Beautiful; the way it moves…
The day and all its turns.
But Sol must leave, and jester grieve.
Swallow all that burns.

Cascade

Of a chemical sort

Change is constant

And I’ll eat my way out yet.

Hormones race

Eclosion beckons

Greet your penance, sweet sunset.

For the ages poured,
As cement.
Enough of being discontent.
A pane of glass…
And words that pass…
Remind me now; rescind consent.

Long and lost…
As a dream you can’t remember.
You know it was significant
But otherwise erased
I don’t imagine…
Selfies in December 
Can’t suffer through a single view
This battery is spent.

Now empowered,
Standing there.
With unchanged face
And brand new stare…

I watch the same old window.
New photons filter through. 
The atmosphere I’ve nurtured, 
Split fuchsia and blue.

I know the bonds, the binds, the bends…
Shared experience and friends. 

And what we’d do. 
To reach justice. For each other. 

I hate my hands for reaching out.

But they’re cursed with blood from factory farms.

My fattened sense of self import.

Too heavy for my age worn arms.

I can’t butcher anymore.

But I’m still the craftsman too.

The lines we blur…

Signs that infer…

That you’ll find judgement too. 

And when that sinking feeling grips…
The Angels show you mercy.
The demons recognize that you are grand and they are worthy. 

The grace I could not boldly grasp.

“You made this bed”, in subdued rasp.

For all the talk of letting things just be.

Acceptance sails away from me. 

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Tell me about a time when you were misunderstood.

Merciless me, and the wreckage i find.
With teeth razor sharpened like axes I grind. 

On the stillness of surface. Naiadic below. Proclaiming and naming in case your wings grow.

The old world diminishes, new world betrays. Adding sycophancy to the cup bearers gaze. 

What a spell to behold… through the system of years. Feasted on fucking, hydrated on tears. 

What humility means… compassion as well… is seeing all churning true, on through heaven and hell. 

Ego possessed I descend into spite, making sense from the non, as we extract day from night. 

And reflect on how flawed any person can be… find a sea of human drowning Merciless Me. 

WEB

thank you for reading this.

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When you write, is it always from your individual perspective? In the stories you produce, Both fiction and non, which unit within most represents you? The YOU that IS… tell me, who are YOU?

Can you forgive the you inside?

Can you forgive the you in others?

Can you feel the web that bends through all?

There is an emergent axis through the center of your length.

Will you create the zygote of your individual star around you?

Through the union of what’s right and what’s left…

Oh please say, that when the sun rises, you’ll be proper in sight. Proper in thought.

As the thunderous one sent those rays to guide…

We send our created selves into the æther. Into the void. That the one may recognize our divine right.

If you choose.

Only if you choose.

A biting wind sails through
No telling now, where or when…
Unsure of its own origin.

A minnow’s twist

A brush-foot’s lift.

A silent scene turned sacred gift.

And each daybreak 
Brings more to see
The earth… my worth,
Both shift in time. 

A thousand metamorphoses…
You’ll split and mend.
I’ll drift in rhyme.

There’s certainty behind these lives.
An urgent need to hide these eyes.

But I’ve tasted death and birth again.
Drunk with safety…
Bathed in sin.

Yet.

Memory serves. 

Wisdom endures.

The dote I am,

Your potent cures…

It’s time that drives also binds.
Frames, renames…
Buries those signs.

It’s time, maybe the limits fail. 
The moons reflection captivates.
 
But timeless is the immortal soul.
It seats itself and cavitates. 

The system cedes to beauty.
Capitulates in awe…
I beak in half for sapience.
And with the drifts then thaw.

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You’re not going anywhere are you?

Living not a mile from where you eat…

The river bends around you.

You’re not without two useful feet.

My offering, a little more

It follows my intentions true.

I dream the things you need to hear.

I’m scavenging an ancient you.

I can blind myself to seasons.

Could lose the sky for looking down.

But the crux of this,

Is what we avoid,

To explain our fabricated frown.

Numerous gifts, patterned love, stoic like consistency.

To build imaginary friends, to know how void could your persistence be.

Once bitten and twice defeated.

