WORD-WEEP  BLOOM-PALE    (Silent, Wilting, Weeping-Willowed Words) - (around 1989; San Diego, California)

my eyes do not absorb so fast anymore
 the suck of my sponge has grown lazy
with the cancerous burdens
 of too much forced linear space and time
what once was my overcapacity to learn
 has become a bored barrier of barrenness
my roots have drunk up some irreversible poison
 my leaves sag  my bloom pales to a wilt
as i seek some soft spot to fall down on
 some spot to surrender to sleep without waking
some spot to evolve some kind of healing in
 always kneeling in feelings and spilling my blood
the food and fuel of corporate happiness
 pools into a greedy sea of slavery and no good
we come and go in any and every form
 with questions  in quietness and outrageousness
will i go in resolved peace
 or hopelessly still entangled
in the deeper  darker shadows
 of some psychosocioillogical manipulation
my moment of transformational  golden truth
 distorted under the inescapable pressure
of some overly invasive  oppressive  unseen thumb
 exactness does not matter here
so long as it is realized  that i know what i mean
 i see my world and life
as sensed by my own intuitions
 i have mind crafted my own loose definitions
and ill be the first to admit  
 that i believe that even this
is not just another matter of blind faith gone awry
 but rather is some actual fact
of self realized  open minded  precognition
 come to help free me from the day
yet what comes to fruition  in the long run
 as we walk around this broken circle
and see the changes in its border
 but also see and walk the spaces
where it once was continuous  unbroken
 we slowly begin to walk look and see
perhaps  if we are lucky and have vision
 that there are lives still left to live
in worlds still yet unfurled
 great things to teach and learn for sure
 as lifes story continues to grow and unfold
with words still yet unspoken
 as distant as that brightness in the night
pure  perfect whiteness in its light
 ten thousand light years away
to reach your purest heart,
 yet only inches in the dark
beyond your wildest dreams
 beyond all penetrative doom
theres a poke a haunt us moon
 cutting through my clouds of gloom
force feeding its silver ejaculate down upon me
 i hurry to forget this type of wild joy
but my eyes do not absorb so fast anymore
 and the suck of my sponge
has grown worn and lazy as well
 like these words here  so carelessly spilled
scattered fragments of some significance
 tossed thoughts abstractly splattered on the floor
rolling around  all over each other  
 moaning and morphing of course  
but not really shaping up
 into anything that clearly said  
just stretching a mood or a feeling perhaps
 a generalization of abstracted  loose facets
gathered up and reassembled  from one life
 bits and pieces  colors strewn  
confettied  confined  lost and invisible
 sagging now  from too much
irreversible poison  accumulatively taken in
 i have paled now to a wilt
as if trapped in the tangled  strangling tendons
 of some dying weeping willow tree
reaching for some silent  peaceful spot  
 where words are no longer needed
seeking some soft spot to gently fall down on
 some spot to surrender to sleep without waking
some spot to evolve some kind of healing
 or preferably some kind of new
more radiant  ineffable reawakening in
 again  if its not too late  that is