In Mississippi 

today

today i found Sartre and Dostoevsky in the library. So I begin my escape from the underground with an apprehension of nausea. It shall all work out...but only at the end of the road...i am on an existential bout. Obviously i am spinnig webs of poetry. But such must be done before I bend a knee and swear decree. For i am shedding my skin and becoming me.

i dont expect anyone to understand such rambaling, but an awearness into my free conscious flow will be helpful if you are to grasp my personal cognition. some of my journals will sound this way, others just concentrate on the moments of my day.

you could get tired of both,
but this is my own personal growth.
So go away and return,
take the time as you need,
but look in now and then
to what my wounds mend
and my journey bend
look into what i pretend
and what i defend
see into my mind
and come to know yourself in my kind


Think me not mad nor sad or glad. Think of me as traveling...and join me when you wish.

such lightness as air

Instant eternity
Grasped in Certainty
through the movment of mutiny
on a minds profound scrutiny

such lightness as air
finds its place where you stare
one hardly feels there
in the depths of dispair

and yearning for meaning
we pay attention to the stinging
you build up some smiles
and the feeling lasts for a while

but again you begin
as you die in the end
when you hit the bottom
you begin to suspend

so open your mind
to the deaf, dumb, and blind
and you shall find
the secret behind

let go and begin
from that senseless within
continue my friend
and so choose your own end

and in this earnest awakening
discard that forsaking thing
and listen to the angels sing
as you slip on that dreadful ring

hide in plain sight
keep your thoughts on hold tight
a mind on the bright
and your eyes out on the night

Opening the door

Tear, The
by George Gordon, Lord Byron

When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear:

Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile,
To mask detestation, or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soultelling eye
Is dimm'd, for a time, with a Tear:

Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffused in a Tear:

The man, doom'd to sail
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear;

The Soldier braves death
For a fanciful wreath
In Glory's romantic career;
But he raises the foe
When in battle laid low,
And bathes every wound with a Tear.

If, with high-bounding pride,
He return to his bride!
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid
When, embracing the maid,
From her eyelid he kisses the Tear.

Sweet scene of my youth!
Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Where Love chas'd each fast-fleeting year
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,
For a last look I turn'd,
But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear:

Though my vows I can pour,
To my Mary no more,
My Mary, to Love once so dear,
In the shade of her bow'r,
I remember the hour,
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.

By another possest,
May she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere:
With a sigh I resign,
What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear.

Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
This hope to my breast is most near:
If again we shall meet,
In this rural retreat,
May we meet, as we part, with a Tear.

When my soul wings her flight
To the regions of night,
And my corse shall recline on its bier;
As ye pass by the tomb,
Where my ashes consume,
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.