Devoured by where your soul is seated.

Logic only paints in grey’s and that’s fine except the mind betrays.

But for those who drown in Love’s pursuit…

Deaf to its sound… tasteless this fruit.

You cannot hand your keys and thrive…

To those who have nowhere to drive.

And wanting is a fickle friend.

No dream… can’t make the want pretend.

It’s cold outside.

Inside too.

I’ll keep my keys.

And stagger through.

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The end of your death.

And if decay had a source,

It would be your first breath.

The molecules fine, hydrogen; divine.

Doubly so is oxygen, and turned into wine.

How we’ve spent these hours…

In a blur of awareness.

Rearranged as the Falcon,

Of order… perhaps fairness.

Should you go forth by sun,

Then by darkness be done…

Reflect now in obeisance.

The word.

The one.

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There’s a right time for all

There’s a little laughter

Caught up in the locks

The difference in a stretch of days

And me, I watch the clocks

It would take a landslide

To shake this twisting burn

I hold the line

Defy design

And thereby Manage your concern

There’s unspoken lore

The word being ever true

Nothing less nothing more

Myths are born and followed through

There, pools of purple sing as sirens

Enough to thirst for what your form provides

Initiating violence, if that’s desire that churns and twists insides.

What punishments can often teach

That wanting fruit just out of reach.

Holy; is the presence there

And of its grace do those lips preach.

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There have been some number of instances that I’ve seen growth in a human that I’ve analyzed… attempted to understand, but it doesn’t really land for me.

I’ve always been one that needs to find out. And in the memory of all the moments of growth, which have taken me to an embarrassingly ripe age I can see now how it’s helped develop a fuller understanding of the process. Each older thorn causing my skin to harden. Each breaking down an instrument shaped by the self in an effort to contextualize how far I’ve come and how different I really am.

I imagine it’s the same for most people but I’m learning to study the fire that begets maturity AND intensity.

caught up with me on a snow day. Thanks for reading.

The first man

Blind and draggin’ bags

Suitcases with my worries

The common crimson flags

I am no builder

No songs about my name

My temple hangs about my neck

From my pen no proverbs came

As fire born a sigil

And the dust i was, betrayed

I clutched my side in uxoricide

Just to face that decisive blade

Used your wings

Felt the spear

While I sat and tried to disappear

But don’t we all need rest?

So if it helps to hear

I’m weakened and diminished

And your heart is in the clear

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And the scent of the end.

On the edge of the bed.

Parts of you, my old friend.

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Cities have nightmares.

Lenses and light flares.

Prepare to defend.

Dare to descend.

Long nights; early mornings

Quiet fights and loud warnings

Could always pretend.

Anxious friend.

Bridging here from 2023…

A picture no one else could see…

To dabble in hope is to slice at the seams,

Of the most rigid forms that show up in your dreams.

Consumed… digested; those parts of me

The whole of you in apathy.

Even cities have nightmares so…

Accept the path that has to be.

Rolled in like a storm

Without any doubt;

This cumulus form.

If instinct is a lie

That the body produces

And perception a lie

That the system confuses

Could we agree

In some sense for now…

To consider the why

And gloss over the how

Imagining I’m at war

But while memory serves

I’m just hiding in wait

In this system of nerves

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There it is staring me right in the face. Instinct drew a sharp distinction between acknowledgment and embodiment of an archetype… and I? Well you could accuse me of dishonesty if I weren’t so already committed to it openly.

That’s my wound. Trust. Dishonesty with oneself and radical truth are the same. People looking in are clued in to your mind. The things that make you a person by both what you say you are and what you say you’re not. Maybe more from the latter.

“Oh my biggest weakness is that I care too much.”

“My largest mistake was that I second guessed my own value.”

I’m going to answer both of those cliches with honesty. My biggest weakness is that deep down, part of me wants to be a monster so that I don’t have to be what the monsters eat.

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And my largest mistake was ever trying to integrate that part of me. To deny it it’s just due.

Sure, I do forgive as an act of commerce. I create uncertainty in the hearts of those who care. Blanket myself in the past as a defense against its sting. I hate, label, omit truth and meander around barbarism.

