a point in time and
the sound between spaces,
talking blissful bach.
is my heart a strumming
string, running
stream of conscious
nests summed up
by a sonata? so
so familiar, as if
i was born to be
this emotion, a
motion within
a moment, swimming
an ocean of
sensation.
to be me, and only.
me? i mean, time
will tell whether
or not
i can tell you
whither i will
find my
self when
forever is ever
gonna become
something other
than never. mind
you, this is only
metaphor. a figure
of speech, and
i sculpt them,
literally.
a claret reality,
the viticulture of a
cello, sweet
surrender. i am sure
of this. wine and wonder,
under a spell, out
on a limb, oh
how the notes
are hints at a taste
of divinity! so
much to live for,
such savor and succor.
my heart thrums, rhythms
to rhyme for, such bliss
to die for. oh
bach, you beautify my
melancholy.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
soulstice souliloquy for lost soulmate, with coltrane
sits with sips, wine
scriptures long into this
longest night, supreme. a love
affair with solitude,
a saxophonic soliloquy
as each swallow follows
afloat on thoughts. of her,
a passion laughter, her bluesies,
that blues ease, sky eyes
when she was inside, yet
never left even after we said
goodbye. as memories drain
from an uncorked bottle, evidential
remains, as stains on my lips
purple my heart.
love never dies, does it?
now then, rain, what do you
want? growing, as green waves,
greening this world. rapping
on wet windows, breath
as fog and night is long
getting longer. the sun
is only a rumor these days.
and love is supreme, immortal.
not that reminders are needed.
i have my thots trained
in the element of surprise.
surprised? i am a book of shadows
writ large under the light
of a lover's day, her moonlight.
i am eclipsed by nostalgia, if
only because my heart reflects
a cluster of light, starry nights
twinkling of her eyes
and i crossed the galaxy
just to taste that sunlit sugar.
anchors aweigh! i am
forever a novice at sea,
for all my talk of sea depth
of knowledge, i only know
my heart sailed away with her,
her anchor away
somewhere deep inside.
love never dies? what
do i know of love, or
death?
another sip, swallowing memories,
swathed in blues. but on jazz
my brain waves at a receding
shore. all those heartbreaks, yet room
for more to love. so much more.
some things never die.
so i feed sunlight to the sunlight.
demons are beautifully kissed,
the night is long
getting longer,
and still i linger
at the edge of wine sentience,
a life sentence.
the scripture reads:
let's drink to life and love,
let us die with that knowledge.
scriptures long into this
longest night, supreme. a love
affair with solitude,
a saxophonic soliloquy
as each swallow follows
afloat on thoughts. of her,
a passion laughter, her bluesies,
that blues ease, sky eyes
when she was inside, yet
never left even after we said
goodbye. as memories drain
from an uncorked bottle, evidential
remains, as stains on my lips
purple my heart.
love never dies, does it?
now then, rain, what do you
want? growing, as green waves,
greening this world. rapping
on wet windows, breath
as fog and night is long
getting longer. the sun
is only a rumor these days.
and love is supreme, immortal.
not that reminders are needed.
i have my thots trained
in the element of surprise.
surprised? i am a book of shadows
writ large under the light
of a lover's day, her moonlight.
i am eclipsed by nostalgia, if
only because my heart reflects
a cluster of light, starry nights
twinkling of her eyes
and i crossed the galaxy
just to taste that sunlit sugar.
anchors aweigh! i am
forever a novice at sea,
for all my talk of sea depth
of knowledge, i only know
my heart sailed away with her,
her anchor away
somewhere deep inside.
love never dies? what
do i know of love, or
death?
another sip, swallowing memories,
swathed in blues. but on jazz
my brain waves at a receding
shore. all those heartbreaks, yet room
for more to love. so much more.
some things never die.
so i feed sunlight to the sunlight.
demons are beautifully kissed,
the night is long
getting longer,
and still i linger
at the edge of wine sentience,
a life sentence.
the scripture reads:
let's drink to life and love,
let us die with that knowledge.
magic chef boy
magic dreamer, he
cooks celestial, feeding
his people. his desire
to simmer us all
in his soup of the soul:
to cure the world.
wild horse with no master,
not realizing his own mastery.
hidden in a shrinking forest,
laborious wooden hands,
leather eyes, if only
we could see
what plains lie before
his wilderness of imagination.
the peasantry written
into his face, weathered, his
mossy cedar mane. voice
that echoes from his ancient
his ancient ancient heart. and then,
the little boy who stares out
from behind those clouded eyes,
that grinning tooth.
