all morning, all day, and all of afternOoN – tons of tongues that night, spoke way too sOoN!

though, we’re a little BeHiNd – our lumpy shadows have tWiNeD!

now the lightning has written in cursive, a shape that’s murky & UnLiNeD!

072120 TN — “all morning, all day, and all of afternOoN – tons of tongues that night, spoke way too sOoN! though, we’re a little BeHiNd – our lumpy shadows have tWiNeD!”

today : tomorrow, & tongue-night ‘twas trapped ’ to tasting troubling trauma that’s terrified towards trickery ToMbStOnE!

yesterday night, our eyes witnessed which flavors returned to the tongue, some foreign: others? uNkNoWn!

we could only wish to be saved by the already said SpEeCh – our rocky mountain climb could only attempt to rEaCH!

the census have reported which civilians have been robbed of all tenacity and InSiGhT! by reckoning always, the control and misery buried in the fiction of the wHiTe!

forced fed like animals inside of a platinum ZOO – these crumbs were paid for by the authoritarian ran hULlAbAlOo!

it had to be this tongue kNiGhT! the mid-evening militancy empowering swords to FiGhT!

for it was suited & armored with humility, chivalry, and decadent adjacent ClAsS!

‘tis this tongue night which swirls against those vulnerabilities, shattering myriad mirrored gLaSs!

tongue night is the evening in which there’s a twist and ScRaPpLe!

when our sentences are bewitched in a tangled n’ luscious gRaPpLe!

while being whipped into the lash of the word and InTeRpLaY – this tongue tonight undresses the nerve to quietly sTaY!

A nightmare came to me like a morning dream. I was fooled by the bright lights from the sun and a soft voice in my ear. Yet, there I was – stuck in a thick sweat – drowning and crying out for help. Reflections of my childhood came as a series of bright flashcards. My old church // Childhood Trauma // My dog Rocky I had when I was 12 // Making food with my grandmother in the kitchen // Marbles dropping on the newly laid tile floor // When I realized I could talk in my head // The Time I tasted a rainbow on the ground for the first time.

These all came to me like bright visions all entwined in a early cold sweat.

I screamed in terror because I couldn’t understand what was happening to me. In my waking life, I’m reminded of the words and stories that have been hidden in various pockets of my mind’s eye. Stories I neglected to share because I didn’t know what they could mean or reveal for the future.

Maya Angelou said it wonderfully:

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Inside of us are stories that are untold. Some terrifying while others are delightful. Stories that must be told, otherwise they reveal themselves through my dreams and our subconsciousness. The freedom and dare I say – vulnerability in speaking those hidden stories can mean several things for different reasons. Scars remind us of the pain that came before. The evidence of such experiences isn’t always what the mirror wants to face. These scars are a record of the numbers that have been calculated and those calculations are the visible framework of those experiences that are added and subtracted.

Upon the math of these scars which visits my dreams, I have more questions to ask. These questions narrate which direction I’m headed. The very act of writing is liberating. It entices thoughts unvisited in speaking range. It’s such a divine feeling to write. To get it right with what’s written. Feels so casual and simply conversational. Writing makes room for where there isn’t any. It just gets in the way and then before you know it – you start asking the hard questions that visit you in your nightmares. Jeopardy finds a new home in my nightmares, but it’s cool because those questions build the story inside.

What makes our experiences true is what gives us clarity to the lie in why we beLIEve.

Fictional Likeliness

The door of fiction transcends the likeness of reality.

Laughter is dressed with an uninvited consequence of surprise.

Victory exists within an untamed instinct – to affirm the burning desire which calls out onto you!

As presence is clarified by the nature of your standing, there is power in the discipline which guides your motion.

Admitting to the discovery that is in your own soul and the drifting days which cause the concurring revelation.

Not being able to spell through the continuance variety – the declarations are spelled out.

Truthfully these papers are written because they announce themselves to me.

They write unto and into me – how glorious is the pin and sin of pivoting rewards!

Casting by the midnight fixation of resting, you are no longer moving in the one.

Such joy and bliss in my heart because of the midnight glistening of sweetly given melodies.

I’m dead and alive.

The received and alienated!

There is a white picture here, but I don’t know if you recognize it?

It’s still here, Only existing by the fiction of the background.

I’ve become very aware of the discovery necessary in my own soul and this month I feel closer to this present reality!

I feel these writings will become a story told of old and new.

Tag Archives: Midnight

TONGUE NIGHT