web of neural chain lightning
Cascading sheets of steel
fall
and fall
......and FALL
before my ghastly lunar eyes.
Giant orbs that radiate infrared heat to the frozen ceiling...
drip drip drip
the ionized stalactite oozes its chilling liquid soaking my raging skull
The clatter of thunder between my ears keeps me locked on target
point blank to the zero zenith of forgotten time
forged from the hellish fires of Hades

The mix of ice and fire shocks my senses sending riptides down my spinal cord.
Nature's spinal tap never stopping for a cup of tea
Like clockwork but this time the big hand spins in reverse
Full throttle
Gravity is my second worst enemy
My mind, a lofty mushroom-cloud, takes first prize
An acid matrix tessellates before my eyes
And still it drips
And still they fall...

Ten giants having their world summit on my shoulders
Two pressing against my portobello ears as if the action might pacify the thunder generated deep within my winnowing medula oblongata.
The chambers of my dessicated heart thump like the mighty Congo drums of Zan-Zabar
Boom
Boom
BOOM
Yet some parts of my body are still asleep despite the bellowing noise of guilt
These are my liver, vegas nerve, and my wasted appendix.
Can't seem to rouse these wanting friends

Garbage collection is 4am: Time to do the dusting.
Spread open the shudders of the mind and let in the sunlight.

This Lesson can be learned from this symphony of sordid stimuli:

In the cave of spent misgivings
there is only a cacophony of rational irrationality
and perhaps a blunt-forged headache.

cRysTal oRb

Turning turning turning
round it goes
every direction shifting
lenses scattering light
everywhere
Nowhere in particular
particulate points
of energy
quarks and photons
and their significant contributions
to sight
Refraction of crystal
as the orb trembles and turns

Spirit munch # zEro

Time masticates all spirit fabric 

Bite it before it eats you as it does 

The dog with the bark can, in time, bite

Whisper to the Silent of your awakening

Alive and open to the kiss of your soul

These things that haunt a ghost

can only be haunting until exposed

Again, time chews one remorseless chomp 

bite by bite

Harbinger of echoes imprint words of doubt

clout cut open the heartbeat's thump

An expression of your impending time metric

Soporific, tongue falls to sleep

Languid. Your expression demure

As swallowed becomes your after-taste

You relapse to a time when dogs pined for a munch

not just a timid bark.

Lucid Dreams (written as a Terza Rima)

These are dreams
Nothing is real
Or so it seems

What do I feel?
Am I a he or a she?
I blister and peel

How can this be?!
I am so awake
I comprehend all that I see

Yet I give as I take
Clarity fades
My awareness will break

In the sun without shades
I'm ultimately blinded
by aces of spades

But then I'm reminded
that this cannot be
My sanity I find it

I am set free
by a sleight of hand
I cackle with glee

My own demand
to deftly awaken
on sudden command

I am left shaken
I thought these were dreams
but I was mistaken

or so it seems....

Once loved: a psychic nightmare

Swoosh!
The intrepid winds violently thrust my heart
through the cracks of the warped and weary oak door
to my forgotten soul: fragile like the silken wings of a butterfly
captured by this whirling dervish recycling its thermal energy
back to the earthen planes beneath my feet
The longest unzipping of my psychic sweater left me stripped bare
revealing to the holy ghost my most feral of emotions.
Blackness and silence.
Creep, creeping cyclically down the double-trouble helix of my burning bone marrow, the inch-worm ambles ably.
But its the frozen fires that consume my radical essence of doubt and destitution.

Never was there a greater solemn isolation in this ion prison she created by her lips on mine.
Nothing ever felt so dreadfully divine.
One taste.
One nibble.
One lick.
A trick of the mind that left my right aorta palpitating,
frothing with the spent misgivings of another enchanted Thursday's communion
with the winnowed spirits riding high their draft ponies beyond the astral plane

I knew these folk.
They were my kin
Yet I was the lynch-pin to their untimely demise
The end of tomorrow closed the purse-strings on my roots
I held up the primordial ancestry to great esteem
until she forced it down the manhole of my mind

Salt over an open wound it was, they were, we cried together
Till the swollen eyes and ears shed all their bitter tears
Left steaming
tssssss!
The heat scorches fresh scar tissue
you were my warm and welcomed band-aid
but it was violently ripped from my skin

and with a scream doth ended this insane dream

The oaken door slams deliberately shut
I jolt up in bed and gaze lovingly down at the family tree resting quietly in the palm of my right hand
The left pressed tightly to my heart
I pray a prayer of Shangri-la on this frosty night
with my third eye frozen wide across the dusty horizon of first light.