cooks celestial, feeding
his people. his desire
to simmer us all
in his soup of the soul:
to cure the world.
wild horse with no master,
not realizing his own mastery.
hidden in a shrinking forest,
laborious wooden hands,
leather eyes, if only
we could see
what plains lie before
his wilderness of imagination.
the peasantry written
into his face, weathered, his
mossy cedar mane. voice
that echoes from his ancient
his ancient ancient heart. and then,
the little boy who stares out
from behind those clouded eyes,
that grinning tooth.
folklore boy
have you heard the wind in the grass,
the crackle of hot madrona bark,
what long sad trains have to say,
the appalachian autumn fog,
the stringy lament of the salt of the earth?
listen now to his elemental coal, his mine
of simple sorrow and profound joy,
to this singing history book, from sea
to shining sea.
he sings in harmony with this modern day
and days gone by. whiskey and
dilapidated porches, shotguns and
railroads, unions and rusty tools; these
all live through his hands plowing
the land.
he is here to remind us, life is a story,
it has no beginning and no end. to
understand the entire story, you must know
where you are in the song. otherwise,
there is no song, no notes, no scales
to weigh your importance, no keys
with which to unlock the future.
therefore, he sings and tells us a story,
and we listen, because we need this
knowledge of who we were, who we are,
and where we need to go.
the crackle of hot madrona bark,
what long sad trains have to say,
the appalachian autumn fog,
the stringy lament of the salt of the earth?
listen now to his elemental coal, his mine
of simple sorrow and profound joy,
to this singing history book, from sea
to shining sea.
he sings in harmony with this modern day
and days gone by. whiskey and
dilapidated porches, shotguns and
railroads, unions and rusty tools; these
all live through his hands plowing
the land.
he is here to remind us, life is a story,
it has no beginning and no end. to
understand the entire story, you must know
where you are in the song. otherwise,
there is no song, no notes, no scales
to weigh your importance, no keys
with which to unlock the future.
therefore, he sings and tells us a story,
and we listen, because we need this
knowledge of who we were, who we are,
and where we need to go.
festival boy
prince, peasant,
boatman, land rover,
wandering bird
with deepening nests.
some dragons are fire,
some water, or air or
earth, but he is
the meeting of all.
mover and shaker,
stones will move
and shake when he
invents for us
the desire for festivity.
the dance won't stop,
because the music
never stops.
a dozen busy arms
perform twenty four
busy tasks. the saw
does not stop singing,
the tractor will not
sit and rust, projects
beget two-fold projects.
no matter the occasion,
he is the forefront
of it all, strong of back,
facing down the rain
and wind, hoisting
sail, making electricity,
smoothing the dance
floor, beating a path
to celebration.
and there he is,
in the eye of the storm,
tall and commandeering,
like some apparition
of churchill or macarthur,
persevering and conquering,
providing, laughing,
laughing.
boatman, land rover,
wandering bird
with deepening nests.
some dragons are fire,
some water, or air or
earth, but he is
the meeting of all.
mover and shaker,
stones will move
and shake when he
invents for us
the desire for festivity.
the dance won't stop,
because the music
never stops.
a dozen busy arms
perform twenty four
busy tasks. the saw
does not stop singing,
the tractor will not
sit and rust, projects
beget two-fold projects.
no matter the occasion,
he is the forefront
of it all, strong of back,
facing down the rain
and wind, hoisting
sail, making electricity,
smoothing the dance
floor, beating a path
to celebration.
and there he is,
in the eye of the storm,
tall and commandeering,
like some apparition
of churchill or macarthur,
persevering and conquering,
providing, laughing,
laughing.
bizarre boy
he comes, dressed in scrap metal,
dragging etiquette by a noose.
strange bumblebee, the odd
clanging bell of varied states
of disrepair revolving his head.
wise hermit clothed as a jester,
yet i thought i saw the lone cowboy.
where there should be a monk
in meditation, i find a laughing duck.
his golden genius is society's refuse.
give him a broken umbrella, a stopped
clock, three frying pans, a bucket
of bolts, some wire and a coat hanger,
and you will find him sailing
to the moon with a winged monkey.
do not underestimate his song,
for all songs are sacred, though his
is the rant of madness, he reminds us
to be wary of our pretensions, our
conventions. never forget this.
dragging etiquette by a noose.
strange bumblebee, the odd
clanging bell of varied states
of disrepair revolving his head.
wise hermit clothed as a jester,
yet i thought i saw the lone cowboy.
where there should be a monk
in meditation, i find a laughing duck.
his golden genius is society's refuse.
