wars everywhere.

man vs woman
gay vs straight
black vs white
left vs right
technology vs nature

the social media obsessed,
phone-fried, head down
never looking up, or around
selfie-soaked to oblivion,
drowned

"family with kids", consumed
that's their whole identity, doomed

and the ones like me
by their loneliness, groomed

outsiders, outcasts
freaks, so forced to the strangulation
"the masks"

in a world where little, of substance,
soul, lasts

to wake up and breathe here,
the most heroic of tasks...

don't call me anything
just call me human.

I pledge my allegiance
to know one, eight then

their beings, like god, send
yes, we, the beauty betrayed,
last whisper, (a secret)
in them, I still believe
there's a heaven.

(of love).


be it "train wreck and tragedy"
touched, somewhere, still alive,
they see

things with wisdom, and  sight,
as they are
you'd call them friends,
I call them stars

wars and wars and wars
again.
"the normals" crave bullshit
like the sanctimonious crave sin

rich vs poor
less vs more
credit vs cash
my heart vs my ass

one throbs, the other sobs
rarely in unison
older, and worn,
I should be at peace
that there is nothing left to prove, then

but with all this war
and all this crazy
my "tism" is prone
to monosyllabic "mazing"

just want to walk
and never stop walking
away from all the meaningless talking
away from all the "this vs that"

but then heaven, with him
just enraptured, we sat

and communed
cajoled
and left behind
all the roles

skinless and soul sexed
I saw a new mutation
of a passion, perplexed

that unbeknownst to me
there could be found, his kind
of one that I have never seen

one that I have never known.
somehow, in his presence
I feel realized, and not, in the least,
alone

I guess that's what others mean,
when they say that thing,
"I feel at home"

just the want to stay,
not run, not roam

some wars
inside
have hidden healings,
(feelings)

intoned.

(I dare not dream, but I do, just the same)

for a love,
unlabeled
unleashed,

hear my name.

(in the hum of your heartbeat, in the search, your "someone", your "same")

you came.
so did I.
no need to worry or question
or "why?"

just pray, like thunder
and shine, like rain

may he one day "come to"
and see, here, in one, we
our two.

twins.

can't fuck.
but can we finally turn,
alter the course of "the damned",
bent, "bad luck"

maybe,
maybe not
no game, this flower pluck,
garbage, "he loves me, loves me not"

some things just are,
take the chance
or fester, the scar

recognize your kind
or risk the ruin, the light, left behind
a light that's diminishing
day after day

the endless bitching and moaning,
from chosen corners,
coveted, victims
"look at me, us, our pain"

we've all got it
in different forms, called
"societal norms"

trapped and crapped
and tricked and dicked

for every asshole
there's a conniving bitch

so back to "distance, social",
survive

but in him
I felt
the want, impassioned,
cultivate, "thrive"

it begins and ends
those god dreamed eyes
where sweet meets sadness
woe meets wise

electric
non-expectant
just here
and there
and everywhere

no wonder, he afraid
my intense and focused,
ever-present stare

the one that speaks
"I am really here",
unlike all the others,
they, the "all talk", me, the endeared

wars
once more
and the battle
scarred,
"come, oblivion", wish

tell me,
whose twin
would you die
their arms, to be devoured in,
kiss,

live.
again.

the gorgeous,
unexpected.
soul drowning,
ever confounding.

(him).

twin.

brother, of the war
"our within".


bowen hart roselli
21 march 2020
ringwald love

instead of serving a man,
I'm serving a purpose

please let me know
if the "misunderstand",
in my destruction, of self, was worth this

misconstrued, beliefs
that if I ripped out my heart
handed it to you, me, every part
you would somehow see me
with love, so the start

of climbing rocks
not "black and blocks"*
as in another transient
"meant nothing" experience
that i must black out, erase
quite clear, in this

those rocks i climbed
to reach your heights
once you had me in your sights

were nothing more
than a means to an end
the work required,
build your ego, then send

tumbling down,
then back up again
same old game, different body part
and when

you were done
i was just another one
nothing to do, with the inside, me
like the blind, ask, then
what it is they can't see

my fault, always
fixated on fires
in fractured hallways
putting words to thoughts
and beliefs to illusions
vision, it becomes the crippling intrusion

just a side effect, sometimes
me, living in a dream
ceiling stares, sighing,
"I'll do anything, if you believe and forgive me, this time"

meanwhile, you've moved on
hit the gas,
on the pedal,
rearview mirror, looking past

any reflection,
remembrance of me
as in, "it had nothing to do with"
but in this way, not a good thing

