Poems from Boxes

Battlefield BreakDown

Cellular magnetic lock-down.
ten. back to it in-out.
cycles of confinement.
orange striped power trips.

price is right?
bob barker designed 
power suits. confined spaces.
hope in dream time forced nappy.

but above stars drawn on cement skies.
window breathes icy air
freedom past locked in barb wires.
transportation. desires. 
wash cycles

tonight She sees a Light
Flying drone in drought height
Guard - set me free
Bathe me in defined love

Blinded by night
an interdimensional jumper
blinded by firefly's lost light
reincarnated sold self.
price not right. rewritten
lyrical karmatic khaos.

Burning Bright All Night
Shades made with Glue
Paper on Air Flow
Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Will to Survive
Running to center of storms, 
don't catch that reversal, eastern edge
low--high pressure, storm beats
tell me where should I lay
my head, in a lost rhythmic beat

bring me back headphone
poisoned dreams, bring me back to a time long ago
Sheep. Lion. Wolves. Where will
the sun go.
Pink skies beat broken backs
Dragons Tongue, Words --- Stop.
In The River We Found Our Way.

Temporal overloads.



Prayers in a digital Revival

Some temporary words, watered down temples
Only ink needs 
lost in you
stained.

Could a mind be a target?
driven towards daisy fields of madness
turned towards light and hope
and still yearning
for inner/outer
spinors stuck. space__.

None would desire such
paramagnetic psuedo scorpion
legions of whys.
I search no more for WhY.
I settle at Future
Forgiveness my merciful forgeting
So how. No why.

Idea drew a love.
the love saw a see-saw
so it sees me.
or so. i thought i think.
Then it distorted, defracted, super-imposing.
simulacra, re-creation and in unstable sea-legs, logs.

divide dream-lucid-sleep.
over analyzed, watched, discussed
stirred, pot watched never boils.
but, alas, wait. worse yet, 
Denied.

Ritual shame games.
Mixed with strange test lines. 
Intel. Agents of Artistic Providence.
Lost lines in thinly veiled, robes
on thrones.

prophets cry. From the river of Jordan
To the streets of the home of bread
babies born, waters cries. 
Prayer brings us back, and the trumpet called
cheek turned, i turn - dizzy
was that you?
did you call?

Or another lost sign, on a subway bathroom stall
wet tongue
some other mans dream, not mine? did we share a timespaceplace
forsaken, betrayed, 
but betrothed to whom? Where bridegroom builds
palaces of interior revisions. Editors NightTerror.

Harlot. Mother. Warrior. 3000 pages unsealed. 
Massive weight of stacks. math check.