give him a broken umbrella, a stopped
clock, three frying pans, a bucket
of bolts, some wire and a coat hanger,
and you will find him sailing
to the moon with a winged monkey.
do not underestimate his song,
for all songs are sacred, though his
is the rant of madness, he reminds us
to be wary of our pretensions, our
conventions. never forget this.
softly girl
a gaze, soft pierce
of the soul, warmth
aglow off
sets her
aloof.
a quiet deception,
that stillness, what
stirs inside
is intelligence
masked.
a seriousness, her
stone demeanor
crumbles under
penchants for
silly.
still waters run
deep, her depth
is perception, a
knowing eye
encompasses.
looks are surfaces,
real beauty takes
appreciable time,
such class as hers:
timeless.
of the soul, warmth
aglow off
sets her
aloof.
a quiet deception,
that stillness, what
stirs inside
is intelligence
masked.
a seriousness, her
stone demeanor
crumbles under
penchants for
silly.
still waters run
deep, her depth
is perception, a
knowing eye
encompasses.
looks are surfaces,
real beauty takes
appreciable time,
such class as hers:
timeless.
sparkle girl
somewhere
there is light,
some wing
in flight. find
her there,
in song
speech
and smiles,
hands
that touch
tones,
touchstones
of healing
arts.
art is
inescapable,
like wise
eyes
that find
you within
yourself.
and you
cannot escape;
why should you?
she makes
music
out of
a spark of
sunshine.
there is light,
some wing
in flight. find
her there,
in song
speech
and smiles,
hands
that touch
tones,
touchstones
of healing
arts.
art is
inescapable,
like wise
eyes
that find
you within
yourself.
and you
cannot escape;
why should you?
she makes
music
out of
a spark of
sunshine.
flower girl
life is a basket of flowers
even in winter,
and she is winter
doing a headstand.
enigmatic clam
and ponderous seahorse,
she is an ocean
mystery, and
a breath of fresh
air.
her dance is enormous,
like the way
her smile
is the entire earth, and
the entire earth
conspired
to bring her here.
there is a deepness
in her eye,
a wonder in balance
with a sadness.
what else
could be
so beautiful?
even in winter,
and she is winter
doing a headstand.
enigmatic clam
and ponderous seahorse,
she is an ocean
mystery, and
a breath of fresh
air.
her dance is enormous,
like the way
her smile
is the entire earth, and
the entire earth
conspired
to bring her here.
there is a deepness
in her eye,
a wonder in balance
with a sadness.
what else
could be
so beautiful?
Saturday, December 19, 2015
what would julius caesar do?
the herald of some prehistoric,
rolling the big time ice
as if life's hidden gamble. such
subtleties, denial and betrayal,
the misgiving mouthy
declares declares
oh say, can't you see.
thought i heard you not singing,
lip synch of the pretty lie?
if and if, then i am
full of mirrors. an explosion
of head space, the inside cinema
rolling, the rotating cast, we
are stars lost
track of light.
that moment
you realize all life is
as deception, and
you fell for it. why not
believe it was meant to be? except
these prehistories, times
like these, the joker in hiding,
a crept shadow you puppeteer.
and it's easy to fall, for it, face down
in a puddle. the love
that is peddled. such
a saving grace, when no
one is honest anymore. at least, not
the way you cross
your heart, hope to die.
a needle in the eye, the silent
dagger we entrusted to each other.
just in case, brutus, just in case.
a mental masterpiece, a mind's
fucking illusory fucking.
certainly a condition, trained from birth,
societal lobotomy
with nervous knifey hands.
when you can lie under pressure,
a pressing of the tongue, forked
road. two paths to one
ultimate destination.
and it's a truth, can you
escape it?
the baited breath of the audience,
waiting for the final curtain.
call it morbid curiosity. if
it kills me, it's because
i believed in you.
the cast party is really gonna be
something. masquerade
ball and all
the king's men. and me,
solo act played
by the fool.
rolling the big time ice
as if life's hidden gamble. such
subtleties, denial and betrayal,
the misgiving mouthy
declares declares
oh say, can't you see.
thought i heard you not singing,
lip synch of the pretty lie?
if and if, then i am
full of mirrors. an explosion
of head space, the inside cinema
rolling, the rotating cast, we
are stars lost
track of light.
that moment
you realize all life is
as deception, and
you fell for it. why not
believe it was meant to be? except
these prehistories, times
like these, the joker in hiding,
a crept shadow you puppeteer.
and it's easy to fall, for it, face down
in a puddle. the love
that is peddled. such
a saving grace, when no
one is honest anymore. at least, not
the way you cross
your heart, hope to die.
a needle in the eye, the silent
dagger we entrusted to each other.
just in case, brutus, just in case.
a mental masterpiece, a mind's
fucking illusory fucking.
certainly a condition, trained from birth,
societal lobotomy
with nervous knifey hands.
when you can lie under pressure,
a pressing of the tongue, forked
road. two paths to one
ultimate destination.
and it's a truth, can you
escape it?
the baited breath of the audience,
waiting for the final curtain.
call it morbid curiosity. if
it kills me, it's because
i believed in you.
the cast party is really gonna be
something. masquerade
ball and all
the king's men. and me,
solo act played
by the fool.
