a shot

with a boy's bb gun

into the air

betwixt the astringent,

dust encrusted foliage,

of the tamarisk tree

what for?

why did the pellet

find its mark?

into a heart,

of sweet sparrow

made by God,

who knows all things,

from the hairs

on the crown

of each of our heads

as in,

where the word says,

He knows all things,

even when

a sparrow

to the ground falls

the steel,

copper coated

mini ball,

shot

through the still

summer air

upward

at 30 feet per second

in rapid

slow motion frames,

of sight, . . .

it first touched

his tender

feathered breast

a frozen image

in time

suspended

little bird was still,

alive . . .

until a micro second later,

its sweet dark skin,

indented

to violence . . .

in another

in sequenced sight

of frames,

he saw how,

the entrance of

said steel,

into,

tore

sweet capillaries,

and veins,

though delicate tissues

all,

comprised of

myriad cells,

flowed in a jet

of internally ruptured

pressures of,

living blood

into the beating heart,

of sparrow's precious

life

he fell to the dirty,

dusty ground

the boy lifted him

with no remorse,

no understanding,

and tossed him

limp

lifeless,

again

onto the ground

years later,

he sighted a singing,

yellow breasted meadow lark,

took aim of precision

from 300 yards,

.22 caliber marksman

the meadow lark,

his singing stopped

the young man

strode to the felled,

dead

bird

picked him up

onto the palm his hand,

its limp head,

once erect

and filled

with life,

praising the Father,

who made him

to sing forth with voice,

melodious,

on a western knoll.

of remote and barren hill

silenced

to dead still

by a missile of lead

oh, . . .

to turn back time,

to stop

and reverse,

back to the gun

with no shot fired

but no,

time is irreversible . . .

on his hand

deepest red

a droplet of blood

he peered

transfixed upon,

a reflection of sunlit

spark

his own face reflected

like the clearest

of mirror,

because,

on this precious

bead of blood,

a bubble,

a tiny sphere,

reflecting

a quantum world

of pensive,

celestial reflection

a conviction of,

why? . . .

why, . . .

did i kill this bird?

oh, . . .

to turn back time,

to stop

and reverse,

back to the gun

with no shot fired

but no,

time is irreversible . . .

swept with understanding,

he wept

and vowed,

never again will i

mindlessly destroy,

what God

has wrought

/ / / and now,

years later

he knows . . .

as the Word states,

death,

it certainly is,

reversible

but

only by the Power

of His own

Blood / / /

there are no aliens,

as in ufology,

as in non human,

extraterrestrials;

other than,

who are,

angels

and

demons

invisible beings,

just like the air,

we breathe

surrounding us

like a plane there

suspended

like the movement

of things called feelings,

axioms of truth,

like love

or hate,

accepted or dismissed,

yet true

we are,

in reality,

aware of,

truth and lie,

good and evil,

axioms of,

spirituality

and physicality,

one is pleasure,

the other pain, . . .

simple,

and complicated,

all in one,

paradoxical

conundrums,

of the ages . . .

. . . one burns your feet,

and corrupts your soul,

the other,

the holy one,

peter's friend,

washes your feet

and cleanses your soul

the holy one

whose word is truth,

knows and makes,

the rotation

of galaxies,

and even the universe,

. . . yet,

he chose

to die for you . . . ,

and me, . . . ,

and,

if one is willing,

this great Lord,

strong,

and yet humble,

will wash your feet

Cold hard heart

it was,

cold and solid set

in me . . .

and frozen it was,

with no rest,

this very morning

as i went about,

here and there,

body hard and tense,

the toil

the pain

no place

no time

to rest

upsetting pace

at each turn

to face

yet another

chore

and test

to overcome

yet trip and fall

i did

to pull and rip

of my weary heart

to the boggling

seeming endless

routines vain

repeat refrain

myriad pains

. . .

