“Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind” (Emerson, Self-Reliance).

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the mind imagines stability

The mind
imagines
imposes
stability
on an ocean
of momentary
flickering moments,
like the frames
of a movie
seen as ‘motion’
of ‘matter’
in ‘time’;
sensation
plays the eyes
for the eager mind
and the algorithms
that once
produced an outcome
are applied again
and again
and adapted
until successful,
becoming
an ever more refined
actor in the
mind-extrapolated
plot
according to the
mind-extrapolated
agenda.
I once saw
something I loved,
then it turned
in an unfavorable light
and I
could no longer
conscionably
love that
hideous thing
as myself,
so I became
something hideous
and now
I can love it again…
for the moment.
We are
an unutterable
present annihilation.
We
remember the past
and
imagine the future;
there is no time…
just the present,
which itself also
is barely mnemically
removed from
the actual present.

stars and pines…

stars and pines
dry bluegreen
silence smell
the memories
of a house-dweller
absolute answer
ominously
on the edge
life’s end
vibrance-then-lack
and no words
or half answers
waiting on goals
for circumstances
to change
intention with meaning
without action
this is ‘mind’
cold underlays
all effort
but the cold
isn’t cold
the waves crest
into effervescent ice
out of
the ocean’s current.

yellowed brown the face of learning

yellowed brown
the face
of learning
trying honestly
and small
moving
to keep warm
rainy dry
green blue
leaves overhung
my spotted vision
once gone
once away
once fled
into rome
for a day
i paid the rent
once more
again sinned
to call it
that again
my watches
of water called
and my words
the words of all
the streets i’ve walked
the halls down i’ve called
sunlit white façade
bluelit lacking shy
i honestly know not why
you turn your head away
from my mind
all mine, oh that’s why,
to relearn one’s own voice,
the texture of black
writing your delusions
slow on a sack
of intellect spilled deep
and far, but not wide,
there is no more to hide
since we called
your home phone
and caught you at home
watching yourself
watching us all
the all-ready there
placate the mind bare
found walking on
shadows of gardens most fair
your hair was not
the fall of water i’d hoped
nor nose the right shape
nor mouth right hook
but who called the gods
those self-centered dogs
presiders o’er pagents
and moralless hogs
fogs creep their stage over
w wittely humid
their image their face
and that face a hood
don’t be so you
and i won’t be so me
but i’m just speaking
of my wants there to be
another me but better
a craving i watch
stroll down the halls
with eye-squinted clutch
of my throat of my eyes
of my arms and mouth
what wall did crash down
what words ring aloud
crying
crying sobbing
lurching
heaving
outpouring
years of long debt
i decay tomorrow today
it’ll all be alright
please let it all be ok.

played it on worry…

played it on worry
the day,
fell on
towards ends
hard played,
the ends
more clear than
your face,
my breath,
mind o’erworn
for there called
another καλον
made clear
the face
clear through
and over
you’ll find
my hands
in the art
of eyes
and stones
the sand
flat called
polished face
cold greys
air clearer
cold swept away
my green Pasteur
glowed long
soaked over
so simple
the upright dirt
for whom
from when
for how
in the cracks
of paradise
ideal
my ears
colored grey
in darkness
fallen the hills
the light
older than all
fled
across the rooftops
befell
the puddle.