impossible

in the city you may find her
weeknights back of the lot
expanse of sky above a fenced
square of earth to breathe
eyes full of sunset and
impossible math ruled out in
her forehead

tired of moving
cannot afford to stay
how can she tell
the kid

impossible unique

I can love you
seven. eight
days a week
our love
in / of
impossible
unique

regenerates
the snake

a nation
beneath
the lake

a question mark formed
around the life form
inside of us

thirty-two seconds
to unconditional

a timeless future awaits
spirits on dates
drifting down rivers
of corrugate
glue

heartbleed city
who knew

zero
balanced
degenerative

yearning for the night
predawn of artificial light

candles. burning
lifetime supplication
in / of oxygen

fall asleep breathing
in / of love
impossible unique

not the same old narrative on a fog bank overdrawn
yawn

take all the pictures
marry them silently
passionately

take all the i’s (before e’s)
teach them selfless living

strange to suddenly see
receipts of deceits returned
to the store

strange!
impossible unique

strange / dear god!
so suddenly free
impossible
unique

no longer above
no longer below
candle wax flow in
and of love

people work better when driven (insane) -viii)

People work better when driven, like rain. Not like nails through plywood. Not like slaves. Nothing narrow. Driven to a point as deep as bone marrow. Where the levee breaks. The point of overflowing. To the point where sanity and reason dead end. Where we may become highly emotional and sensitive. Where we conduct electricity and switch channels, facile (with ease, if you please). Irrational? for certain. Intelligence? Beyond standards. Insane? Well, not sane, in the best of any sense of not sane. A psychosis? Perhaps. Psychotic break? not necessarily. Long past the neurosis? Most likely. Ferocious? Like a tiger. Outlawed? Most definitely, like the wild are outlawed from your tea parties.

unedited

sachomes #1 by k

What american culture seemed to have lost sight of, somehow, somewhere in the past;  was the continuity and emergence that soon comes to pass. That dead end or limit, got taken literally, indeed. Never mind if travel may continue on foot. If left unbound and not institutionalized, unmedicated in some cases, people can get relocate themselves in the land of the lost. What by all appearances looks hopeless, even criminally insane? May find self-remedy, in the realm of the spiritual. The soul has no ordinary bounds, you see. The soul was made for being extraordinary. This is the soul’s inclination.  Past the point of knowing, really nothing is clear. Past the point of comfort, the mapped out area. Past the well worn territory of both mind and body. Past the breakpoint of rpms in your Ferrari. Past familiar. Out of area. Quite impossible, and why? Because part of our nature needs to learn how to fly.