NetherwoodsPoetry.com (Ch1)

Chapter 1  
 
I  
 
Looking glass of ink abyss,  
mansion of dark expansions,  
mind - a dangerous design  
inside of space and time.  
 
Prayers in layers of smoke  
into sky.  
 
II  
 
It’s not the end you see,  
it’s only the end if we  
let it be.  
 
Words from a movie:  
Dancer in the Dark.  
 
Bjork plays a single mother  
in an impossible situation  
where she is forced to  
kill a crooked cop.  
 
(Perhaps an oxymoron.)  
 
This is the quote at the end  
of the movie after Bjork dies  
singing, hanging by noose,  
guards crying.  
 
Real fucked up horror show  
stuff.  
 
III  
 
I felt sad and fucked up beyond  
all measure and description.  
 
I mean more hopeless than  
maybe I ever felt.  
 
Of course, I know it could be more  
hopeless and fucked up.  
 
But fucked up is fucked up.  
 
Laying on the floor, laughing  
in pain and anguish like  
a Jared Leto Joker.  
 
IV  
 
I went into a savage  
rage, shooting two guns into  
the depths of the void,  
bursting in profanities, madness  
and multiple insanities.  
 
The internal fabric of my heart:  
Dark.  
 
Passing out from pain.  
 
Awakening.  
 
Insane  
 
V  
 
Waking, sun stains upon brain  
rained upon by rain – Drained,  
madman eyes of fiery skies.  
 
Looking at the swaying bamboo,  
something protruding, scarcely  
noticeable, a framing with 8 foot  
poles for a cat shelter.  
 
In a spot where I was going  
to build a writing room, rustic.  
 
VI  
 
Writing room.  
 
Something about a minimal  
modernity that has a cool  
hue of cool.  
 
To my eye, glass based.  
 
Symmetrical transparencies that  
transcend a domicile into  
lairs of nature.  
 
Thinking of it, it has the same  
mechanism as the idea of suspending  
the rational mind, in order to  
access the creative mind.  
 
I think this is because one fills  
certain aspects of the hierarchy  
of needs, whilst being in a  
state where one would be  
inherently missing a foundational  
aspect, this being: Shelter.  
 
VII  
 
I had a dream of having a farm  
with such structures…  
 
Or land with trees.  
 
I really wasn’t shore if I would  
ever do such a thing.  
 
Eureka.  
 
I could put this into a digital form.  
 
Writing rooms in the woods.  
 
In a digital format.  
 
I thought of a trip I had on  
LSD in prison.  
 
We lived in trees and opened  
our windows daily to share  
light with one another.  
 
These were Shining Ones.  
 
This is the strangest life  
I’ve ever known.  
 
VIII  
 
Cipher_O is the owner and  
operator of a poetry site:  
 
NetherwoodsPoetry.com.

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