The Poetry Marathon

I envision the infinite blue skies surrounding us
but they were slowly fading into the mountain’s sunset haze.

The winds they whispered and whinnied through the trees.

The spirits of air, whistling with wild will: yet woeful in the days waning.
The winnowing light wilted the wind’s temperaments, you see
.
For night was coming:
Stillness was demanded by natures’ stern command.

It was soon to be owl time.

Together, we sat: gazing at the infinite abyss
as it consumed azure firmament.

We joined hands.
And for a time, we stood witness to the power of the night.

The truth is sometimes jarring.

We can sometimes be a mess.

But messes are not monsters.

So please stop ripping out your chest.

I disappear into and endless expanse sometimes.
Abstract
Formless
Endless
Connected
The ghosts of my past erased for a moment.
Casually
Fluidly
Absentmindedly
Fluently
At witnessing the small reflection of light in her eyes
Color
Motion
Strength
Soul
I dive deep in to luminous pools of infinity.

……. and in that void, I drown.

The echoes of my weeping surround me
as I awake inside my cave.
The tear in space behind me whispers
a siren song towards my grave.

I’ve got to go to the city now:
I’m told I must be brave.
So I dance the daily dance of life,
upon the edge of razor blades.

Nightly, I return to my cavern weary and alone:
wondering if from myself, I will be saved.

Listen to the Animal within.
Protect your fellows feircely.
HEAR the stories of those who came before.
Seek the future with openness.
Be clever for your people.
Your intuition sees truth.
Strength is more powerful when wielded by love.
Be the guide: but follow the path.

… And your story will endure.

Do have to suck a dick in front of a jury of faggot elders,
to be queer enough for you ?

Or is it ok with your queen-li-ness,
If I do whom-the-fuck *I* wanna do?

See: be it velvet pussy,
Iron cocks, or genderfluid toys….

In my pansexual thinking:
I get *ALL* the Joys.

And this world is just as shitty to me,
As it is in *your* lament.

So take your non-inclusive bullshit,

And go get fucking bent.

The pack before Self
Hyenas track the grassland
Predators who Love

The Music: it surrounds us.
The world just melts away.

Its all of us together
riding the sound waves

Our intuitions intertwining:  Comingled, not colliding.
In ten million different ways.

Our Emotions synchronizing
Only movement can remain.

Our worlds are simplifying.
Yet every complexity is engaged.

Unflinching  and Unvarnished:  Acceptance meets connection.
Solemnly received. And freely gave.

You can’t file a lawsuit against the universe….
.                                       To which court, would you report?
Your circumstances are what they are now.
.                                        …So You *gotta* do the work.

The social contract is bullshit.
.                                        And Fate is a capricious bitch.
He’ll give a blissful happiness
.                                    and then rip out every single stitch.

So..
do The Work when you are short
…
do The Work when you are short…          on time.
do The Work when you are short…              on strength.
do The Work when you are short…                       on peace.
do The Work when you are short…                              on Light.
do The Work and put your soul on the line.
You’ll find the universe inside you.
.                                   Its right behind your spine.

Be the Seeker through the darkness,
.                                    find what is good and right.
There is strength in your fragility,
.                                    Your vulnerability is your might.

You have to walk the hard paths,
.                                     Even  though they give you fright.
You can find the peace you are seeking,
.                                     Before that  long dark night.

I just wanna go home.

But the park I came to roam:

So that I could be alone.

.           No electronic prisons or cell-phone.

.                                  …To try to set an artistic tone.

.                                     … And now my tired feet just pound the stone.

.                                                                      As I try to figure out my 8:00 AM poem.

But I find only .. endless fury as i contemplate that   ” D-O-N-E” does *not*  rhyme with ” BONE ”