Embers

Smoldering moldy fumes billow Hills of heat
Seeking high ground clinging Hungry hands
Passing aging lovers Queuing forms Rising floods

Catching drips that
Tappies carry away
Creating rules
Forming into pieces

Fallen gather in murky ponds

Two great and frothing armies
Opposed and facing each other
Roaring silence

Motionless standing present
Battling victorless,
Monks measuring weighted words
Looking across
Negotiating deaf
Seeing only alien
Opposed for all time

Gathering shapes

Speaking in echoes across the void,
To the gathering shapes below
A smiling sloth seeks shining light  speaking deliberately slow:
- with these lips, calling out to those who listen. 
-with these toes exploring unknown forces
-With these fingers shaping flame into something new,
Waking once again,
Squinting through  murky fluid
Breathing through the long long stem
holding the seed tightly in teeth
Swarming schools of color
Circling once more
The original words form. 
Solidifying  the diving force
Dripping  cold life
Smiling just because.

SATOR singularity dome

She is ancient beauty , glowing dome in the night, 
Approaching slowly,  clawing deep impressions dragging through the muck.
To be bronzed for posterity. 
Carrying SATOR dome on her back  frozen lightning full of Lumens 
flashing winking smirks in passing. 

She looks everyone directly in the eye.
"Give me your old,  tired, and  worn.  I guarantee, in me,  a far better place;  beyond your wildest dreams.  "

The word is drafting  lonely sticks and twigs into pairs around the edges of the derelict pond. 

Retired custodians waiting to depart from polished station comfort. 

Rhinos

The rhinos stamping embers
Before smoke turns to flame

Bare feet

These words count time
padding flames testify
Starting in the middle
Bare feet brought us here
Pulling playful nose
Towards unknown truth
Without the longer pause,
We exhale
Crying eyes for sleep. 
Building strength awakens
Pushing past the maze fields
Hiding confused  blind mice
Holding secrets out,
Carving thoughts into
words and shapes
Promising to return ,
The nose sets out
Against great odds, 
Meat meets bones
Are Quicker together.
The gears are too small to see,
But you can taste
sweetness as you exhale
hands of gratitude. 
She disrupts images of beauty,
Casting  out our willful hands 
A great whiff and sniff creates the vortex that carries us inside.
Speaking in echoes across the void.
Not down the rabbit hole,  but up the canines nose. 

Mushrooms grow from the fallen trees

The Rhinos Run free in the sunlight stamping out the shrooms as they find them.
Except for at the eruption Shore where the spicy boys Kandinsky created from the liquid metal meeting the waves.
They left great quarry pits.

Scraping the floor

Scraping the floor,  a sharp material pierces the soft flesh of the bare foot and the kobold remembers a time with the reflection pond.

The nose sniffs the dancing light of the pool.

"I want to drink"
the kobold said in the only way it knew how.
The sound that came out was something between a gargling cough and a sigh.
GajhhhWaaaaaaahhhhhhh.

The ToadFrog sobbing response, "....I'll rub some tears on it. Tears are supposed to heal things."  Then winks one big eye before continuing with programming. 

Falling headfirst, the kobold entered the liquid light.

The pool's images created empty lungs to cry out as beating life began to vibrate through the limbs. 

This is the  first time to hear the sound of life beating along the spine; the sound of galloping feet echoing off a hard surface towards something new. 

The eyes want to see more than the body is able.  
As the pool was drained,  the kobold was able to pull off its nose and toss it towards something unknown. 
The oil from the Kobold's body contaminated the liquid, causing it to be drained and the kobold is questioned and being unable to respond in any way,  is put to work scraping the floor and making cones. 

Chapter one notes

Moving towards the sound and lights of the trains,
The kobold comes to a great ToadFrog looking into a black reflection pond. 
"I'm a beautiful creature,
what do you know?  You can't even speak right.  "
the kobold realized that there are no words when witnessing all the stories of the reflections.
Burning embers interrupt her beautiful  reflection,
the hissing STEAM smells of morning mist.
The pain from grasping the Ember moves the feet buried in the muck. 

Truth in trash

The art Is a lie used to tell the truth.
What is the point of talking into a machine that is unable to understand you? It is the same issues I've had with every other person I've ever spoken to. Words that sound like other words are transposed on top of each other. In the quantum world these words do exist and the songs that we don't know the words too also exist.
We often go back to the moment of waiting in line under Christmas lights  two hands brought  together, no electricity pass between the two.
Electric into time and into the future and I see you. All of the options that could be there. Your future, so bright. I push up against it with my hand and you hold tight.
The lights flicker and go out  and I hear you gasp as you feel me absorb the life from this moment.
I wonder if in that moment the words that we spoke came back to you? The words about an artist creating the world around them. The artist using words declaring what they want,
And all I wanted was to hold the hand forever.
My hand was open waiting for you to grab what you wanted.   And then your hand against mine found it and decided to cling to  this  moment. The Christmas lights flicker and are gone. We stood there waiting in line. I hope the lights remain off. 

And then your hand pulls away for fear of someone seeing as you're reminded of a discussion they had on the state of being.
The character of light and dark and the electric current that exists between the two.
Christmas comes back on,  never close again, except for every moment since then. 

They spoke on the idea of trash
in humanity as we picked up and threw away the  discarded. 
As I threw my trash over a fence I  speak on how there was more God that I saw  along the street then in any church.
Wax smoke  covers my clothes and turns them into Rags, is what is filling my lungs, and my brain. This is the Purgatory where I move the muck but go nowhere except for old memories.  it weighs thousands of pounds back and forth to be melted down. There will be no record of the work.
Trying to find something of value in all the death, The definition of art has now become unoriginal decoration. Of course everyone hates it. And there is nothing to understand of it.
Love Is Alive used to tell the truth?
Love Is A Lie used to tell a truth.
The lies that were told are now forgotten.

Your hand let go to let the trash fall away.

Thoughts in metal

A window in a window

We don't see clearly

We grow older and make monuments to defy time.
The things done  to hide and change our appearance and the labels attached to a fleeting identity.
When the ones we love are gone and we leave unfamiliar metal likenesses for a possible passers-by searching for the resting place to their genetic origins, what is really there?
We don't want to be seen how we are.  Even in death we want to be better.  Striving for something to make a mark on the world before we leave.

Built by hands

The dreams of those who wanted to create something better than they started with, always originally started with simply putting 2 similar things together and watching what happens as things are added.
The material expresses a unique personality.
Being unidentifiable in appearance and yet communicating a sense of familiarity is what helps push the creative people into greater innovation. 
Seeing and making the connections in the form of an object,  a structure is made.
The natural evolution of creation is continually adapting and changing at such a furious state, that it seems amazing that any creater can devote an entire lifetime to capture any state of it.
The more words used,  the greater their insignificance is shown. 

Structures of perspective and personality

The lines that create the structure of our definition of home.
  Protection from harm.
Home is peace. 
Pieces discarded stick together forming a unique identity. 

The warning lights

All the warning lights shinning bright as I try to make it where I'm going. 
No fuel,  no pressure,  maint reqd, 
Driving the Backroads of life as it's happening:
The skinny homeless dogs smelling the weeds for maybe the last time.  Black fur and bones and golden yellow weeds of an empty lot. 
Black and yellow bounding together as one  unified expression of the power of life running away with the sunsets for one more time the last time.