"Beware, the radiation dynasty..."

“Beware, the radiation dynasty and its mutant cryogenics!”
The nihilistic naysayer’s wisdom left him his own cynic.
An infinite clemency slipped past his histrionic zenith
Timebomb butterflies exploding casual serenity was really what he meanith

Beyond the robotron revolution lays Jupiter’s grave solution
A zero-framed insurgency of fatalistic confusion.
He came into the distant future to cannibalize Saturn’s smallest creatures.
With brains to match the biggest empire, and nuclear catalytic features.

A severely proselytized firefly named ‘Titivilus’, slid down the double-helix DNA
Only to meet an eerily civilized choir guy who swallowed him right away
A ceramic canyon magnified superlatives in an existence three-fold sovereign
Serenity, like a buttercup-souvenir-banner-year, kept the denizens a slobberin’. 

An agoraphobic mutineer, two feet tall and stout
Dove into a crowd of clockwork leprechauns, what the hell was that all about?! 
Sex-slave subterfuge: deluge of slimy ooze, 
Always shocked the virgin pachyderm drunk on all the booze

Annihilation of the ancient past made many merchants chant
Om Pradaiya! from the ones who could, and bah! from those that can’t
Completion of Qbert’s calculations, mistook the moon’s craters for ablations
The quantum kangaroo also misperceived the figures for Pluto’s caveman demonstrations
All the daft confusion was bequeathed to Auntie ‘Baboon’ Betty.
Doing pirouettes on a fragile tightrope of spinach-green spaghetti

Oh, my lord, my too-ra-loo, do you really think?
All the things people thought about while hanging ‘round the kitchen sink
Were manifestations of transient insanity or just grand ol’ ideas?
Well, preposterous imagination created all of this during a bout of psychic diarrhea 

A Penchant for Profundity

While her project is nascent, she labors with profundity
Sweating in expiration for some breathless inspiration
Parched lips callously entrap salty-cracker thoughts
Leaving her hallowed pillar of strength in a terrible thirst
There's a plane that floats like a bug way high in the sky
In line with the eyes, but surprise surprise! If it's not the only thing she'll see today. [so lost in thought]

It is for her I seek a story: a tale of glory; a fable,
or maybe a piece without morals
Even a heavy-handed soliloquy – I could try.
For if it drew a smile and a sparkle to those eyes
I would be a million dollars richer, supposing money meant the world
If I held the power to find a leviathan topic
I'd dice it, I'd chop it. I'd digest it really good!
Then spit high the insoluble bits towards the sky, for this would surely change the view

Let the sun capture the falling angles of this precipitated poignancy
And the clouds of my mind let mull inside-out and over-under
Tumbling gracefully 'cross a newly infused particulate sky
Then swallowed by a horizon that stretches forever-wide
Resident of this fickle and volatile sky
Continuously molded by the magnetism of a satellite of lunacy
Partner to the spotlight that keeps it glowing bright.

Where ever lies treasured creativity?
The kind that imbues dreams
Seldom seen are the outlines of a masterpiece
Intangible fortune to have it and to hold!

But one finds inspiration amongst the ruins of crumbled patience
Of another day's deliberation: pondered, shed from mind,
or auctioned away
To highest bidder; collector of fragmented attention
Who cares not for poetic ambition or creative intent
Only fodder-finding to fuel the great bon-fire
Catalyst for the life-consuming project aimed high
Employment of a fresh air-traffic controller enthroned high in tower
Tuning the air-waves and 'okaying' the random projectile fly-by
Spit playfully from the mouth of the precocious mind

Some spend not the adequate time to find
The silhouette of inspiration, representing all we seek
Meek: Like shadow at the mercy of the sun
lingers far, or dances near, two steps where I am
Until the moment appears when 'there' is 'here'
And both of us spark great ideas
Where we'll embrace:
Within a beautifully imaginative place.