for fast clouds

for the spies of love

how big such spirit of a wave of culture to be hidden in each drop of water. Woven into such tapestry of time space and the obligation to endure. Small mercies received and given how frail yet sublime.

this water is heavy. it is heavy water.

each drop exists but may not be pinned down, is difficult to find amongst a crashing wave of culture. How immediately perfect each individual drop responds to that which surrounds.

history in a cloud. Once upon a time we were all heroes of undefined invisible acts of spontaneous living a moment. Pillars of this temple solipsistic witnesses from the birth of the art of possible.

for the confidential section regarding sensitive material:

it will be a dead drop. Mark X at the end of climate change. pianos and balloons will be released with all our names proudly running away at the speed of light.

 

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for the sword of words

how could i not become anything but small love

could i not become anything but small love how

i not become anything but small love how could

not become anything but small love how could i

become anything but small love how could i not

 

 

for the flowers never seen

how your beauty is a tattoo upon my blindness

for the songs ever to be sung i am your canvas

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for the algorithm

for the spies

the world is so big and i am so small of this picture but one thread looking with customary difficulty. Such frailty becomes history held together by many memories. Why the stars looking down on the picture of us all weaving everything into one. However deep we looking up for guidance of our own better angels.

 

 

 

child of the sun

out of innocence children create castles with sand

how we dream while the tide recovers equilibrium

until next time…

translation:

we clever humans give a name to nature. This is like defining god in a book.

How all the books can not stop wind and rain turning a mountain into a desert.

 

first poem on the moon

was being better because art helps brain surgery rocket science

no, it was because all intelligent earth people radar love openly

Zero

to love a small stone

is to hold a mountain

in your hand

translation:

somewhere between a feather and a book

knowledge becomes confused with gravity

so if it was bags of gold under the eyes

elsewhere it was heavy on the heart

 

six, the thief of word

could conversations stitch walls together over border crossing blues

i will become perhaps a bird or whirly whirly

no matter, mystery is more often lost than found

explain climate change, UFO Jesus said my wine into water

curved straight lines of infinite hide me fingerprint

blue collar me dog bones fraternity like brothers in latin

picnic me basket of Atlantic Salmon voting age Bear squad

glue me to screens tattoo irony all over my face

tribal ink is to cave wall equilibrium spiritually progress

animals we eat, animals that eat us, notebook by a river

last ant I saw last thing it saw was ignorance or innocence

smash grab bomb art fucks off…