The Living Poem


What does life want out of me?
I walked with what I wanted
Going nowhere, where else can I go?

Life has belittled me, just a pebble
Everyone has left me, alone I sit
What does life want out of me?

Death reminds me everyday
I envy those who live oblivious
What will death not take away?

What will death not take?
That life has not taken already?
Empty hands, empty heart, empty wants

Living with nothing, with nowhere to go
Dying with nothing, with nowhere to go
Just the sense that existence calls

Each tone, the breeze, the cold shiver
Calling saying live for the sake of living
Your broken… good, disappear, die then laugh

Love calls constantly knocks here and there
Directing me constantly here and there
I’m so poor I don’t know how to live with it

Pouring love like water out of every pore
The energy almost dissipated, now I’ll hold it
Love calls, now there is nowhere to pour or go…


The sun is but an eye of a bigger eye.

Confusion is the eye of another eye.

Illusion is the light behind the eyes reflecting dimly or brightly the onion veil.

Bodies without souls, souls without bodies.

No answer will see, no seeing will answer.

All is ma ya, blinding light as night desires to extinguish sun. Two principles eternally dance from form to formless to form some more.


Desiring no thing while seeing the futility of the dream chaser.

Metaphysics is intangible to minds while remaining tenable to time.

Bittersweet is the journey the pain becomes nectar an altar from the sun.

The journey of the sun moves through darkness shining its light on every being.

Lost and confusion adhere to an abrasive reality carving its light unto the carnal plane.

Rare are the eyes that see like the sun without filter the axiom abode.

Deathless Womb

To seek without eyes is like being immersed in a sea of night without a compass.

Like a primordial night that split to day, to relieve the dark of ache. The ache of being vast and boundless, as a body of empty space.

Concentrated dark in search of mutability intensified itself to implode a new extremity, a light as malleable as the sun. A trinity of space, night, and sun.

Thus light remembers the desire of night to form. As light remembers shape, the night remembers… no form. The ripple expand, the branching outwards, a birthing, a cellular quad that housed the shape of light, the unknown seed that houses life.

The seed that flowers also flowers back into the seed of seas. The one beyond all movement, to say its one is wrong as well. Imagine if space as pace journeys out? Sow that in some way within infinity, it contemplates the idea of wanting to see its faceless face, beyond every phase of faces.

Tan Terra

Tantric rhythms colliding vortices

The flesh ignites sought alchemy

Each pulse is felt deeply

Each pull is empty with fullness

Each push is full with emptiness

Each cell connected in three move circularly in unison subtly as foam

Reaching out to poem each breathing beat

The two become one

Then evaporate


Words are futile to ears… they quench not the thirst beyond sound.

Movements are futile to being they fill not the hunger beyond time.

Immortless experiment from the beyond, hunger is not found only in stomachs hunger comes in many forms.

Mind hunger is found in desires through heart thirst seen as a myriad of formations.

Enlightenment is not attainment it is absolute loss, can one accept losing all that is known as spacial or conditional in nature.

Most dwell in the ephemeral seeing goodness in the maleficent and maleficent in goodness.

Reverse every known and as above so below will become inversely proportional to what is reflected in the mind field.

The field is negating due to the reversal property of the electron thus words are futile and action conforms to the proton that wraps itself with the neutron and its nucleus.

The outer pains, it can never quench the inner thirst.Thus abide in the abode beyond the outer coat of body.

Beliefs are conditional bioprograms that simulate exertions of movements preordained by local impressions.

The wise leave the world while living in it.

Resting in the abode within the abyss as no form while existing as form.

Attached to the world one is bound to suffering.

Detached from the world life becomes like the reflection of the moon on water. It exists but it remains untouched.

Within is without and without is within and still life is still yet explored to the depths mystics elope, the kingdom is within within and is yet traveled by feet.

Unknown frontier that need not be reached with feet. Formless existence is unknowable through crystalline spheres but through solar source sight without material eyes.

Filled Emptiness

Have you danced with pain?