?am i ha-ha-happy?
if. --
the last word
in the puzzle mind
of possibilities, because.
it's a seed, proto
maybe. the future
for sale, up
for grabs. the highest believer.
do i have faith?
it's not
like i'm happy
or not or
anything, because
i'm perfect
-ly
content. this
is shit, this shit.
and it's gold
-en. real and real
about it. and happiness,
it's a word, and that word
is if.
i can be that
way the way
i am
the focal loci
of the gratitude conspiracy,
just like every
one else.
the way it's all
been made
for me me. or,
but, then again,
well, or. i can
make myself perpetuate. so
are you here?
there were times. fleeting
and maybe
we left souvenirs
precious pieces of scars, scraps
of hearts. remains of joy sorrow
and the echo
shadow imprints. a belief.
it's all for real for real.
you can call it
happiness, a presiding.
lasting? no
moment lasts.
happiness is
accepting this
sufferbeauty, scraping
my soul
offfff the pavement. all
that glitters isn't gold
baby.
it just fucking
glitters.
the last word
in the puzzle mind
of possibilities, because.
it's a seed, proto
maybe. the future
for sale, up
for grabs. the highest believer.
do i have faith?
it's not
like i'm happy
or not or
anything, because
i'm perfect
-ly
content. this
is shit, this shit.
and it's gold
-en. real and real
about it. and happiness,
it's a word, and that word
is if.
i can be that
way the way
i am
the focal loci
of the gratitude conspiracy,
just like every
one else.
the way it's all
been made
for me me. or,
but, then again,
well, or. i can
make myself perpetuate. so
are you here?
there were times. fleeting
and maybe
we left souvenirs
precious pieces of scars, scraps
of hearts. remains of joy sorrow
and the echo
shadow imprints. a belief.
it's all for real for real.
you can call it
happiness, a presiding.
lasting? no
moment lasts.
happiness is
accepting this
sufferbeauty, scraping
my soul
offfff the pavement. all
that glitters isn't gold
baby.
it just fucking
glitters.
the wayt of the world, between the shoulders
the frantic superimposing of realizations,
the way laughter hurts,
like a hollow guilt, that
wandering eye toward tomorrow.
the idiocy of future reckoning,
where shadows precede
light. as if
the heart breaks before
the end of the first kiss. inescapable
thinking, the way to embrace
irony, methodic madness, but
the final scruple remains, clinging,
though it too threatens to expire.
certainly this is no existence, even if
parody, i still maintain.
a semblance, a gesture, rote automation.
is choices, is. and
pleasure sensate the fickle fuck feeding
gimme gimme living. for the dream,
the big one, and always
morning comes fading the memory,
replace deferments with new deferments.
shelf it, out of shelf space, bound
to repetitive repetitive,
mastering this mundane; am i
the paragon of nothing? can that be
freedom? long in the history,
uninterrupted encumber. at least,
that's what i tell myself,
chewing on reality
while reflecting in a shaded mirror.
i think to myself
how very congenial i am
to believe in the hopeless.
it could be true.
the way laughter hurts,
like a hollow guilt, that
wandering eye toward tomorrow.
the idiocy of future reckoning,
where shadows precede
light. as if
the heart breaks before
the end of the first kiss. inescapable
thinking, the way to embrace
irony, methodic madness, but
the final scruple remains, clinging,
though it too threatens to expire.
certainly this is no existence, even if
parody, i still maintain.
a semblance, a gesture, rote automation.
is choices, is. and
pleasure sensate the fickle fuck feeding
gimme gimme living. for the dream,
the big one, and always
morning comes fading the memory,
replace deferments with new deferments.
shelf it, out of shelf space, bound
to repetitive repetitive,
mastering this mundane; am i
the paragon of nothing? can that be
freedom? long in the history,
uninterrupted encumber. at least,
that's what i tell myself,
chewing on reality
while reflecting in a shaded mirror.
i think to myself
how very congenial i am
to believe in the hopeless.
it could be true.
