Something In These Circles

1

Fearful is the wind of what anyone might say, silent is the dawn that desecrates the statues of god. Maybe one day I’ll touch the river and not feel intimidated, maybe one day when the eastern heat becomes too severe I’ll find you in your Spanish slums. This change of Spartans, this hate of hades, this soft ringing voice of Poe, the soft moans of delicate woman, this is what I see, what I feel. We are the dead, we rise against the softest falls and lose amongst the earliest sparrows, tell me again why the past is stronger than the present, tell me all about the solitude of a million centuries collapsing in the blink of an eye.
Fearful is my soul of what I can do, I’m testing these waters and testing infinity.
Lately that’s all that haunts my mind, infinity you bush of thorns, you eyeless servant of that which is beyond you, infinity I love you.

2

Fucking all night as the blues kiss my forehead.
This moon dedicates it’s shine to my soul and then I fuck it into you,
then I tip toe around enlightenment,
then I transcend, then I surpass myself.
How?
I think I lost my mind.
Breathing through tunnels of alcohol and there’s nothing else to touch me or make me feel, the devil asks for my art and I show him and we smile and we sing and we drink and we transcend.
Fucking all night as Mac Miller grows flowers from his grave and I heard that Spain is great this time of year, so many lovers in the graveyards mourning the highway, tell me what you want and you’ll have it, I love you like the needle loves the veins, you are my symphony, my low budget film, my cries of wonder, you are my soul.

3

When it ain’t that bad well then I can really howl like Robert Johnson, when my guitar string breaks then I can really see straight through the music of people who aren’t really people. I wanna tell you that there’s an end to this suffering, in fact I wish I could suck it out of you with fangs and ambitions of love, however, I cannot, I can only watch you ponder suicide and offer you my own hand of death, maybe death will tear us apart but baby we already danced in the eternal, that doesn’t just fade, it’s out there, somewhere, in the wrinkles of darkness, in the dead eyes of romantics, in the tall grass of cigarettes, yes it’s out there and for me it’ll always be beautiful.

4

The woods worship me, they grow in order for me to worship them and this laugh which I hold is nothing but the forgotten eyes of demons.
Wait!
You told me that this was more than I could understand, you told me that I’d die in your heavenly fields, why am I not the butterfly or the lion? Why must I think and think and drink and drink? 
And tell me now you race car drivers, you insurance salesmen, you teachers, you mothers, you military slaves, you idiot writers, you piss drunk musicians, tell me,
what is it that really matters?

5

This is more soft than the clouds, this weight of limitless space, this feeling of renovated bullshit, these dirty vans, these songs which prance around in gravity and isolation.
I watch as my consciousness sings until it’s run out of breath, I watch as my thoughts run around like chickens with no heads, I watch and I sense, I feel and I don’t, I love and I don’t, I burn in my own flames like the Phoenix who rose.

6

It’s almost like me and the snake were racing, I ran so fast over the hills and it followed me. I threw something at the snake and it jumped into the air and straight back into the earth.
I didn’t once feel fear, we weren’t friends but I almost knew that it wouldn’t hurt me.
The sun rolled from the top of the mountain down into the abyss, we look away and then we move in, these dreams are unbound by beauty, they are operas of the most high,
they are the paintings of some tortured artist.
I hear the rain, watch the lightning, melodramatic stars that prance around the surface of eternity, these dreams exist somewhere else and so too does my soul.

7

Great walls are meant to be broken and even these thoughts which I calm with sexual manifestos too are meant to be surpassed. Energy flies by me and I can almost touch it, the soft skin of gods floating by the millions. There’s always distances that one must crawl towards, there’s always sex that one must beg for, these cigarettes drown in the rain and I am left lonely in this storm of indulgence.
We are tigers in the shadows,
we are hawks in the flames,
we are rabbits in the voids,
we are ladybugs in the forest,
we are deers in the city
and whales in the desert.
We are the conscious, the foolish, the dead.

8

Bright summer days of cold beer and ranting ravens, sweet memories, sweet lust, sweet lips that plump like the fruits of spring. If you are lonesome then only look to the sky and you shall see the ballet of gladiators and madmen, watch the night sneak in through the hollow stars of ancient angels.
How bright these summer days are but what of winter now?
Have all those bloody roses just rotted away in the last dance of Socrates?
I answer myself because no one else will answer my call, I whisper erotic fantasies to the lonely sun, I drink like I’ve been dying of thirst in the desert and I fuck like I haven’t had pussy in years, these stories which I am submerged in slowly become me.
I think about The Stranger by Albert Camus all the time, the moment Meursault realizes his fate is the same moment that I seem to keep reliving, I am a stranger to myself and to the others at least that’s what my mind says.

9

Crowley was a fantastic poet, he might have worshipped a demonic power but is he any more wrong than the factory workers who worship Christ on his bloody cross?
How often do we kill for the bridge between words? Come now under my wings, come now into my cave, come now into my possessed light, come now and let live the ideas which you cannot agree with.
When I truly step back I only see fragile beings with frightened bodies fighting to prove ideas which they learned, this and that is nothing but an explanation to this and that, no words surpass the self, no ideas cross the gap of reality.
Sometimes wicked men have the most interesting and passionate ideas, I cannot stand here and say what’s wrong and what’s right, I am only the words which I’ve learned, I am only the people I’ve grown up around, I am simply a product of memories and fate.

10

I lick woman like death licks me, I leave woman like death leaves me. Pale is the skin of my orchestra, estranged is the nature of my heart, I’m lost in the woods, stuck in my own ocean which I have solely created. This complexity of the haunted butterflies, this ringing soundtrack to my life, I hear the drums getting louder, I hear the guitar get dragged through a echo filled airplane, can I ask once more for your hand to interlock with mine?
Can I ask you once more for your last breath? Color your passions and slay the beast which prevents you from releasing all that you truly are. My love, you are the circles which I cannot break free from.
I once was lost but now I am more lost in a wider field of serenity, peace is among us who question the soul, life is among us who drown in the night, what else is there but this light which has guided me through that which is finite and that which is infinite?