What have we gained

at the end of the day

but our right

to rest? -Intellectual Shaman

I listen to the conversations go by

discussing

all matter of unimportant things

absorbed

in their own little worlds

forgetting

the bigger one

they are walking down.

I don’t blame them

most people never escape their own.

My world

is a warm green bench

at the end of the day.

I lay down and look at my new favorite tree

the leaves are green and yellow

the crescent moon is white

in the blue sky

the sun is bright

and the birds don’t chirp in harmony.

If I’m going to do something

it will have to be as perfect as that warm green bench at the end of the day

to all worlds left

and forgotten

to the seasons that change

I am the same.

There is great opportunity for laughter

when the world opens up

I close my eyes

and see red

I tighten them

and see the universe.

I open my eyes

and gradually see

the beautiful world

right in front of me.

I wonder if people know

what their conversations are—

not gusts of insignificant words

but powerful statements

that reverberate

for a lifetime.

How can we spend our lives

like inflated money

without value?

If you say

the words of another

that you don’t believe in

because you are silenced, if you speak your own

it is as if, you were never there—

being removed from existence.

Expression, is gone.

The one who plays the orchestra

is being played.

Most players, are willing players

participating, in a sound, that is not their own

judged, by their precision

and not their soul

no noise is genuine

just noise

for the purpose of perfect

but perfect, is a sound nobody wants to hear

and nobody wants to play.

If you leave the stage

with your body contorting

shifting

because it couldn’t say

what it needed to say

you know, something is wrong—

it could be, your whole life is wrong.

You don’t exist

And you teach others

they don’t exist.

You don’t know your neighbor

And you don’t know your sound.

Your recording plays

without permission

Your performance

is a mistake.

Some of us want something

beyond

droopy powerlines

familiar roads

and the limits

we freely recognize

in ourselves.

The traffic signs

all look the same.

Is it true

that you take yourself

with you

wherever you go

so that, the limits are always within you?

The roads that lead out of town

are empty

with want and desire

uprooted trees

traveling

great distances

like dead monsters

between states.

What are we

if not dead dumb rejected monsters

leaving town

to be cut-up

and heaped on the stockpile of humanity?

That heart

of living warm wood

wants to be useful

and not neglected, in the mud and the rain

loved by sandpaper

and shaped

by God’s hands

Wood is meant for more than the fire.

Why do we feel

the need to convince other people

we are right?

We should listen to our own voice

drowning

underwater

distracted

by things

created

from other minds.

Now, the madness

is like some poorly designed

artificial intelligence

with a thirst for vengeance.

I guess, the man is in the machine, now

and he isn’t happy.

The imagination

is real

where pain and pleasure and evil

come from.

There are no made-up worlds…

You can be touched by evil

You can be touched by skin

You can be touched by a nail

You can be touched by an imagination

something

no one else

can feel.

There’s a light

in the dark

recesses

of your mind

TURN IT ON.

I don’t need to participate

in the politics

of what people think.

It’s only their programmed prejudice.

I don’t need great wealth

only time to myself.

I don’t need to be the best

I just need to know

what I’m trying to do.

The simplest path

is the one for me

It’s the one I’m walking down.

I stopped trying

for other things

and the peace I have

is better than the false promises

of the world.

Delight

is found

where people don’t go

in the things

people don’t understand.

I visit them

and they make sense to me

but only me

and in time

the world may even pity me

but that’s only because

what I want

is not understood by the world

and I’m thankful for this lack of understanding

because it proves

what I have

is entirely

my own.

If I listen to the next man or woman

who cuts a life to pieces

with a sweeping statement

like a knife

slashing

a living body

of work

that’s died

I’ll feel murdered

inside.

My soul, remains

because of dead bodies

crying out

from the grave.

I alone

seem to be the only one

who hears them.

The rest, say, “Good, he died. He was a socialist, a parasite, on humanity.”

A sweeping gash

of red paint

splattered across greatness

with no chance

for greatness to defend itself.

Strangely, no defense is needed

Greatness

can’t be undone

though, many have tried.

Maybe, I’ve been infected

by my own curiosity, cutting too deeply

right into my bones—

the marrow of understanding.

Dead people

say more than you do.

They are honest

because they can’t hide

naked, underground

unlike you, clothed with cowardice.

This sneaking humanity

says, “Let’s be friends…”

and they walk away.

Hurt people

hiding

in grocery stores

believing

I hate them

when I don’t

How can I?

I don’t even know

them

“Good morning,” I say.

They can’t look me in the face.

We meet at doorways

their shattered respect

distorted

like slivers

of glass

piercing

with pain

infecting

their anger.

My respect

is compromised.

My power

tested.

But now,

the only opinion

that matters

is my own

self-opinion.

Their words

don’t enter

my mind.

Their pride

is part of the crowd

more dangerous

than a thousand

hungry lions,

waiting to eat

the living.

We are saved

by what we believe.

We are saved

by what we reject.

Don’t listen

to the lions’ roar.

Listen to the silence

inside

those living people

who have died.

if you don’t feel like yourself

listen

if you don’t hear your own voice

get louder

let the walls, and the trees

echo

with your sound.

People say

what they hear

Recordings

going round and round

They don’t know

their purpose

they don’t know

their sound

they tell common lies

and neglect obvious

truths

they are afraid

of themselves

they don’t believe their own words

and they don’t believe their own sound

if they dare to speak

they are silenced

and they stay silent.

When you speak

in secret

they will know.

Your life is not their life

Your dance is not their dance

It’s entirely your own

with much confidence

delight

and swing

you are unaffected by their sound

your power is a revelation

not a recording

an unfolding

beautiful

sound.

What knowledge is worth knowing?

Not useless words

in a phone book

Not expectations from a job

from parents

from fools

from ambitious newscasters

Maybe, God

if I become like God

the ultimate creator.

Life and Death will tremble to take me

when they hear my thunder clap.

Ignorance looks at greatness

and knows it’s great.

I want to be that painting

that sculpture

that word

that can’t be forgotten.

There are a thousand things

I freely

forget.

I can’t be everything

to everyone

I can’t be a smile

in an unwanted conversation.

I can’t be 14 definitions in a dictionary

only one, the one, I give myself.

The mass of men

are only dust

blowing in the wind

scattered on a sea shore

and shaped by circumstance,

waves of their wanting

washed away.

I will be

different

A speck of sand

in time

grating against the flesh of humanity

creating pearls

from pain

crushing want

with fire

true desire

turning tides

of the timeless war

shaping the ocean

of emotion

and moving mountains

with faith.

I prefer my life

in pieces

separated

from the whole

a great mystery

I can’t solve

jagged

empty spaces

imperfect

because it’s never going to be.

A fractured life

is fulfilling

because the game can’t be won

there are always squares

that won’t fit

that can’t fit

and rather than trying to make a perfect picture

with what I have left

I’ll enjoy playing

this game

that can’t be won.

Whomever created it

must know

I want the whole world

or nothing

and since I’m not going to get the whole world

and I’m sure to get something

I’m not going to try to make my life

perfect

or even

as good as I can

What is the point?

An imperfect life

that can’t be solved

is more interesting

than getting

all the pieces just right

in the right amount of time

Maybe this is defeatist

because I have

a few pieces missing

but I like the game more

because of that.