palllllitics
perhaps the truly simple
mindedness rests
in seeking those keepers of meaning,
assuming they even exist, or even
have pretense
toward the everlasting
is.
the actually, hammer
blow to the head. a strangeness
like hand
job democracy, quiet
rape
and ruffled sheets bleached.
a stain on the
brain.
they they lives, they lives, as
dried out seasons, aspirations
we are
made to fight for.
a sullen soft
ness, blown
down
to the sea,
down
into the no end tunnel.
lightless tones,
and it's delight. every
year
the cold music,
the wicked grin
eating, entering thoughts, that
dangerous
smile stepping through your screen.
how will you atone?
if you
sin
against the gallows man.
we're al
ready home,
independent
ly
and counting
down
to six6 feeeeeet.
mindedness rests
in seeking those keepers of meaning,
assuming they even exist, or even
have pretense
toward the everlasting
is.
the actually, hammer
blow to the head. a strangeness
like hand
job democracy, quiet
rape
and ruffled sheets bleached.
a stain on the
brain.
they they lives, they lives, as
dried out seasons, aspirations
we are
made to fight for.
a sullen soft
ness, blown
down
to the sea,
down
into the no end tunnel.
lightless tones,
and it's delight. every
year
the cold music,
the wicked grin
eating, entering thoughts, that
dangerous
smile stepping through your screen.
how will you atone?
if you
sin
against the gallows man.
we're al
ready home,
independent
ly
and counting
down
to six6 feeeeeet.
Friday, December 11, 2015
paroxysm in winter
where it is now, in certain
ways how it could be, could
always be, if winter is life
cold blowing like sad
slow season. it happens,
you know, every year. it so happens
there are days
like every day, like yesterday,
how i hate tomorrow.
some bloody prison of the mind
that i don't mind, but tolerate, as if
this is something holy, like
freedom. like
old ageing becomes
an obsolesce. it's an absolute
certainty i will learn
to die if only
life didn't get in the way.
obstacles like obstacles,
overcoming or not. suppose
this can be decision, far flung
autocracy at the dawn of self awareness.
new discoveries in suicide, an art,
and then the light is expansion,
a will toward expression,
blending in musical deniability.
so this is a discourse. and it's
magic you try to conjure,
explaining why your explanations
explain nothing. a precision. nothing
says "i love you" like monkey grammarianism.
perhaps i over-involve.
brains pushing on brains. there
have to be words for every word.
no wonder no
one communicates. we don't
have enough
time with the time
we are given, and run out
looking for god inside every
crack in our being. turns out
it's been a defect at the back of the head,
so we had to invent
this most hideous beauty in history.
we could do no wrong, but
we could do no better either.
ways how it could be, could
always be, if winter is life
cold blowing like sad
slow season. it happens,
you know, every year. it so happens
there are days
like every day, like yesterday,
how i hate tomorrow.
some bloody prison of the mind
that i don't mind, but tolerate, as if
this is something holy, like
freedom. like
old ageing becomes
an obsolesce. it's an absolute
certainty i will learn
to die if only
life didn't get in the way.
obstacles like obstacles,
overcoming or not. suppose
this can be decision, far flung
autocracy at the dawn of self awareness.
new discoveries in suicide, an art,
and then the light is expansion,
a will toward expression,
blending in musical deniability.
so this is a discourse. and it's
magic you try to conjure,
explaining why your explanations
explain nothing. a precision. nothing
says "i love you" like monkey grammarianism.
perhaps i over-involve.
brains pushing on brains. there
have to be words for every word.
no wonder no
one communicates. we don't
have enough
time with the time
we are given, and run out
looking for god inside every
crack in our being. turns out
it's been a defect at the back of the head,
so we had to invent
this most hideous beauty in history.
we could do no wrong, but
we could do no better either.
skept
sometimes most times are times
that are all the time, when
the words make no
sense, as if
mr. potatohead
was an actual language.
woe is me, decrepit polyglot
autodidact, who
fancies a supposed intellect,
but still,
discernment is veritable
as far as
differentiation of information
is concerned. so i'm concerned.
reality imposes, no matter
how much our thoughts matter.
empire of the empirical.
but this flouting of objectivity!
to think you are a huge magnet
for the most beautiful force
in the universe, which you take
to be truth, just as LeRoi said.
and everything
makes sense where you want
sense to be made. or is it
selective observance?
ask mr. potatohead.
you truthers, you deniers,
you false skeptics, naturalist
holders of the utmost value
for all that is nauseous
about free thought. it's
only fair then. i am
no absolutist, however.
i absolutely detest
the epidemic of idiocy
these days.