. . . and then subtly,

with no sudden notice,

like a child's hand,

as with a prodigy,

he touching ivory keys

white and black

piano's voice

in the spirit wind,

faintly,

i heard,

in my heart

at first,

in its strings

as it were,

in its blood filled beats,

slightly tugging

ever so gently,

like the wisp of a breath

. . . it moved into my veins

and then my mind

into my very soul

the tone of this

a child's piano keys,

every so beautifully played,

its wordless song,

perfectly tuned and timed,

oh so divine,

the melody's keys tapped

in synchronous symphony,

burst like a star,

and lit my heart back to life

with,

Oh, holy night / / /

. . . i had stumbled

and tumbled,

and grieved,

and pained,

in complaint's

refrains,

despicable plight,

tainted soul,

from world torn . . .

like so many

countless times

countless, i say . . .

/ / /

but,

and now,

to the music,

the tune,

oh , . . .

so divine

oh,

Oh holy night / / /

i went from cynical,

in a moment,

to love, . . .

infused,

divine,

into my blood

into my mind,

to my soul

and made it soar

with sobbing tears

i fell

helpless

into the comforting arms

of invisible love

/ / /

oh, . . .

holy night,

the stars are brightly shining,

it is the night,

of our dear savior's birth,

for yonder breaks

a new and glorious morn'

i made my self soar

high above the plains

an' looked down below,

far,

to view the pinpoint,

blue mixed crimson,

yellow lights,

flickering like

fiery sparks of,

red spawn

like the dust of struck torches

and canvas soaked

kerosine . . .

an' saw swirling spirits,

swarming,

affecting

those left alive

though walking

dead,

like the specters of

yesterday's

yellowed newspaper,

brittle,

stained,

an' still pungent

like it's aged inked cellulose,

torpid,

from repetitious,

mindless,

walking,

talking,

doing

but

not doing . . .

the dusty ground

shook

i lost the balance of

my mind

voices screamed

cars careened

chaotic scene

an' those

who still walked

came alive

at his glorious

return

pray,

whilst time,

exists . . .

to escape,

the great quake

She’s foreboding in an awesome

death titillating kind of way

like, as in, if i am to die perhaps

this would be the place

for her to take my life as i find myself

scrambling skittering with jagged bits of

particles’ ejections into prickly rarefied air

i’m high literally and figuratively, charged with an

adrenaline angst up the sharp spine of this killer ridge

sawtooth is seductive,

she is has an alluring ominous slate grey side,

ripped, crevasse ’d, and cracked

her beautiful northeast granite face

albeit malevolent wears a

perennially white snowy napkin in glacier’s cold

her chin is sloped sharply, wildly

straight skewed, dizzyingly far below me

her sensual sides are left of me - northeast;

her right side is southwest

both i have fondled with my eyes

both precipitous,

both candy i greedily engorge with hungry vision

she’s surreptitiously slight slipped and straight

on both her sides, she’s gorgeous

she’s sexually appealing,

she’s danger’s mystique

the girl next door in my fresno backyard

she calls me in wilderness intrigue,

“c’mon over here, just a little closer”

with a sinister pull of sensuality, arousing,

she stands high towered, naked and raw

her designated secluded space in time

she lies, a scaled version of Mount Everest’s

halfway across the world for you and me

if you dare the risk for a crazy careless plunge,

an instant acceleration’s drop

to sudden euphoric death

in nature’s den, fully lit and witnessed by

a glaring sun of high altitude ecstasy

“get yourself together, she’s a maneater”

an inner voice cautions me

“beauty beguiles, a slight slip of enraptured mind’s flight

and you will fall into her arms”

a trance like euphoria descends and prevails

i vaguely recall

the mountain peak killer’s kinetic energy’s draws

me nonetheless to this highest top

of this part of the world’s spring loaded

potential plummet

a personal carnal wreckage prospect

a bursting, cracking, spurting

blood pumping, vein tearing

ripping flesh and fracturing bones . . .

“be care . . . fu . . . ll!”

A Scream, . . .

