lost ways

 the minute scrawling
of ancients
on crumbling brick walls
in lost jungles
overgrown and forgotten

tattooed testaments to loves and life
in blue prison ink made from burning paper on a light bulb
to the elaborate artists on Clark Street who offer modern art
forever
there
for all to see
marked

words are
spewing through the air from the internet
filling libraries and mouths and newspapers and minds
in hundreds of languages/from all of recorded time.
hypnotizing beguiling
spell binding

writers lapping at the infinite tit
drinking down the milk of the cosmic mother


my words feel orphaned
someone out on the net may find them
but I will seldom know

pundits
screaming up a fence and corralling your mind into their madness
trying to keep their audience ready to stock up for the next y-2k scare

simple said he simple and then all will understand
words hide more than they reveal

self-referential realms

racists and Bircher's and nazi's

and apocalyptic Christians living in suburban slumber
and dreaming of seeing their sinning neighbors burning in fire
as they fly up into the sky with  the Son of God





Cosmic wanderer
ponderer

slandered by even having my name in the filth of some minds
I would rather use my words as a cloak
to hide myself from entry through  your evil eye
masks I write up
of wizards and warriors, loves, and aliens and fools
mavericks and tools

'the wall was too high

he could not break free."

Pink Floyd

my gamble in the game of consciousness