sometimes
most times are these times
when i am all the time
reminded of fallen towers
and nefarious clouds
shrouded in alien conspiracy.
thus, i seek sedation.
that are all the time, when
the words make no
sense, as if
mr. potatohead
was an actual language.
woe is me, decrepit polyglot
autodidact, who
fancies a supposed intellect,
but still,
discernment is veritable
as far as
differentiation of information
is concerned. so i'm concerned.
reality imposes, no matter
how much our thoughts matter.
empire of the empirical.
but this flouting of objectivity!
to think you are a huge magnet
for the most beautiful force
in the universe, which you take
to be truth, just as LeRoi said.
and everything
makes sense where you want
sense to be made. or is it
selective observance?
ask mr. potatohead.
you truthers, you deniers,
you false skeptics, naturalist
holders of the utmost value
for all that is nauseous
about free thought. it's
only fair then. i am
no absolutist, however.
i absolutely detest
the epidemic of idiocy
these days.
sometimes
most times are these times
when i am all the time
reminded of fallen towers
and nefarious clouds
shrouded in alien conspiracy.
thus, i seek sedation.
fakebook
the immense fiction of life, a grandeur
of myopic selfie-sh art. the see through
of digital art eyes, a wish. i see through you.
i don't understand your tired politics.
i don't understand your misunderstanding.
let's spell out new terms
for grammar.
life is a meme.
we are not clever enough
to be inventive. for our self-sake.
i see through your eye, so i am tired, alone,
poor, fed up, sick, suspicious.
so i see you, also, full
of life's pretty people things
and food like magnets
for the gullible universe attraction.
life is a meme.
a museum of infographics. thinking
is tiresome. understanding
is difficult to understand.
click here to learn why.
let me explain how you should think,
don't you agree?
life is a meme.
the infernal marketplace of ideas.
information international. the internet
killed socrates. dialogues for days.
where does hegel come into play?
we speak a different dialect, a process
of devolving. we have front row seats
for the end of civilization show.
who will win this time?
life is a meme.
a stalker's dream. the egoist's dreme.
an idiot's dreem. some poet's driem.
but then,
cats.
of myopic selfie-sh art. the see through
of digital art eyes, a wish. i see through you.
i don't understand your tired politics.
i don't understand your misunderstanding.
let's spell out new terms
for grammar.
life is a meme.
we are not clever enough
to be inventive. for our self-sake.
i see through your eye, so i am tired, alone,
poor, fed up, sick, suspicious.
so i see you, also, full
of life's pretty people things
and food like magnets
for the gullible universe attraction.
life is a meme.
a museum of infographics. thinking
is tiresome. understanding
is difficult to understand.
click here to learn why.
let me explain how you should think,
don't you agree?
life is a meme.
the infernal marketplace of ideas.
information international. the internet
killed socrates. dialogues for days.
where does hegel come into play?
we speak a different dialect, a process
of devolving. we have front row seats
for the end of civilization show.
who will win this time?
life is a meme.
a stalker's dream. the egoist's dreme.
an idiot's dreem. some poet's driem.
but then,
cats.
the definition of nowhere
at the edge of silence. wordless
perimeter paces sonorous spaces, in
between the disinhabited. devoid. are we
points
on a delineated dimensionless?
defined by a widening gulf, we
tend toward distances.
never arriving, we are already departing.
silhouettes are hindsights seeking shadows:
i search a different geometry. a quest
for order, where there is none.
evident remains
of a circular departure.
where does this lead?
a radius of anonymity, circumference
of preference for the attainable not-ness.
adherence to wonder, no wonder
we are nowhere. if there is no
place to be, there can not be an at.
yet this edge.
a silence of pacing borders, we find
no answers.
any questions?
perimeter paces sonorous spaces, in
between the disinhabited. devoid. are we
points
on a delineated dimensionless?
defined by a widening gulf, we
tend toward distances.
never arriving, we are already departing.
silhouettes are hindsights seeking shadows:
i search a different geometry. a quest
for order, where there is none.
evident remains
of a circular departure.
where does this lead?
a radius of anonymity, circumference
of preference for the attainable not-ness.
adherence to wonder, no wonder
we are nowhere. if there is no
place to be, there can not be an at.
yet this edge.
a silence of pacing borders, we find
no answers.
any questions?