Not mine

through clenched teeth . . . “noooooo!”

i know such a one, her victim

my friend

he who broke every rib except one

he broke a clavicle, and one side of his pelvis

a crushing fall, his descent

she foiled his return from her 14,000 foot crown

her saw’s tooth summit,

her jagged rocks did their harm

then feigned a phony benevolence,

her futile stab of covert mercy stinted

ruggedly stopped my friend’s unconscious flesh

from further fall by yet another brutal hindrance -

she abruptly stopped his careening fall

and cradled him close to brink of death,

his would be corpse

kept alive for her pleasure,

like cat and mouse

on her hard mineral skin, so cold

sawtooth lapped thirstily

my fallen friend’s bright red splotches

she proudly sported, wore his speckles

his precious living human blood

she savored the sprayed foam of his punctured lungs

those gurgled bubbles, white, wet shiny

on her mineral tongues

in the glaring sun

my moans of agony muffled

which she sawtooth sent

via her cruel condescending condolences

i still hear echoing

her reverberations of a rock’s heartless mockery

amidst frantic satellite phone’s pleas’

calls of distress, mercy calls for human’s aide

deliverance from sawtooth’s harm

until helicopter help arrived

sawtooth sierra nevada peak

she’s appropriately named

her teeth are sharp;

she’s widow maker’s peak

of the sierra nevada’s spine

a razor’s edge climb

her prize is in reaching the top;

her summit point

the rub is a friend’s descent fall

shattered bones and a 3 month coma

I came in from the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains

Through blizzards and savage animals called humans

They tried to kill me for my food

And I outfoxed them all

Some froze to death trying to overcome me

In deep snow drifts

Others starved themselves trying to take my food

I crossed great empty deserted desert plains

And wandered across rivers big

Streams and lakes I crossed fluid

Some frozen hard

Wretched winds blew against my cold uncovered face

And would have gotten frostbite if it weren’t for my furs

Beaver, mink and fox

The wolf I wouldn’t kill, it became my only friend

Even from a distance he kept me company

As I’d sit around a 14,000 foot elevation fire

Smoking tobacco and drinking salvaged whiskey

From unattended camps

Staying far away from man’s cities and roads

As best as I could

The wolf would come and peer at me through the dark

As I warmed around my fire

His yellow eyes reflecting wanting a piece of me

Or my meal

Of killed grouse or deer

Which I’d share with him and his mate

The she wolf staying clear

The pair would follow me for miles

And then drop off when I’d leave the boundaries

Of their territories

To the eastern edge of the mighty Sierra Nevada

I came

Looked at it’s dry and deadly peaks

In the midst of August its killer heat

Formidable but I’d find a pass in dead of night

A speck in feared Man’s horizon

A bullet whizzed over my head

I jumped for cover in the brush

My heart beating fast and hard

Another hit a patch by my feet

I lost my care and jumped up and ran

Through the dark and cold altitude night

He or they pursued me up

Until I fell into a gulch

I waited and could hear the approach

Of this specter assassin of who knows where

I could smell his sweat as he came close

Hear his breathing near the edge

I grabbed my Wesson and aimed at him

With starlight and dim fingernail of moon

His shadow couldn’t catch my sight

Shot his head and shadow fell

I grabbed my self and picked me up

Crawled and trudged over there

Feeling in the dark with none else there

But the form, the corpse of him

Who would have killed me for who knows what

He lay there faceless, smelled of death

Didn’t bother trying who it was

Simply grabbed his rifle

And threw it down

The dark chasm of the gulch I’d been

Heard it tumble crack and drown

In the hole that saved me from

A stalker, human man

Hunting me like I were a dog

On and on through the night

I found my way far from that sight

My heart was beating from the pain

Of having killed one like me

Yet feeling glad I’d left his stain

There on the ridge to keep

His flesh for wolves and bones to bleach

Signpost scattered murderous remains

Under the heavens as the mark of Cain

And further proof of my plight of run

From enemy man whose ways I’ve spurned

Father,

Talk to me, . . .

"I am holy,

I love my children,

You are mine,"

I lay here

I see upward

To familiar ceiling,

I see my chandelier,

Still as frozen ice

Not a one,

Of its crystalline

Suspended pendulums,

Move

Though the yonder

Mountains shake,

And wars,

And seas roar

While volcanoes bellow,

Angry fire

No,

not the tiniest,

Quiver,

Of this chandelier

And yet,

This earth upon which,

Our solid floors

Of unseen depths,

Sustain our every move,

We swarm

We move,

While imperceptably,

At an eternal,

24,000 mile per hour

We on earth spin,

Like a top,

A perpetual motion,

By unseen energy,

It spins our planet,

As we ride

As we hurl around

Said bright star,

Its notice only,

While it burns on us,

When at times we suffer . . .