this is exactly what it means
my "disposable and pose-able"
like a fleshlight, with a built in glowable
as unnecessary, after the fact
just, i, the dumbshit, not in on the act

that filters, broken
misperceive words spoken
as actually meaning,
something more than they do,
label me "had", then disposed of,
when through

side effects, sometimes
they can show you what's true
but only if, you the strength,
look anew

at realities beyond
your limited scope, mind
very few and little here,
are very ever that pure and kind

as to not be operating
from feared "motives, ulterior"
we obliterate the inside,
for the objectified exterior

i happen to be, one who gives as to live
makes me feel like i'm shining, when sharing
all that i have, for the few, worth the daring
gifts offered, are given soul free
it's not about expecting something in return
it's about seeing a soul, then touched,
in a land where most don't do these things very much

most words spoken,
forgotten, once said

and to have any kind
of memory now
means,
"best do research on the lobotomized head"

as in how to get one,
in order to survive
this, not a place
where "the soft men", survive

so harden up,
and not in cock
learn to steer clear
of climbing those rocks

for any man or being, at hand
that needs elevation,
"false god", inflation
sole purpose, steal your soul, for theirs
an act of power, because they sensed they could,
wanting you left then, knowing, feeling
you are less than worthless, think "hollowed out wood"

side effect, sometimes

wisdom, for wanting

in your splitting, tormenting, you've earned this

but for the longing of lips, kissed,
love and lust, trust,
the lesson, you, will never, learn this

that long ago "upon a star", i felt him, sensed him, in shadow, his "call"
and since then i've "done it" and saw, i thought, all
until i experienced him, slowly, and found a new kind of "fall"

(for, apart, the "in", before love)

as the desire to believe, in love give and recieve
now matter how "bizarre" or broken, unspoken, it's form
is the mountain i will forever reach for, climb
vision embedded within, someway, somehow,
he is out there waiting, i've met him, speaking in silence, "be mine"



bowen hart roselli
3 april 2020
ringwald love


*the "black and block" teqhnique is something taught to me by a brilliant friend, i refer to as "Xackati"

the man who burns his bridges with fire
puzzled, his pieces
whom, "the loved", died, admired

doesn't do anything by half
or by thick
look deep within, you will see
little skin

on his surface, his shine
his maze, man made mind
a man who thinks, for himself
watch, his ways
he will capture, then catch you
melt, his mark, as he strays

back and forth, then bolts,
like a colt
blinds you, by "wayside"
what you feel, that's a jolt

that startles and stuns
disorientates, the heat of his gun
as he penetrates, then propagates
the need to run, his place in the sun

haunts you, his presence
as if, he, heart bled
just might've been, the only one

you'd ever met, called "cannot forget"
no matter all the maneuvers
you tried
somehow, in the soak in, his eyes,
you found, in the afterward, yes, you had died

just in the way
he might've wanted you to
subconsciously so,
this man, with everything and nothing
to prove

still, as the night
warm breeze and wind,
the gods favorite height

peaceful and passion filled
his throbbing heart, chest
safe then, at rest,
sewed, the necessity of "nest"

of which to feel, surrounded,
in angels
then switched, the scene,
his "dangerous", change angles

swiftly, disarmingly
thunder, lightning strikes,
alarming, he

alerting you
he will not be caged
so spills forth, his rapturous rage

somehow, some sway
inside of him, searching
for someone, "something"
worth, his secret, wants, cherished, saved

in a place, no one can touch
while he, so touchingly drips
his blood, in slow, demanding, droplets,
as he, commands, unspoken
one, in silence, reach for and clutch

his delicate soul,
heart riddled, with holes
from bullets, or, etched arrows, so shot
by hero's and heroines
all the remembrances that must not
be forgot

and so he burns his bridges,
with fire
called to some place
that hearkens of "higher"

elevations,
like mountains
and trails
he walks, then he rests
at cliffs edge, finds "no fail"

inside of him, he is at home
and at peace

the man who burns his bridges
with fire
something inside, "needing out",
rain, released

upon , "the within"
things, that no longer are him
pulled by so many forces, apart
in longing for "safe, stay"
he leaves behind those
that can't keep his ways

understood
or impact, his scatter
just let be
in his time, feel the
matters

out, and work, inside himself
empty his well springs,
replenish, and rectify
his warring wants, wealth

not measured by
the means of "the many"
finished, fed up, by "the plays"
of the plenty

the man who burns his bridges
with fire

puts the "one", after that
which is prefaced by the "unlike" in "any"

as in, not like anyone
you've ever met

the man who burns his bridges
with fire

the soul definition of
"cannot shake him"

forget.


