“Strawberry Moon On The Ocean’s Horizon Enlivening”

Flesh melting off bones

Tones soothing flowing knowing showing the everlasting om

Surfing electric waves in the brain maintaining reality

Alarming help zooms past warning in a rush to save

Riding round the hook soaking up the history house

A weekend of hatchets buried

Sidewalk chalk

“You are special

You are loved

You are wanted

You are perfect”

Yellow dicknose gold tooth with bling and a gold chain purple haired green hatted multi-colored scrotal hair mustachioed wannanbe skateboarding Mister Potatohead

Witnessing people smiling and receiving compliments in real time from sharing love and art

Stand in the place that you are and draw a circle

Take a step and do it again and again

Now many circles overlapping interconnected

Color the overlaps various colors

A joking sailor mouthed hungman with love on his lips

Purple and yellow and green mandala flowering and spiraling simultaneously

Bubbles, rock and roll photography, and jazz in the park

Blue Hepcat, Bart’s sister’s early season blue saxophone, and a blue flower

Strawberry moon on the ocean’s horizon

enlivening

The amniotic nature of it all

Waves crashing all around

Ever clear

Have no fear

Tuning souls

Stepping into a summer of 250 years of these united states

Choppers overheard send shivers

Worrying about what they are going to deliver

Just om om om your boat

Gently

Down

The stream

Flesh melting off bones

Tones soothing flowing knowing showing the everlasting om

“strawberry moon on the ocean’s horizon enlivening”

flesh melting off bones

tones soothing flowing knowing showing the everlasting om

surfing electric waves in the brain maintaining reality

alarming help zooms past warning in a rush to save

riding round the hook soaking up the history house

a weekend of hatchets buried

strawberry moon on the ocean’s horizon

enlivening

the amniotic nature of it all

waves crashing all around

ever clear

have no fear

tuning souls

stepping into a summer of 250 years of these united states

choppers overheard send shivers

worrying about what they are going to deliver

just om om om your boat

gently

down

the stream

flesh melting off bones

tones soothing flowing knowing showing the everlasting om

“falling upwards”

falling upwards

a reprieve

stacked erroneously

spastically stifled

elongated indefinitely

matches consummated

fleshless fervent freak

ostentatiously obsolete

fungal friends feelings

fraught with fire

scorched and urned

waiting to be scattered and set free

waving goodbye with the ocean

a reprieve

falling upwards

*Was hanging out in a room with my brother George in his current earthly physical form as ashes in an urn and this is the stream of consciousness poem that came out. it’s kind of like fishing, surprised at what comes out. there was definitely an energy in the room. not sure how much is imagination 💭 but I felt a force. weird thing to me is the poem comes through, then I’m like, “Do these words even make sense or do they just sound good together?” Some of them are words hiding in my brain that I had to look up, remnants of my English major days. The mushroom line seems out of place to me, “fungal friends feelings”, but then I remember how sacred psilocybin mushrooms can feel 🍄 the plan is to “bury” him at sea, immediate family only 🌊 🤲 😇 💗

“Flee”

slimy member

sore subject

I object

your honor

I object

your chapter in the book of life in that vessel is done

but it traveled

loved

rocked

rolled

partied

worked

explored

laughed

cried

sighed

prayed

hugged

mesmerized

created

inquired

played and danced with fire

found homes for and with the broken and outcast

handily fixing objects and subjects

cracking jokes

and breaking hearts

animal lover

not one excluded even insects and reptiles

the scarier the better

admiring you and your admirations

sharp of style and intellect

i’ll never forget you brother

my heart won’t forget

bittersweet symphony for sure

but a symphony nonetheless

golden eagles tap dancing on rainbows you once sarcastically asked if that’s what I was hoping to see

I did

thanks to you

since I read the news today oh boy

shocked, saddened, maddened, grief stricken and numb

why oh why

what more could I have done?

Regrets and things I shouldn’t have said

Bargaining, wishing you weren’t dead

All good now

Creamy and free

Thankful to have experienced your bittersweet symphony

A little part of you will always be in a little part of me

Oh how I wish things were different

You were different

Always were

Always will be

You are in God’s hands now

Would love know to what you had to say to Thee

Knowing you I’m sure you managed a few haha heehees

Free, free at last, unhusked, flee

“Hey Echo, Can You Write An ‘Unhinged Bio’ About Me?”

Keith Corcoran is a spiritually caffeinated, saxophone-haunted architect of poetic debris who once wandered into the cosmic DMV and refused to leave until existence stamped his soul “conditionally approved.” He writes like a man who found God in a burning jukebox, got politely escorted out by security, and then thanked them for the metaphor.

Part mystic, part malfunctioning carnival mirror, Keith operates at the exact intersection of divine revelation and “wait… what did I just say?” His work suggests he has either:

glimpsed something profound beyond the veil, or
accidentally eaten the veil

—and refuses to clarify which.

Known to transmute LSD-era apocalypses, church-floor reckonings, and late-night philosophical ricochets into something resembling poetry, he treats language like a sacred object he’s also willing to drop down the stairs just to hear the sound it makes.

His ongoing project, Beans to Forge On, is less a book and more a slowly unfolding artifact—equal parts scripture, joke, and emotional crime scene. Scholars (none officially recognized) suspect it may eventually achieve sentience.

If you encounter Keith in the wild, he may appear calm—but internally he is hosting:

three simultaneous metaphysical debates
a jazz solo that won’t resolve
and a quiet but persistent suspicion that reality is doing a bit

Approach with curiosity. Or snacks.