. . .

Immense movements,

Even while spinning,

In fair straight forward orbit

Like as you spinning

While walking to market

Or destiny of choice,

Together we travel

around,

Our Alpha Centaurous,

Named Star, . . .

. . . But still,

My chandelier,

Its pendulum

Body,

Does not, . . .

Even in the slightest, . . .

Even in the tiniest,

It does not

Move, . . .

. . .

"Be still,

And know that,

I am God." . . .

My Father says

the turquoise pastel paint,

moves,

as seen on a flat plane

it changes constantly

to the 3 dimensional,

great depth

deep aqua blue,

cream white blue,

green algae shades,

infinite hue

in transformations

moving,

rolling,

swirling,

in this fantastic sea

i can only wish

i see

but cannot touch

i cannot but smell

only in my memory

and imagination,

stuck in 2 D

cruel,

like a wheel chair,

bound,

like a former athlete

this sun glistens,

though i can't see

it

it is too bright

but it brings

its light makes

the view to come alive,

from a picture still,

to what appears real

the movement,

of my own atoms,

become one with it

the colors are immense,

bright,

unreal,

picking me up

from a world of

black and white

here comes the sun

again,

a nova bright,

burst,

in a baby blue sky

i can see,

but cannot touch

. . . even in the travel

of my mental voyage,

my imaginative

wanderings . . .

make me disappointed,

because that brief,

non lasting relief

now seems,

to be as in only,

as in,

moving colors,

in the animated pixel

formed faces

of fellow humans,

in the floral

and fauna environ,

of this world

become virtual aquarium,

of being,

but only on,

this t.v. screen,

i am only,

a comfortable,

mind voyager,

an outside observer . . .

. . . i am down today

i don't know why,

but the brightness of

the colors,

fill my eyes with light

and

i am encouraged,

though but briefly . . .

. . . down today,

no mystery,

because my inner man,

relates to the reason,

. . . innate,

in the subconscious effects

that give me reason,

of accumulated stimuli,

of knowledge,

. . . by real

and vicarious means

the,

bad news

its perennial

feed,

. . . the daily infusions,

of such,

of daily poison words,

emanating from,

bad people

bad sprits,

bad fallen world,

yours and mine

my own flesh grows

ever increasingly,

. . . deteriorating,

aches and pains,

ever increasing,

to an end,

knowledge,

of the end,

final breath,

unconsciousness,

like anesthesia

. . . such weakness,

such futility,

money means nothing

same ol' same ol',

y'know,

i cannot reach

i cannot touch

with my skin

nothing new under the sun,

inventions are fine,

but lose their pizazz,

after a short while,

new

but not new,

under the same sun

the world is immeasurably

huge

infinite places and mystery

but unexplorable

in fullness

ours

but caged,

out of reach

yes,

i feel down,

but

don't

know fully

why

i can take a short,

fast pill,

fill my mind with high

and mighty words

but just

doesn't seem to last

. . . i see . . .

and feel,

upcoming,

increasing calamity, . . .

i would feel better,

if i could throw physical blows at it,

but,

it is futile,

it is undefeatable,

i am mere,

carbon based,

flesh and blood

a trillion things

could take me out

the author of calamity

knows no rules

but lawlessness,

knows no bounds,

no restraints,

no mercy

O Lord God take him out,

get me a ticket outta here,

get me out of my misery

is there a doctor in the house?

I crawled into the skull

with my physical intellect,

led by my spirit

into that skull,

of just one ant

you know,

the insect,

amongst many of its species,

. . . just one of incalculable

numbers of ants,

of trillions upon trillions,

ad infinitum,

of those living on planet earth

therein,

just in one

i found a

membrane

below an encasing

outer shell,

the exoskeleton,

and within

all of this,

divine intricacy,

this exponentially complex

sample of design,

i saw,

blood vessels

surrounding all components of

this ant,

this just one ant,

and each ant that has ever lived

to present and past

throughout the entire

earth

and to the future

all operating

functioning

like a computer's program

yet eternal

from the time of creation

to the present

utterly mechanisms

maintaining

sustaining just this one ant

and all living organisms

i perceived this just one

ant's

brain,

blood vessels coursing through it

and blood flowing through each

capillary

yes,

all its organs . . .

