Bleating

The body under the influence of exhaustion is likened in unpredictability to the body under the influence of the influence.
Ordinary voices muted to demonic slurs.
My strength is siphoned out - gripping the wheel is arduous.
As I drive, the car pleads to eat the yellow highway lines, instead of succumbing to be their parallel.
I allow Mariella to do as she pleases, with a P.S that perhaps this is dangerous.
My core feels like cooked limp noodle.

Sleeping trashcans look like black sheep.

Life and/or Death

The World War One documentary fuses itself into an irreplaceable 50 minutes saved in my brain. The Germans, the Russians; regardless of nation, their intent of destruction is stomach wrenching. Words used in this documentary are Gothic in nature - far too primitive a syntax to be used as colloquial. Field of blackbirds, exhaustion, funeral procession, torture, poisoned gas, extermination, death rate, etc.....

The sounds of birds break the horror film's demeanor like a laugh in a slaughter house. These are human beings, tainted by biasness, enraged by presuppositinos.

I am sure that not all were racist ignorants. I imagine teenagers around these theatres of war angrily spitting upon their faulty governments and blinded predecessors. I imagine the revolutionaries, vainly suporting their non-support. Muted to their own destruction, for revolution changed everything but solves nothing. I imagine loving one who was drafted, and the hollow insides that would venture to collapse at every words of war.

War unwravels. War mends. War unintes.

It unintes the cowards. It unintes the brave. It unintes the blood-thirsty. It unintes the protectors. It unintes the gung ho. It unintes the anarchists.

Welcome to the most disgusting paradox life has to offer.

but such is life

plastic flowers turned acidic waves crash through the graveyard and its inhabitants.
the harsh wind strips warmth from all, and only black ice infringes.
my soft eyes open to the bitter agent of chill,
evoking muddy tears that confuse my demeanor.
and me.
i remember, with unstable steps, my familiarizing days with the graveyard.
i pass the great window slowly, baffled as to why the dead are intentionally made visible to the living.
how i wish i were a manatee.
able to dispose of the dead to the depths,
never again being forced to remember
that all things die, that i have died several times, and will continue to die.
but i am a manatee in human form.
large and imposing,
small and shadowed,
exploring the deplorable burial grounds.
looked upon as a freak by the surrounding brightly colored fish.

abstraction

it's terrifyingly comical - the ignorance in which i've been dwelling.
demeaning, that most profound realizations are issues we instinctively know in our heads, but are too proud to say with our mouths.
revelations are derived from the most sensible obvious facts.
and yet, we humans are only allowed to feel accomplished when we skew life into complication.

i am animated by an idea. i am not the patron of an idea. i evidence the idea. and what better to expose and sponsor and idea than a five-sensed breathing relational human? i am the mediator between the watchers and the unseen.

my words translate foreign tongue into colloquial speech. they do not compose the standard; they explain a minuscule aspect. my attire reinforces me. i am not defined by my clothing anymore than a wolf in sheep's skin.

i, today, realize and repent for living my life backwards. my words have revolved around trivial nouns.....and not the imperishable subject.

enliven the mute

...sing praise upon the harp unto our God:
who covereth the heaven with clouds,
who prepareth rain for the earth...
psalm 147:7-8

storm clouds paint the heavens
with a myriad of charcoal balloons.
the skies groan with their pregnancy
like my body groans to take flight.
the curt gray pier's edge
reminds my feet not to plunge in attempt.
stimulating wind breathes into my hair
with the smell of winter
and the taste of spring.
all is black and white here.
here, i plead my Father for color and joy.
a lone raindrop replies,
cleansing the murky tears from my eyes ashamed.
consolation descends with a multitude of messengers.
like drums and cymbals, they beat the harbor.
the sooty opaque costume of pinebluff lake
is shredded by the silver rain
to reveal its royal blue belly.
each cascade rings, like a harp,
merriment from the water's strings.
i dance – my mournful insides feel a shout of orchids.
my sooty eyes opening sea-green once again.
my voice, the harp, clouds, and rain
shall sing praise unto our Lord.