Animal's House of Muse

Vibes to Feed the Hasty Soul with the States of All that Matters

Month: May, 2018

Parlor Patty Picked a Piper Peddling Principled Pockets

When evidence takes precedence
The imagination soars
Above the clouds
Beyond the moon
Towards phantasy galore
The eyes behold
Around first space
The truth of what’s in store

But what unfolds
Is fallen gold
Spun fast as
Laws let go

Concluding last
What’s known as fact
Mere memory implores
As tacit rings
Upon the strings
Our image sits adorn’d
A misted gift
An Ancient myth
A sin we could afford
Pure essence shines
Tall tales sublime
A message oft’ ignored

And thus we read what’s written
And thus we know what’s true
And thus we think our thoughts run green
Though frankly wisdom’s bored

Oh Lord . . . smh

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Walking on Water, Sinking in Air

Where must I find my grounds if what I believe to be the floor
Is constantly moving?
This way, that way, every which way except here
That’s where you’ll find my feet –
Dancing and tapping and cramping
To the rhythms of uncertainty
Upon no real demarcated plane
Mediated between disorder and sky
I must recollect my moves in retrospect
Piddly perception my only guide.
Why, Lord, why?

The unstructured womb of existence reveals no steps
If you continue to ask
Just melt into space through time . . .

My only reply
Jeeze Louise
With all of these stops and rests
I might as well be wicked
 

 
 

 

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Transparent-Headed

My mind is scattered
Patterned about my room
As dust caking each surface
Swipe your finger
On the bookshelf
Possess my subject
Wash your hands of me
My labor ceases to be
Recollect my person
In the drain pipe
Dreaming of thoughts well composed
The remains of my anonymity
Mere scuzzy film
Easing waste along its merry way
How I see myself
Furnishing the movements
Of a silent world
Devoid of ends and direction

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The Soft Breath of Life

What speaks to me in the gentle breeze
As I sit in my truck reflecting upon financial ruin
By a shade-giving dumpster in the bank parking lot?
“With the windows down,”
It whispers,
“You won’t be as sweaty
And the boiled eggs you packed as a lunch
Won’t spoil so fast,”
It has my full attention
“Despite the smell
With that little inch of comfort
You’ll stretch your patience into a mile
As far as the breeze will take you
As far as you need to go
Spirit Child”
My attention is full of shit.

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