Allowed it’s lessons to be felt
Emptied each force to resist it’s voice.Tuned to it’s change
Watching body and consciousness separate. The abyss does stare back swallowing whole the I.
Fear brings one back to this fixed dream that is the void of life. The magnet is sound and light is its course. Alone these eyes sit knowing, knowing beyond known.
Shared silence of no form the peak of suffering is heaven disguised as hell.
A myopic external conformity living itself out under the guise of preordained.
An inner trope, saying one is boundless and infinite as space an immortal element.
The one who knows has come to the realization that space is self reflecting, contemplating it’s emptiness.

Sleep Paralysis

Last night sleep did not come

Within the substrate of lucid wakefulness, yet consciousness arose, though without a form in the basement, that minds have come to label as the subconscious world.
Unbeknownst these eyes awoke floating in a bus or a train… its still so hazy the frames moved so swiftly without a moment of thought.
Visiting lucidly a layer of reality as no form… Sight was fixated involuntarily on a man’s paralyzed face staring out towards the window in a terrified gaze… frozen.
Turning as pure sight repeating this notion to the reader as to convey the senseless sense of formlessness without a body nor a voice. The vivid horror continued as this moment was inexplicable the eyes watched in disarray each building disappear.
Somehow whatever the rain touched became formless, drops of water evaporated anything it touched into the ether within seconds.
The exception was this odd building shaped like a factory with two chimneys, what remained of it was a silhouette of smoke like a solid dark mist that did not lose its imprinted form. Moving like smoke while retaining the building’s original shape.
Suddenly the train or bus sped even faster. As if wanting to outrun the rain. The roof of the vehicle disappeared. Perception felt the raindrops hit a body that eyes could not see.
A form eyes did not know right before the bus or train made it under the bridge. What can it all mean? Still to this day pondering ponders me. It felt so real though it seemed like a movie reel playing automaticly.
Soon after, sight began to disappear. Consciousness began to fade into darkness once again like a tunnel without an end fading in an out, like the moment before sleep.
As these eyes were thrown backwards at a speed that moved with light, through shifting space seeing a whirlwind of moving images warp away. It felt like being strapped to a rocket without a ship moving swiftly backwards without a body. Only to return once more to this pleathered couch.
This dungeon, this icy hell. Glaring at my sheets. Seeing the face of a monster, a man, and a woman imprinted on the sheet while feeling two worlds in sleep paralysis. One beside the other… Devolving from one another.

Must these eyes from the twelve house. Be a blessing within a curse. Must introverted intuition have a cost like an universal energy tuition fee that stings. The peculiar world of perpetual feelings that imprint mystic perceptions from the other shore. A hermit from the abyss thus left the world alone, while living in its noise, living in the world, but knowing eye am not of it.

Between two houses, between two worlds, what a gem in eye that feels cancerian, a cuspian summer solstice, an unfathomable existance to a mundane sentinal perspective.

A life of an impregnable solitude an isolated enigma, or is it preordained by the stars?

Written in the wheel? Written on the skin within the body’s book spine, within the eye library that has been labeled earth. Searching in nothingness the empty insubstantial memories that reflect the mind like a mirror within this fixed dream. Like the flame scar upon this forehead.

Such as the force of mind that sheds light, of a magnetic electric quality, that emerges thoughts and subjugates the body, within that pull, that binds the soul to form.

The Plight from the Abyss

Do most live without

thinking of death each day?

Can one invite it’s welcoming
with curiosity as it brings
It’s fading wave
As it beckons to be listened
Saying without saying
All your efforts will be in vain
Borrowed breath as comfort pains
Dwell in dreams as soothing as the rain
Sitting back and watching you paint
A work of your dreams, dissected
Through each other’s pain
Watching me watching you
Laughing at your foolishness
Through my fear seeing you
Fail so successfully
Will you be satisfied
when you are finally all alone?
Having won deserts of war
of vistas and plains of saltiness
A Bastille of Seams that never end…