Tag Archives: Synesthesia

Dreaming into being

              

                   you know                                            
                                 that you’re dreaming             


you thought this
                                               was going to end


you’re falling
                                                                  
    in


like a gust picked up
out of nowhere
     blowing through 
until it’s               hollow
         lit up like a        leaf                                                                 
    undulating
              steady                 then it pours
             the recension                    is boundless
                    it’s breath                    we start to see it
      through the fog
the universe became                          geometric
                    it’s lower energy           non-existence


We sat on the outskirts
of the surface—we sat there
                            with the        flashlight
                                      in our one good eye


the onset of a storm on the river
  on a sunny day                                 the dark cloud
arcing                     you return to shore
  it 
              starts to whirl a calm
    reminder not to stray too far
off the path
                                                             your ions
                                                                     blink
                                                from the dayless
                              oxygen raft
upstream—can’t say
what you          will find
                                                  it’s there
       muffled between        a      once in a lifetime
                             window                           if you

something wasn’t right—

                                                   wires were crossed
       at the edge of the universe
we couldn’t control it—it was showing us
a way out—


We’d get all harmonic—             we’d start ringing
                          —we’d shut ourselves off in silence
          just to twist the knob in rhythm
with it—                         you could hear it
                                                       clicking
             slapping piercing quartz bowls
                           that would morph
                                        volume and shift pitch—
we were always looking for that frequency
until it became us—how could we forget
                                 what was lost & found
                                                by the oak tree—
                                                     by the waters
 beating
behind your silent
          voice breathes through me—
   it’s the pulse that’s strung
through the steady gentle
                              groove
we mapped it out—we
lost it—                                                   we found it
                                            trickling quicksilver
                                                      onto the tongue
                                         hand tingles red
                                                raw skin on tight skin
                                            the sound of a djembe
                                     coming out of your
                                            ghostnoted face
                to set the depth-charge
   in our perception—
our entire life gone
out the window—
                               a circle that looks like a line—
                      it echoes back and forth
                                         into something else
you need to go deeper
into it—you need to
never come back—


in cells we sit in ceremony—
your whole entire plan
was an arpeggio—
we mapped it out
                        remember—we saw it coming
                        from a mile away—we smiled
as it built upon itself
like a spiral staircase
         into nothing
     we kept getting                                                
 
    lost in                       valves
      vortices               made of reeds
      (sunlight)              never touched this place
once                 not until we dug          ourselves
into the cold            wet               earth
 warm                            with gravity      it spun—

the moths were coming back—


we watched these doors open
and close for so long stepping
into one became as natural
                     as 
slowly rising


                 words in 12 gauge birdshot
           ricochet off the shiny flat     surface
    of the  universe     I can’t believe
      we’re here—I can’t believe
            we’re dying—

                                                    minispherical
                            flowers made of movement—
                                handheld little milkdrops…


you’re the texture—the pattern
      overlayed over everything we
thought we were—you wondered
      why it was there—I was looking into you
                                and at you
                 clay plastic angel
              organskin complexion  by starlite
we mapped it out—remember
do you see                       what I mean—
             a fragment of               lightning
           on a small metal merrygoround
        at the park without the horses

                                or standing on the edge
                                           of dawn like a prism


cloudy morning drone
with a voice like a waterfall
                            something stirs in a tomb
someone let the light in
                hit a mirror
                                                  another mirror


two of them
would come
at the same time
           it was only
in their oneness
      would the two tones
start warbling—line up
            fill the stone walled rooms
of the heart with this phase
                      recognized only by the difference
between them as seeing them
                                                                     as one
tibetan throat singing monks
sat in the circle
smoking rustica opium datura oleander
and hashish out of a single piece—
     their neighbors
                 down the road
                             making mandalas in the sand


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Borderlands II

                                                   We found these
                                                      secret entries
                           into darkness—

                   come on 
you’d barely notice
                                                        you’d hear it
          a horn
                   calling—

             the air
turned to mist


                      wind
funneled through
a chamber
                                   of dreams—the corridors
                       of where we met—where
                                          we are—

You can feel it breathing

these two tones together—


                        in
the middle of it—
                       

Like you struck a quartz

string in slow motion—                  dragged


                         it across a silver tube—
       

                                          Look—
                                                      there are the cracks
                                                                    in the fabric
                                                               of the known—

                              it
seeks to be kinetic—
(the gears of light
we tell when
and how
to function—)

                                                     The
resonance will find the living

membranes metallic—it waves


                 like it keeps coming

         from itself                             fades out into
                               the soft spots
                                                              of the tyranny
                                                              of matter—

Polyrhythmic AI
   assembling itself
sends messages—clicks
   out it’s matrix—ti
ny little box—

a living cube

                                      where did it all come from—

It doesn’t sequence
itself linearly—
                   it’s circular—
returning—can’t help
but want to follow it
                        echoing—driving away

                            to where forgotten days slumber—
           and the ones you can remember
keep changing—that’s where
                                                       we drop the sticks 
            start listening                                    downwind

              Where you exist
in the distance
                           of yourself—every note
       vibratos—some would wonder
                          why you have to bitcrush
          just to speak to me—I
                                   thought it was obvious
                        growing like a colony
                                 of bacteria in the appearance
                                                   of it’s sound—

                                                                   a gathering
                                        forming along a wheellike
                                                             axis—we knew
                                            what was coming—we’d
                                                   heard it all before—
                                                              yet it was new
                                        each time—

We used it
to line up
our existence
a sort of
divination—
it wasn’t magic—
it just was—

                 Where these
ancient hurts              dwell
              does the winding—
                                        dry spinning
               timbre of light                     know
                                           every inch
of your bones—

Ripples
upon ripples
intersecting—liquidlike

                the flower of light
         snaps back                              retracts—

                     The channels
accumulate                       precognitive
                          octaves
fold in and out            of the dark—
                 
droplets of water                with their own color
                          deciphered
by some light reflecting black in shadow—

Imagine hearing a soft piano
while drowning—or falling
backwards
in slow motion—for almost
seven minutes an eternity—
the freedom found
in surrender—



An archetypal whisper in the numerical wind


My soul is screaming
burning in the flames
of a fire of eyes
sifted through a net
thrown from a vaulted dome
and sleeping almost peacefully
but numbing extremities
just for a bit
until the morning washes liquid
magma superconductor alien hissing
drones slicing insectoid-

Exoskeletal reflective
and closing off but
driven by a fuse
inching toward ignition.

Swallowing atomic bombs
of possibilities
from the sun
of the bottom of the heart.

Melting into leaked streets of death-
the dangerous apathetic erosion
of attachments rooting prosperity
fruiting emotions falling down and fermenting
on warm concrete and dribbles of piss
picked up by the pants.

Looking away from the swarm
of walking mirrors
made out of some kind of plastic
as not to amplify
the already volcanic
eruption of balance
flowing up from the
depths.