"Castles made of sand...

Slip into the sea...

Eventually." — Jimi Hendrix, Axis, Bold as Love

My reputation is built on granite

Solidly planted

One with the planet

Never recanted

Its spires reach to heaven

Its turrets defend my realm

Defying repossession

And refuse the overwhelm

Yet aspirations are wicked

And circulate through pipes

And rise and fall, as liquid

To rot, below, the hype

Granite is not forever

And castles suffer disorder

When acceptance of whatever

Is used for brick and mortar

No castle is perfect

Even one built on stone

We allow the cracks that reflect

To show what we've become

Love's visage is a most sacred and sagacious sound

Inspired by false credence in the tender night,

Unconsecrated devotions rise all around,

Enveloping faith surmounts then flails midst starlight

Pious, nonsacred streams of moonlight beams

Caress sweetly unsuspecting sanguine dreams

Woven with a guise of sanctimonious means.

Love is all around;

permeates our atmosphere

without disturbing

the currents.

Like a holy spirit,

An element of the Dao,

Or the winds of Karma

Love is all around.

How we choose

To interact with Kindess

Is the ultimate

Ponderance.

From Dogen to Rumi,

Our answers fall short.

Yet there is beauty in

How we choose.

Maybe one day,

The gods will

Speak directly to

Our brothers and sisters.

Love will find us,

Choose us,

And tell us:

"Maybe one day."

Let today be that day.

Because love is all around us

And we have a choice

In divine interaction

what I want

as if I don’t have feelings at all.

the last of my patience gone

I give up, I’m so done.

Is the black Soul leaving the skull a sign of death

Is it rebirth or is it what Fate Wished to beheld

the Bug the creature

the Mask of Life

a Nail right through the chest

Penetrate the chitin, see through their Dreams

the Russula cradles the Honey

two Fungi and Bugs Die in each others arms

Why me, Why you all along

when the parasite only Wished to help

why does the Knight take the life

of the savior of the Land

the Trees Weep but the Hollow Husks know not of the tragedy

the Moss cradles the the Shell

the Broken Mask along a Green Path

and Orange eyes watch from the Wasps

as the last of the soul leaks from the hole

and enters the Abyss

as the Infection never ceases to spread

neither shall the doctor of Death quit his Search

for a Cure or a Fix or an Eradication of all that keep it bred

it is all for the good of Life

if they live they can spread and they can die

it is not an obsession it is a Cure it is a help for the Bugs

without Him . who would even try

The honey fungus has such a nice name,

sweet like Honey but Sickly to the trees it infects

they All die

But it wants to Live, how else can it Get what it needs for existence

this Infection is not like a parasite to a tree

it is a parasite to the earth and to the life around it

without the Russula . who would save the poor bugs

from the fate that beheld them

No

there are No lives to save or to Fix

they are all gone and all dead

but the Search for a Cure cannot be stopped

because without him,

None could Live

it is not an Obsession it is a Fix that all the souls would beg for

the souls trapped behind Orange

an Infection

and obsession for a Fix

a Cure

an insatiable need to fix what CanNot be changed

what has existed for centuries

what one Bug what the doctor who now is one of Death cannot change

an Insatiable Search for Knowledge

for a fix not One unalive soul had asked

for insatiability blocks out Life

for the Search only hurts worse than the Infection ever had

It's posturing, I know. "I could find another you tomorrow."

I swallow a grimace, my eyes drawn to the wall, fingers slack on my phone.

"I could have as many girls as I wanted by tomorrow."

I nod, unmoving. But the thing, dead and un-beating in my chest stirs uncomfortably.

"I've dated a writer, I'm already immortalized."

I clench my jaw, wondering when my words became so meaningless.

"You never said sorry when I was hurt."

I know that isn't true. But what is to kick a rock in a river, other than to look stupid? I am aware of my wrong doings, and yet there has always been more wrong. In my tone, in my manner of feeling.

"You're way more emotionally immature." No, because I do not talk like this.

My cadence is easy when I speak, my eyes hardened in my reflection and my words carefully picked over. "Okay. If that is what you believe." and I respond with such a draw string reaction each time, that I notice each irritated teeth click and memorize each draw of the brows, like perhaps I could be understood through a screen.

Only when ive had enough, when that dead, un-beating thing chest stirs do I say I am going, and that is when something is obviously wrong. I say "think about it." they say, "Can you communicate for once?"

But perhaps, tomorrow, I should care to.