The Sock-Monkey As Alone

(Things unsaid) Dont underestimate how vital doing the good we can do is. Or how much evil can be inflicted in that crusade. Anytime we set out to do wrong it is wrong but the road to hell is paved in good intentions. The pursuit of a selfless act of kindness, by the danger of its potential is always it's own reward.

(Blooming in spite of) Wisdom is felt, Not necessarily understood... But it is also the foundation Of understanding. Kind of like the skeleton That your body Has as it foundation Experience is not the measure Of days you've been alive. It's is paying attention to a process of Nourishment ...it is the compost heap Of the soul

Shadows blessed: the darkness defines her, shapes her, creates a moment. Aesthetics like cream in coffee that has been stirred. The loss of self control as prophetic... difficult language that seems absurd.   difficulty that has it's owns stakes, difficulty removed and replaced. The difficult choice ends a mistake. Difficulty's been blessed with that grace.   So what do we do with it? I am trapped. I'm trying to think of anything but taboos, my heart and desires have been kidnapped. but need encouragement till they break thru.   I can't be free of my tunnel vision, the hopeless dishonest repetition.  

So he caught the master of the swamp That he may pay the debt of the past  Most children avoid the chain chomp While his spirit has a hollow laugh So that he may find his northern star A gentle heart against a diatribe  As where he may go? Nothing's to far. Not the end if the sea or the sky For fellowship or friendship are truth That may be expressed subjectively  Rock, paper, scissors, fair or confused As ripples that reflect as they flee It's our nature to pursue the profound  Seek and we'll find, pursue or be found

  The mystic destroys the void that will rise  like letters drowning in what they say  I felt the dark and yet said goodbye  afraid this is confused when they pray “the worst fear does godly embrace shame  foretold in ancient times with proximity  to the word divine like a bringing pulse  that in the shadows confused timidity does boil our pains and so curse our soul  with love obtaining clarity that's framed  To know our place without being told  involuntary hell so they seem to complain The maze, the trickster... information lost...  and resurrected the wound on the cross.”

  The quiet indignities Of knowing more than This language can articulate The night has come the moon is full The poems don't flow anymore Too many years of therapy Running on empty I am getting old If I'm not happy I am content The prayer should be enough The prayer should be enough The Prayer Should Be Enough.... Afraid of the voice in the thunder The deep roar of eternity

The game was called "Revenge Reflex". It was my favorite thing about turning four. It was back in the winter of 20XX that I first played it.   Though the game was released in 19XX.   Its hero is a cyborg ninja named Ananiel.   Fighting against the capitalist mafia known as the Watchers.   The watchers had made a drug that was highly addictive they called crucifixion though with the terrible side effect that it was so addictive that you came back from the dead to get your fix.   I played that game for hours the green ooze of the zombies the freakish bosses. Beautiful nightmare fuel with 3D backgrounds (nothing more complex than a voxel) and hi-bit pixel art.   The 32-bit nightmare and the thrill of overcoming it.   Anniel had a blue, green, and purple outfit. With two silver cyborg fists and a spikey head of black hair.   If you collect Five orbs you have fire in your eyes as a flaming spirit blade is given to you. You are immune to damage as

        an Opera in D-Minor (Call me little horn!)   I wish I was a poet... Looking up at the Spun Sugar (The shade of clouds of the near dark) Whistling some bluegrass tune, as my sweetheart cooks our supper (Some slow cooker chili with jalapenos and banana peppers shore would hit the spot).   I wish I was a catfish swimming through the outer dark of space eating the light and swimming in the abyss. While space pirates dance in their shuttle craft with the naked women they have "liberated" as the carrier they attacked is set ablaze from the inside.   ...The maidens are never to be seen again...   I wish my bones to be picked clean by some prehistoric critter... that I may be devoured... that the loss of my life (through one hell of a struggle) would leave me content despite the meaninglessness of the pain. Because I know in my heart that things worked out.   I'm too tired to be optimistic But lived enough to know It's a thin line between b