Morning Mirror

You see the porcelain skin-sheen,
reflected rays perfected patterns,
rhomboid dreams surrendered,
into waking, taken approximations,
resolve into a fluid process of cognition,
And recognition .

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Ludic

imagine, if you will dear reader, a hollow log sitting near a small pond. Water lilies abound and the croaking of frogs is so noisy that it is distracting you. there are weeping willows on the opposite bank and chest-high reeds surround this pond. The hollow log is from a maple tree, and if you look up, you can see where it was ripped off the trunk, though the scar has long since healed. hanging from another branch of the maple tree is a small rope swing, and you think when you look at it that it may have once been a tire swing. You do not know the reason for this. If you look beyond the pond you’ll see a small weather vane on top of a metal shed that you think holds landscaping tools. As you approach the shed, you notice a small metal padlock attached to a thick chain wrapped through the handles. Your vision clouds as you cry, remembering what happened in that shed. You continue walking past the shed and stare at the sun until your eyes and cheeks dry. So much sorrow, so much innocence lost, too many happy birthdays and too few first kisses. You came to like refined sugar in your early 20′s and gained quite a gut before you lost it. All of these things were years ago. Nothing much has happened to you since you started paying attention.

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Whittling (in progress)

Enter into it,
caress it and feel the return,
of intentional touch.
Layers, sheafs, skins
of long extinct species, phyla , kingdoms

That it is potential is a
consequential knowledge. Thought
grows, sprouts after germination.
Milk-thistle in sidewalk cracks,
dandelion crowns forgotten.

I contracted white lung disease
inhabiting the caves of this page.
My basil ganglionic reward structure
sits in straw, in the back, whittling
images of passé old surrealists.
Using knife strokes, ink musings
both ludic and analytic.
Stone resonance chambers
trap synaptic sympathetic vibrations.
Consciously created for drifting.
These symbols are free of bothersome semantic accretions.

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My poetic manifesto

first draft
My poetic manifesto: (written at the Soquel Safeway on 41st Ave. 4/3/2012, poetry everywhere)
To bleed ink. To explore the wreckage of humanity through fractalized continents of thought. Through fractured conceptualization and broken finger-bones. Through fragmented cognition. To discover that beauty, the concept of it, is broken and that what is true beauty, what truly touches us is the imperfect, the non, the white space, the defining limits are what give us the freedom to explore, to love, to write, to create. As these boundries expand, so to do our options, but in a world where we create our own choir to preach to, in a world where our search results are tailored to us, where we choose to watch news that reflects our own world view, where our connections to others are limited in self contained groups of our own making, we lose sight of reality, of reason, of axiomatic a=a. I strive to write through these self-made boundries to forge new paths of cognitive awareness. I work to embrace a wholeness of existence that can show the fallacy of the new social. These masturbatory enclaves that we have fabricated need a real fucking. I make sure my poetry can be that fucker. The cock that splits the lips of self-important narcissistic altruists. I make my poetry into a good, long, slow, fierce fuck. At the heart of the matter, it’s about fierceness. Fierceness is looking into yourself and baring what is there to the world, It’s ugly, raw, naked and true, and it’s standing there, truly naked, truly bared, with inkstains on your fingers and all your deeds laid on the altar of paper, it is, at that moment, raising your head and looking into the eyes of another person and saying “look”. That is fierce, that is truth, that is poetry.

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A fetishism of memory

You remember fingertips in the river
reach of revelation
regard of the swollen city
The derivation of Detroit

Back-beat bass bellows
silky vocals: Berry Gordy
Diana Ross, Jackson 5, Marvin Gaye

Chickenheads with herringbone
chains and ashy knees and
bony elbows like John Sally
wearing jeans sagging below
their g-strings
Thuggish boyfriends
drink 40s on porches

assaults: tire-irons
pistol jacking and whipping
like historic reprisals
remembering pain:pleasure
memoir of sexual concrete
memory of thrusting music,
white pine trees and white-tailed deer
rutting in white snow

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Hyperink.com Question of the Month

Question by www.Hyperink.com

What makes a compelling character in a book or movie?

A compelling character is intrinsically human. The character must have human characteristics that the audience can connect with. It is characters with gray areas that are the most compelling because an audience can tell if a character is not, in some way, relatable. For the reader to relate to a character, the character needs to be fully fleshed out with an entire life that led them to the point at which the story begins; otherwise, the character seems two-dimensional and lifeless. The key to creating a believable character is in the details, the little things. Does the character have a favorite drink? A personality flaw revealed in dialogue? A love for romance novels? These small things all add up to a character that feels compelling and believable.

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