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
#blackberniematters
a witness to expectations wilted
weathering under hot sun delays
the faces of lilies pining for some real shit.
except, what is real shit anyway?
we all live this interpretation colored
with conceits,
we paper together our meaningless messiah.
we want answers to prayers but can't listen.
to real shit??
we want bread
buttered our own way.
multiple masters of ceremonies moan lament kick sand,
we adolesce our supposed intellect.
a black sunshine, pushing through. our
screens we push back butt-hurt. a screaming
inconvenience spills scalding privilege
all over the fucking utopia place. pissing on the rug we
yank(ee) out from under our feet
shod with too many shoes.
we have first world problems too.
we aren't post-anything. signs say yield
to oncoming traffic. there's a horn blowing.
who's paying attention?
rules for this road ain't none.
flippant when this bitch flips
the clown car over. what do we see
in the mirror?
some objects are a lot closer than they appear.
we are drunkards for our own supposed intellect.
weathering under hot sun delays
the faces of lilies pining for some real shit.
except, what is real shit anyway?
we all live this interpretation colored
with conceits,
we paper together our meaningless messiah.
we want answers to prayers but can't listen.
to real shit??
we want bread
buttered our own way.
multiple masters of ceremonies moan lament kick sand,
we adolesce our supposed intellect.
a black sunshine, pushing through. our
screens we push back butt-hurt. a screaming
inconvenience spills scalding privilege
all over the fucking utopia place. pissing on the rug we
yank(ee) out from under our feet
shod with too many shoes.
we have first world problems too.
we aren't post-anything. signs say yield
to oncoming traffic. there's a horn blowing.
who's paying attention?
rules for this road ain't none.
flippant when this bitch flips
the clown car over. what do we see
in the mirror?
some objects are a lot closer than they appear.
we are drunkards for our own supposed intellect.
progressive politics
in the mist of decay, the midst
of a dream we wake into: futile sleep
walk towards a glitter precipice. we learn?
aside from the "how i get by" canned speech
and explanations of hollow fortitude...
we do believe in smart devices, our
vices to portray silent voices,
and loudly. apoplectic carnival
realism. we are righteously so.
except when we're on the wrong side of history.
the talk the talk. is only. we are
being murdered, slowly, one
by one, we succumb to civilization. politely
we acquiesce the hangman's advance;
after all, who wants to offend
the hideous beauty of silent ignorance?
there it is inside of us,
the insidious blueprint for suicide.
death is no longer beautifully honorable.
it's a matter of statistics.
will the last person left please take note of this?
of a dream we wake into: futile sleep
walk towards a glitter precipice. we learn?
aside from the "how i get by" canned speech
and explanations of hollow fortitude...
we do believe in smart devices, our
vices to portray silent voices,
and loudly. apoplectic carnival
realism. we are righteously so.
except when we're on the wrong side of history.
the talk the talk. is only. we are
being murdered, slowly, one
by one, we succumb to civilization. politely
we acquiesce the hangman's advance;
after all, who wants to offend
the hideous beauty of silent ignorance?
there it is inside of us,
the insidious blueprint for suicide.
death is no longer beautifully honorable.
it's a matter of statistics.
will the last person left please take note of this?
the wannabe baraka poem
the inside of the head, a thorn
cranium. wistful starlight, gone to town
with daisies for hair. cracks
in the mirror i smile at.
alone with its silent thievery.
i can be lost and alone. that's just the way
it is. churning
through history, i turn
the pages. everything
has a frightening wetness,
heavy breathing hot at the window.
my soul doesn't exist (goddam, i thought
i took care of that last month.)
except for the reflections i hear,
since they make me laugh. things
scratch around causing the dark
to wander about, bumping
into shadows.
when the rain, if, not that i care
but just in case. i'm getting
away from here. fog in mystery
and silence cut in half.
figure that shit out.
they come to you trilling
a flag song and you wind up
brain damaged listening too long.
i'm getting to where i'm getting to,
but damn if i know where.
some spread thigh
for thoughts of romance. it never
sounds right when said out loud.
i don't speak now.
forever. they sell you on that.
now that we know better we better
get on down, no telling
which bogeyman we be
afraid of come tomorrow morning.
a materialist's wet dream. i seen that
koochie waving in the breeze. ain't no change.
we all get here. get lied to.
one by one we all leave.
same thing each time but with a different color
never before seen. did you see it?
flaming wings of grief.
you can dance.
can't you?
cranium. wistful starlight, gone to town
with daisies for hair. cracks
in the mirror i smile at.
alone with its silent thievery.
i can be lost and alone. that's just the way
it is. churning
through history, i turn
the pages. everything
has a frightening wetness,
heavy breathing hot at the window.
my soul doesn't exist (goddam, i thought
i took care of that last month.)
except for the reflections i hear,
since they make me laugh. things
scratch around causing the dark
to wander about, bumping
into shadows.