But I also address them so that I may be of service. There is no warrior of light here. No broken knight whose foolishness twisted his path into chaos. No virtue that doesn’t have its inverse nature… and no soul destined for victory.

Even my honesty is a jab. My sincerity an assault.

But I would help you.

I would use my last breath to do it.

And I’d accept a souls truth as well, even in its corruption.

-NeoMythicScribe

I won today…

Victory found the thud

Of cells casting spells

Of fresh air in my blood

The pages turned again and over

And I had learned to listen more

The poignant voice of reason left

An echo stretched toward the door

Is this the way out… “go! And Stay out” it rattles.

As my will and sense of doubt unravels.

New arcs and grounds for old tired battles.

To remain faithful now…

Is a fog; though I practice.

I stand by my sick senses.

While the world craves theatrics.

But I’ve won today…

And the first hit’s always best.

Like a song on this sand,

With your waves at my chest.

There’s perfection in ugly

And I’m perfectly fine.

Victory’s beams like fingers,

Found warmth touching mine.

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I can celebrate the fact that I went a whole day without abandoning myself. I can acknowledge the pull from my orbit around what tried to kill me. I circle its mass like Saturn. Like lead. I don’t want to transmute that. I want to leave it heavy and dull to remind myself of all those nights I couldn’t find breath without the urge to give up.

No battle was necessary. It happened upon me as I inhaled. And there was no smoke, no vapor… just the fog of choosing to believe all would be ok.

I realized that I had what I needed to survive. So many do not. I also realized that the impulses and struggles that have taken residence in me before were simply guests in the temple of my blood.

I waited in a way that patience wasn’t a factor. With the understanding that my drug of choice was always hope… and that hope could never be part of my foundation. I could never wait for its placement as a cornerstone.

Is scoring a figurative substance a win? My addiction being a metaphor for the peace I outsourced?

Did I try and scrub my win of all its patina to elevate its significance? Or is that stylistic chemical sheen just a reminder?

What does it mean to win?

Who knows?

Does it even matter? If your nervous system isn’t in a condition to receive it anyway?

The warmth I spoke about came from me but at an octave higher. Or lower. Whatever makes the most sense. The real magic and the real win for me… is that it wasn’t external. Sure the cold front eased momentum for a bit, but my response to the weather internally surprised me. And for a second I was proud.

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A glow I know yet can’t remember

Even basic things…

3 years in an awkward phase

Embrace your wings

Change your ways,

no sir…

I will resurrect my fire.

Scatter ash

Strum the lyre…

Tuned to B

The flattening weight

The heart

The part I instigate…

Unknown is the future

Known is the now

Unified is our pride

Alone is the Tao

And divine mind won’t give us

What we won’t also choose.

Be grateful for gibbous

Or in full you lose.

It’s 33 degrees

Pain blankets me

Low, like snow on fallen leaves

Images in thought

Circle me in ellipse

Burning in the stomach

Vaseline on my lips

Understanding in my aura

Despite the call to rage

I Jenga the words

Until they fall to the page

It’s frozen not just temps

The whole world over

Blurry vision from incision

You’re a 4 leaf clover

Have you planned

To hold in place

My shaking hand

Hope on this face

Assume not, deceit

Presupposition

I could not defeat

Harder would be to dampen blades

With fluids cast in garnet shades

But challenges are all I know, and…

Words and streams depend on flow

By shared geography

Let us play

And dare to say

The truth of who we aim to be

But in scope of present

It could be better

To live those feelings

To the letter

And speak right here

True Hope and fear

And shed the “I”

We’ve held so dear

Because from “us”

And “we”

And “ours”

We break our chains

Descend from towers

You’d learn to love

Grey and silence

With stinging winds

They seek out violence

By staying still

Hiding out

I judge not now

I stand devout

The altar I have made

To paths that fate would braid

Every turn I see of season

Exists as just another reason

if reason be employed

I’d argue one could not avoid…

The rest required

The quiet desired

Is part of you…

And I’m overjoyed

Including what you love to hate

Consider me a poison dart

Who couldn’t really Penetrate

And what did you consider too?

