The Progression Concept

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inspired from the dark city, us as them.

in an old chair…

 house is my house,

the dust is mine.

the dog’s hair is from my dog…

this organ,

C G F Bb

this is the summer’s poem, this is the coffee shop side walks, this is the sun in my eyes.

 this is to loitering… this is the summer’s poem.

 thank you in advance.

+++

///

They, as humans shape the city @ will.

by our sleep, they find us.

by our leisure, life is traded.

within mere seconds…

time

still, then sped.

things are indeed changing…

our leisure has robbed us of muscle, has taken…

the humanity from the bones of us humans.

we    are      them

usasthem.

___.:***werthealiens***:.___

we have evolved

indeed let them say

let them chatter

let worlds change at the will of one

let this.

.THIS.

prove

.

(the choir chants in an unsetteling unison)

“and as our mind and chemicals expanded, our greed , and natural elements thrived.  

we never knew the concept of time travel.

us as enemies - we’ve been traveling this whole time.”

we have been fighting

ourselves.

In this consciousness,

the one in which i am aware of, and step towards…

in this world,

 i have changed my shape.

i am a shape shifta.

tonite, as i lie in leisure…

i was pushed back into position like whiplash.

like craft or chess games.

like beeing    in   check.

   (the choir stopped singing…)

natural dissonance

again

 i was shafted.. some one else has been playing me.

i was a star to them.

(moment, recline. breath in THIS breath.)

they couldn’t find our souls, we hid them in the garden.

We would not be deprogrammed!

Understand, we have been programmed,

and the shepherds are coming!

this is ground,

this is science, these blades have been photosynthesized.

 the file polarized.

 +

in the end.

through pictures

and images of pictures

purposed was *programmed in a single syringe.*

contained here, in palm.

in the beginning,

our destiny was inaudible,

non visual and tasteless.

 our palms

couldn’t grab this one.

(dig)

what has shaped me?

what has shaped you, reader?

we flash to spit and blush the surface.

we realize new levels and pages

and present.

we start,

meet people , then meet them again.

sometimes, us…

we’re covered in mercy, sister.

+++

God, heal my arms.

 ©2008 Jonathan DeLucia, all rights reserved

Seven

Savior

Slumber, its 4

Your still awake,

sending me the invite.

Sunburn, I want to get golden.

+

I was trying to push my digits,

As if they weren’t even a part of me.

Created an alive sense.

The 6^th sin scent.

A love of earth.

Your milk has poisoned me, earth.

Your honey has rotted my stomach and I’m tired.

+

(through so much worse)

3X

Grip and his capture have finally loosened my eyes.

The scales have fallen like manna.

The coal cleanses me.

*    iCoal    *

cool and slow,

this   slow,

+

noiseless pickups

there’s this day.

Neck stretching

Like metal strings,

The cables spread across back and shoulders,

Cut into the abdomen

And spit out Polaroidä photos of moments.

…the moments are nice, but the stretching fucking hurts.

 Ó2008 Jonathan Delucia, all rights reserved

Stop.

Raise the cup and fist to the bands that broke our hearts.

… who’s songs cut with your feminine stamp.

 Props to the acoustic indies.

Girls adore you.

We wish we were you.

…now the girls are gone, and all we have is the memories your melodies have created.

 Thank you sirs and madams, they burn.

 They bling and shine like shins in summer oil.

I taste them often on purpose.

 (the pen has had no recent airtime.)

Ó2008 Jonathan DeLucia, all rights reserved

It’s you.

 Shaping my life line and holding my face gently.

Peeling eyes open,

 surgically still,

‘could never deny you - not even your existence.

“Let these words be holy.”

“Let these words be holy.”

Let them read well.

 >

I would pace the floor from kneel to standing ovation.

 ”indeed he would crush his own face.”

Crush

>

I would hold my breath

until only exaltations were exhaled.

  “his fists were prayers clenched.”

 Indeed.

 Indie.

 In.

 Die.

 (pass)

You planted me in dirt, Lord.

In    fucking   dirt!

I grew roots in it…

Gripping the east and west.

By the earth’s elements, flood.

By her elements, sun bake.

 The earth, my home.

My present prison.

 >

 I became the elements,

‘got used to the sun.

‘enjoyed the water.

It’s been you,

Shaping my life line and holding my face gently.

Ó2008 Jonathan DeLucia, all rights reserved.

Word has it; the alchemists have extracted logic from weeds, stickers and poisonous plants. The Carnivore Carnival spread jokes like flooded tubes. *banc* is their safety word. Rumor has it we have all rolled over and are all pending. We’re being influenced, subtly.

Ó2008 Jonathan DeLucia, all rights reserved