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	Patrick Fleskes
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Patrick Fleskes, 28 grudnia 2011

Mediations on the Bhagavad Gita

An' now I hope the world shines on,
All bearin' leafy green similes
In-between atmospheric distortion,
Perceivin' distance makes Van Goth blush,
Rosey flesh, undercook'd peace,
With side orders of bliss.
"All the world is green", we'll say,
In passin', tho the word not need utterance,
Meanin' is innate t' life, whom only understands matter,
Is there truth greater than atoms? pure energy?
Oh come now, human entanglements are merely attachments,
Latch off!!! Disconnect!!! We'll be free, we'll be with eyes open'd,
Bhudda's all!!!
Impermanent nature of object reality,
Pain an' pleasure an illusion’d sphere,
All birth'd men an' women all bathe in sight,
Of eyes glassy orb containin' summation of universe,
All spherical bodies an' essences,
A perfect shape for existence!
Somethin' physic's musta dreamt up in beautiful, lustrous sleep,
Sleepin' of sleep, a dream is another orb trapped inside another holy body,
The universe is merely a Matryoshka doll,
An' Russian carpenters must be humor'd saints,
Less desolate than most! Spreadin' their onion skinned philosophy,
So trivially.

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Patrick Fleskes, 28 grudnia 2011

Wasted Motion of Decay

I feel in times like these,
Un-ease, the world upside-down facin',
God's glaring naked gaze,
Bourbon soak'd decisions guiding society,
Down light-less tunnels, hushin' us sweetly with passin',
Comments of normality,
“It’s ok, ya still can breathe”,
But this atmosphere’s getting thin breaths in-between,
Prolonged submersion in napalm,
Get this damn earth a gas mask.

Just spent my last two dollars,

Last two dollars,
Gonna built me a cardboard grave t’ rest in,
Requiescat in pace,
As we’ll circle Hitchcook’s silver-screen’d drains,
Remembrance of past goldfish lives.
You an’ me,
At yardstick’s length, imagined laws,
T’ lines that aint never existed,
Even in your wildest, un-natural dreams surreal paint drip,
Wasted motion of decay.

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Patrick Fleskes, 28 grudnia 2011

The Somber Tick of Fall

Damp winds exchange in space-time gaps,
Winter'd thoughts, patchwork plans,
Sown in a pathetic, homely beauty,
Rag an' bone.
The apparent outside is gettin' hostile,
Shadows replace physical appearances,
Turnin' sidewalks into extended silhouettes,
Molecules dance slow in clouds.
Sad waltz's.
Stillness wipes the atmosphere clean,
Impartin' sleep, wakefulness,
An extended blur of moments,
Piecing narrative together,
In dull raindrop slur.

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Patrick Fleskes, 25 grudnia 2011

Tom Waits

Heated pipes shootin’ out shackled rivets,
Madness is mechanical, steam outlet,
Body is a disease hive, germ-dependent,
Can’t dismantle the benefactors,
Piece by piece
The roof collapses,
Leavin’ dogs hissin’ blank apologies,
Whilst dead eyes gleam a darker shade of black,
Death don’t bargain bin shop souls.
How coy, it creeps.
Dismantling us human beings.
Atom bombs sterile.
Clean Hiroshima.

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Patrick Fleskes, 25 grudnia 2011

Proof

Here the supposed I am again,
Lines in between ledges, falling symbols arrangin’ into comprehension,
Logical plain of thought meetin’ cathartic end in ink drop.
Wisdom, a lyrical sting t’ the mind as it bounces away,
Always wantin’ more,
More…
    The mind fest of knowledge
     Fat-heavy flesh,
     Seriated canine teeth,
     Take drunken, percussive stabs,
     'Tis never satisfied.
Oh what grace does introspection grant?
All actions can be diffused by their inherent silliness.
I exist… I suppose,
Therefore I’ll pound these damn keys till they work up,
A satiable monologue.
                Birth an’ death carry documents of proof,
                Why not life?

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Patrick Fleskes, 25 grudnia 2011

Sunshine Sutra

Mornings tarted mouth sunshine,
Sweet honeyed dripof the ancients,
The soil is now errect, attentiveness t' catch,
Aloof energy,
Conservation of pure life,
Essentially.
The sensation of sight,
Leaves the moon in weary sleep,
Of it collected dust,
And space be a black caverous mircowave,
dust carried off on waves an' radiation.
Particles everywhere!
Invokin' marenatte strings,
The invisiable chemical reactions,
Carry pure spontaneity of choice.
"Are ya a comedy or a tragedy?"
The Doctor asks as his hands slap,
new born flesh.

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Pozostałe wiersze: Riding the Max, I Ride my Bike with Both Handle Bars, Roadmap to the Heart, Nasy Detours, Goodnight, Words I meant to say in Conversations Long Past, Static Thoughts, The Drunched and Downbeaten Streets of Portland Speak, River, South Jetty, Every Street, a History Whispered, Mediations on the Bhagavad Gita, Wasted Motion of Decay, The Somber Tick of Fall, Tom Waits, Proof, Sunshine Sutra,

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Poezja

Mediations on the Bhagavad Gita

Wasted Motion of Decay

The Somber Tick of Fall

Tom Waits

Proof

Sunshine Sutra

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