Withered soul, diminished state

My sensitivity as weakness

Or the dark I chose to integrate?

Has the cost of what it took,

Found its way into your senses?

Unbecoming like a book,

Read in reverse, rewind pretenses.

Never mind the lost connection;

Severed chances, burned the odds,

questioning this resurrection,

And you wonder why I turn to gods…

Because the fire that I carry,

On shoulders weary still.

Is all this life amounts too

And that’s all it ever will.

Trade the sun for a righteous freeze,

Your holy word a caliphate.

My brightness isn’t on its knees,

And needs no one to validate.

My passion isn’t volatile,

My brokenness not dangerous.

Think on it for just a while,

Imagine how the stars see us…

Thunder stepped in as a friend,

I’ve made peace with a lonely end.

And praise the word your culture tells you,

I’ll pray that something deeper melts through.

Embody this a little while…

Kill a king with just a smile.

I’m just a mirror after all.

I’ll lift you up… prevent your fall.

Accept the job I never wanted

The true are served, the rest are haunted

Only walk a sideways stride,

Until it’s done.

The gods provide.

0 4 hundred and it feels like pain
Yesterday… arthritic stain
The ache breathes defiance in my bones as I move heavy things.

0 6 hundred and it feels like hope
But only long enough to cope 
Until the memory, like salted cuts reprises everything.

0 8 hundred and it’s feeling rushed
Morning’s silent symphony is hushed
And when I take my shallow breath, I seek the will to move.

10 hundred and caged in fate
This efficient solid state
Emerged from years of spinning wheels, to circumvent the truth.

12 hundred sees a tidal wave
My writing hand can not behave
Re-emerging from the past, lacinating as some rotten tooth.

14 hundred and the mind is blank
Gifts I’ve squandered want for thank
And all I owe can be forgotten in a selfish play for peace

16 hundred and the feeding starts
The siphon stabbing softer hearts
And my ways are intellect, the concerning burn of freedoms decrease.

18 hundred and the feeling is spent 
Longing… leaving this lament
Early on the best of me was offered up to carry those heavy things

20 now and the eyes seek rest
choices chambered in my chest
In patient liminality for what tomorrow brings.

Zero hour. rise in sweat.
Just in case the gods forget.
The petals shed.
Bright gold they bled.
The best might not have happened yet.

there are too few hours in a day. And not enough days by far.

Normalcy… the worst.

To be it’s image is a curse.

Protected well inside the mind.

*

Or maybe that’s not truth in full.

And weighing the potential…

Is solely existential.

Isolation’s deep magnetic pull.

*

…and to be abnormal’s brightest star,

And bear the brand of being unlovely.

Unnerved, observe the sky above me.

The way left milky, a brilliant scar.

*

Steady on through circumstance.

Acquaint the heart with letting go.

Strange as only strange can know

Notions like ocean’s expanse.

*

Of course your wires surge for this.

Mine are twisted in such a way.

The skin around me must betray,

Or break slowly in dark remiss.

*

Envy is a common feature.

But pain is natures truest teacher.

*

Plainly stated

It’s ok

To be just you

In every way

The earth feels smaller,

Changed…

Complete.

The threads that frayed;

Still taken root.

The moon has had enough to eat.

Our dampened souls,

In soft pursuit.

No; magnetism.

Leaf in a wake.

The need to run,

Or grasp in grief…

A lessened pace,

No loss at stake.

Electric hum, complete relief.

There are two inspirational parameters for this poem. One of them is this photo I edited and explained below.

We are in

Migration in a sense

Where the milkweed grows

You’ll never see that miracle again

But if you’re so lucky

You’ll see one similar

And it’s imperfections can catch your gaze as well

How perfect is it’s impermanence…

How impermanent, it’s perfection…

As irrational as uneven cuts.

stuc nevenu sa lanoitarri sA

And did you find these short weeks

Helpful for your soul

Because for mine they were

Number 2 in F minor

And you danced along the path

The sunlight warmed us both

Then glanced at you and laughed

Because I knew you’d leave

For Michoacán

And I’d save a spot for you

On every other trail I see

In everything I do.