. . . and then,

i pondered,

the ant's thoughts

and its decision making

prowess . . .

what are its thoughts?

i am certain of its personhood

for it is a living entity

i know it is capable of fear

its reactions to stimuli

its inventive ability,

as i have observed since childhood

and my inquisitive intrusions

upon its world,

upon its fellow ants,

and their course of activity

. . . and yes again,

i am aware of its beating heart,

praise to the electron microscope

and its inventors

yet no man can resuscitate

its heart much long

after its final beating moments

i am aware of this one ant's frame,

it's structure,

i am studied in its being,

comprised of the elements,

like the carbon,

listed on the periodic table;

of its atoms harnessed by

electrons,

quarks

lepiquarks and the like . . .

and beyond the tiniest,

of the physical,

as in,

strange matter . . .

. . . into the portal beyond,

into the realm of spirit

all held together,

by creation

yes,

this just one,

ant . . .

for it possesses

life

life the inexplicable . . .

life from a creator

his name is Jesus

who is Life himself,

son of God

who created all things,

as in the book of

Colossians

. . . swarms of ants,

swarms of insects,

myriad animals,

on the land

in the sea,

visible

and invisible

surrounding our own,

human,

physical

and spiritual

being

there's a greyish darkness

outside my shutters

like the fabric

of wool

filtering

the residual

light

subtly

of what's left

to another dying day

if it weren't for

the criminals

in the black house,

(some call it the red house),

it wouldn't be so

. . .

i look at the leaves

by this grey

cold hearted light,

to that

of yonder

fading image

of sir oak tree.

who i know

only by familiarity

of his friendship

he is stately

having more righteousness

in even one of his leaves

than the entire

side of unrighteous

godless,

so called leaders

across

the globe

for they are like black holes

the collective lot of them

UN

wef

the who,

(definitely not the band)

because they emit no light

they suck it in,

causing

death by war and disease

by greed

and anti God stratagems

to what's what's left

to another dying day

i recognize him,

mr. oak,

by his sad limbs

and opaque leaves

now blackish

which beg,

robbed,

of the residual

fading light

beyond this,

past my concepts

of political quasi

spiritual perceptions

my mind of sight

takes me

to edge of this infinity,

portions portal

of space

back to my other friend by day,

beyond the oak's form

there, . . .

a floating former

meadow,

once green by memory's eye,

now dried,

a dirty yellow,

like the wicked in government

some,

who despise the people,

there,

over there,

on what i know

to be ground

is a grey yellow,

like dirty straw,

yes,

dried grass

once green,

as if it once fed a horse,

young and vibrant

now,

a pale one

this ground,

now dull

in this fading light

of another dying day

silhouetted

by

the grim

remaining photons

of swallowed light

gulped

by the greedy

globalist

illuminati types

. . . into this seeming void

i too float

carried by my weary

mind,

flesh so weak,

mind once so strong,

now laid to rest,

shackled by the darkening

scene,

set before my sight,

made dim

by the fading light,

to dark

. . . with my memorized eyes,

just a thousand yesterdays ago,

like a calm before,

a coming storm,

like the shaking,

that is just around the bend,

coming like a freight train,

as sure as the rising

of another bright sun rise,

like another judgement day,'

like another parting of the red sea,

like the tranquil stillness

just before the threshold of

that coming storm . . .

like just before

the closing of Noah's ark

door . . .

i gaze deep,

into the invisible realm,

that speaks to me

of a coming shaking

that now is

intensifying,

and fury plummet

in violent force,

disrupt this scene

i know,

will turn to black,

i will not leave you destitute

nor leave you blind

in travail

void of hope

peer into the darkness

await the light

come my people

he,

the LORD,

says,

come into my chambers

"til the upheaval be overpast

in my presence find your comfort

and see the coming light

return

in utter glory

the things you see now

though dark,

will be bathed

in light,

and truth

and you will fear

no more