bowen hart roselli
3 april 2020
ringwald love

entertaining new awakenings,
passenger windows of pathways,
in the headlights, coming..

maybe
I'm not
as crazy as I think
learning to sit still,
hard work.
recognize, this here, all, but a blink

amongst the proverbial
ever present eye
all the chatter, the fear
that keeps me stuck,
the longing, deep inside

we are all, I guess,
warriors
of our own minds
seeking some softness,
amongst all the concrete, unforgiving
unkind

back to nature
focus, trees
release all the longings
I so wanted, the you
I found, so alive here,
in me

all the passion, pouring out
all the things I realize
the most important, I'm without
a real sense of belonging
and some exquisite soul, to give
god damn, I want, and wanted it, be you
but you've got your own ghosts,
your own seeking, of truth

we met, we found,
whatever this was
but I cannot force, or convince
you, "this", a strange kind of love

yes, I know, for me, it's true
and found myself, your labyrinth
engulfed, absorbing your electric hues
things I so, look up, admire, in you
your sense of fire, and freedom
and "the done", when you're through

adamant, obstinate
mercurial, maybe "mad"
so much revealed, when guard down
deep eyes, sad

I saw it early,
and you said you felt blessed
by whatever force
that brought me, to sit by you, next

evolution, evolved
to the place we're now at,
it all happened naturally
no preconceived plan
or equation, "expect"

just day in, day out
I experienced you
"in the drivers seat", all your thoughts, ringing true

and
In so may states, and so many flows
realized realizations, that i did not see coming, or "chose"
and found myself feeling
more and more, in heart, there, with you, just "at home"

there was an actuality
that brought us together
never would have met,
had the fates', not there, intervened, so tethered
us, to that which, we both seek,
to escape
all the everyday enslaved, but for the dollar, to make

the day to day doldrums,
life as a monetized mundanity
but if not for that exact reality
I would've never found you,
your incredible, unfathomable
palpably touching humanity

the paradox, the parallax view
all the hundreds times thousands
of moments, bled magic, that led me to you

the fears of strangers
and findings,"too close",
"the run and the ruin it",
projections of ghosts

that cause the moments
of terror, this "tender"
one of us "stamped",
the recipient versus sender

synergies, synchronized
maybe that's all, one can hope for, here
fleeting, found, your paradise, wise

and again, I return,
those same, soul like sex,
drenching, dream eyes

say the wants and the wishes
of an unrecognized life

but for all i've seen, and all I know,
comes the pain and the struggle
to let it all go
some rare beings
you just want to bathe in, bask, behold, forever
the "internal combustion"
of chemistry, mystery
the connection, ...."it....must...then"...

"mean this, if that"
and if not,
then it must mean, nothing at all
our fragile egos
on the edges of them, like cliffs
do we fall

what I want, and see, "just me"
reflections, visions, apparitions
of "we"
all the things
that may not come to be
whatever it's called, whatever it means...

as alone in our worlds,
of want and wander, search, see

so again, I return, the silence
and sanctuary, trees
and can only hope, in human
that you will somehow remember me

as the realization swells
it's all minefields, of "mine, feels" 
must "own this"
the experience, alone, this.

I can never be you,
I can never know what's really true
all I ever could ask,
is that, for the fleeting, in moment
you, just for a second,
may have felt it too

(the love, it was real)

the inner chaos corrupts
we return to games,
minds don't trust
we run and we run,
the ever inner, insatiable son

but, in surrender,
yes, I once saw through
to the immense, immeasurable heart
that you hide, and you cultivate chaos,
to prove

that nothing and no one,
excuse the gender, the sex,
will ever truly know or capture
you
until the day,
you are released to the rapture

of allowance, "the open"
not a manipulate, for a take,
or a token

not a mirage of masks,
for the chore or the task

of being anything, but
the beautiful you
fearing the vulnerable,
you vacate
and return to all the voices
inside, you war, like a soldier,
troop, placate

this, we collide, here,
and return to the silence,
our inevitable "separate"

as in "separate from",
but aligned, in a way
both "casualties of war"
the
"are you sick of me yet?",
wounds, insecurities, we betray..

ourselves
and those,
around us,
who'll stay

watch over and cradle
our "sleepless", no blame

I felt that for you
and I loved it, lived it,
to a point, impassioned.

compelled,
drawn to,

no shame.


bowen hart roselli
1 april 2020
ringwald love