WORD-WEEP  BLOOM-PALE    (Silent, Wilting, Weeping-Willowed Words) - (around 1989; San Diego, California)

 
my eyes do not absorb so fast anymore      
  the suck of my sponge has grown lazy      
with the cancerous burdens      
  of too much forced linear space and time      
what once was my overcapacity to learn      
  has become a bored barrier of barrenness      
my roots have drunk up some irreversible poison      
  my leaves sag  my bloom pales to a wilt      
as i seek some soft spot to fall down on      
  some spot to surrender to sleep without waking      
some spot to evolve some kind of healing in      
  always kneeling in feelings and spilling my blood      
the food and fuel of corporate happiness      
  pools into a greedy sea of slavery and no good      
we come and go in any and every form      
  with questions  in quietness and outrageousness      
will i go in resolved peace      
  or hopelessly still entangled      
in the deeper  darker shadows      
  of some psychosocioillogical manipulation      
my moment of transformational  golden truth      
  distorted under the inescapable pressure      
of some overly invasive  oppressive  unseen thumb      
  precision does not matter here      
so long as it is realized  that i know what i mean      
  i see my world and life      
as sensed by my own intuitions      
  i have mind crafted my own loose definitions      
and ill be the first to admit        
  that i believe that even this      
is not just another matter of blind faith gone awry      
  but rather is some actual fact      
of self realized  open minded  precognition      
  come to help free me from the day      
yet what comes to fruition  in the long run      
  as we walk around this broken circle      
and see the changes in its border      
  but also see and walk the spaces      
where it once was continuous  unbroken      
  we slowly begin to walk look and see      
perhaps  if we are lucky and have vision      
  that there are lives still left to live      
in worlds still yet unfurled      
  great things to teach and learn for sure      
  as lifes story continues to grow and unfold      
with words still yet unspoken      
  as distant as that brightness in the night      
pure  perfect whiteness in its light      
  ten thousand light years away      
to reach your purest heart      
  yet only inches in the dark      
beyond your wildest dreams      
  beyond all penetrative doom      
theres a poke a haunt us moon      
  cutting through my clouds of gloom      
force feeding its silver ejaculate down upon me      
  i hurry to forget this type of wild joy      
but my eyes do not absorb so fast anymore      
  and the suck of my sponge      
has grown worn and lazy as well      
  like these words here  so carelessly spilled      
scattered fragments of some significance      
  tossed thoughts abstractly splattered on the floor      
rolling around  all over each other        
  moaning and morphing of course        
but not really shaping up      
  into anything that clearly said        
just stretching a mood or a feeling perhaps      
  a generalization of fractured  loose facets      
gathered up and reassembled  from one life      
  bits and pieces  colors strewn        
confettied  confined  lost and invisible      
  sagging now  from too much      
irreversible poison  accumulatively taken in      
  i have paled now to a wilt      
as if trapped in the tangled  strangling tendrils    
  of some dying weeping willow tree      
reaching for some silent  peaceful spot        
  where words are no longer needed      
seeking some soft spot to gently fall down upon      
  some spot to surrender to sleep without waking      
some spot to evolve some kind of healing      
  or preferably some kind of new      
more radiant  ineffable reawakening in again
  that is  if its not already
far too late at this point
  for any further action
nor hope at all