A still image of a madman's thoughts

I wander many ways.
And when I see and/or feel a light so strangely charming,
I bathe in its confidence.

To think of Luminescence as gusto…
Yes,
The Sun.
And I am glow-in-the-dark,
So my mind’s eye fades late,
Late into the night.

At times this feels as if I have merely emulated¹ this brightness through my smile.
Particularly my eyebrows.
But this feeling succeeds with absolutely no gripping hesitance.

Some claim roots,
Others claim blossom.
And though nor will side or abide dependence,
They dream of each other.
Day or night,
Animate or dormant.

So as we wander and wonder,
We are created and creating.
To discover what is already understood
(Rather than struggling to understand)
Seems to be the under mentioned dimension
Of the collective conscious.

The trusted knowledge that our certified critics of humanity preach
Has become
(Always has been)
No more than stepping stones
For the people to leap and fly and away from.


* * *


Ah, and when the release happens.
The tension bursting: the friction burning and excoriating every thread of thought as they’re tugged through the open seams.*

A bird in first flight.
Wind carving divine commandmental freedoms into the hollow bones.
Whistles transmogrifying worries into a soaring song:
Harmony of air chimes and deep moans of the clouds.
New tones born instantaneously.

* A starved crowd crawling through each other's faces²,
Pillaging their kindred for the sake of the ever so slightly satisfying taste of gold.
Thus placing their own digestion above the blood of the very people that create the hunger within them.








1. Emulation… It is pungent with inauthenticity, but its taste is genuinely satisfying. The mirrored sunlight from the moon. The moonlight belongs to the moon. Fake can be just as good.

2. Le Sang Song sang “…You gotta eat their gold while you’re stepping on your neighbors face…”