when the rain, if, not that i care
but just in case. i'm getting
away from here. fog in mystery
and silence cut in half.
figure that shit out.
they come to you trilling
a flag song and you wind up
brain damaged listening too long.
i'm getting to where i'm getting to,
but damn if i know where.
some spread thigh
for thoughts of romance. it never
sounds right when said out loud.
i don't speak now.
forever. they sell you on that.
now that we know better we better
get on down, no telling
which bogeyman we be
afraid of come tomorrow morning.
a materialist's wet dream. i seen that
koochie waving in the breeze. ain't no change.
we all get here. get lied to.
one by one we all leave.
same thing each time but with a different color
never before seen. did you see it?
flaming wings of grief.
you can dance.
can't you?
the poverty poem
as if, when
moonlight burns...
you get the idea.
we can't get any
more. somnolent
coincidences,
like scraping air.
did we care any
more? i said
how i feel about you
in a million ways.
all you want
is to hear
four letter words.
god is a bad word, by the way.
the everlasting burden
of the thinking man,
to believe in poetry.
how lost i must feel.
to be smart
and unappealing.
poetry is one letter away
from poverty.
it pays to be mild mannered sometimes.
it gets into the darkness
behind the skin.
frail and lightless,
weighed down
by curtains. a foreshadowing.
can you feel?
if i ask, then i don't need to know.
we all want
to be left to our petty vices.
crack whores
for cheap affections.
we live in an age of indifference.
i am left to my own meaning.
as if, moonlight
burns. when it's slow
and ugly.
a cumbersome crawl,
lazy light getting nowhere.
that's my excuse from now on.
i forgot my shadow.
it crept back
into its source. deep
inside, a smolder.
soon i will sing.
you show me the dance steps.
it can make a difference.
bartender, an epitaph, please.
moonlight burns...
you get the idea.
we can't get any
more. somnolent
coincidences,
like scraping air.
did we care any
more? i said
how i feel about you
in a million ways.
all you want
is to hear
four letter words.
god is a bad word, by the way.
the everlasting burden
of the thinking man,
to believe in poetry.
how lost i must feel.
to be smart
and unappealing.
poetry is one letter away
from poverty.
it pays to be mild mannered sometimes.
it gets into the darkness
behind the skin.
frail and lightless,
weighed down
by curtains. a foreshadowing.
can you feel?
if i ask, then i don't need to know.
we all want
to be left to our petty vices.
crack whores
for cheap affections.
we live in an age of indifference.
i am left to my own meaning.
as if, moonlight
burns. when it's slow
and ugly.
a cumbersome crawl,
lazy light getting nowhere.
that's my excuse from now on.
i forgot my shadow.
it crept back
into its source. deep
inside, a smolder.
soon i will sing.
you show me the dance steps.
it can make a difference.
bartender, an epitaph, please.
the puzzle poem
i am in some sad trumpet call. i thought
miles davis was dead!? never mind,
he must be immortal.
after all, it is an ethic i cope with,
being in pieces the way i do.
something like a piano
from some picasso puzzle.
slowly from night
til still mornings.
i live for these feelings.
die because of them too.
it can be this way.
musing. like it really is
some chic thing, because
french is a pretty language.
at least latin is dead.
i digress.
that may be latin too.
certainly it was made this way.
i tried sleeping it off
and then the century turned on me.
you don't really understand,
only because the places i have been
are not like the ones you have here.
you are here, aren't you?
i think maybe you can't know. who i am
is a mystery even to me. do you
shiver when trane speaks? french is pretty,
but jazz is deadly. i mean,
what i mean is, what it means.
empty spaces, we approach,
i touch voids, you find silence,
we still don't meet in between.
flutes carry the meaning we inhabit.
after all, i cope with these things. what
about you?
tell me if this helps.
miles davis was dead!? never mind,
he must be immortal.
after all, it is an ethic i cope with,
being in pieces the way i do.
something like a piano
from some picasso puzzle.
slowly from night
til still mornings.
i live for these feelings.
die because of them too.
it can be this way.
musing. like it really is
some chic thing, because
french is a pretty language.
at least latin is dead.
i digress.
that may be latin too.
certainly it was made this way.
i tried sleeping it off
and then the century turned on me.
you don't really understand,
only because the places i have been
are not like the ones you have here.
you are here, aren't you?
i think maybe you can't know. who i am
is a mystery even to me. do you
shiver when trane speaks? french is pretty,
but jazz is deadly. i mean,
what i mean is, what it means.
empty spaces, we approach,
i touch voids, you find silence,
we still don't meet in between.
flutes carry the meaning we inhabit.
after all, i cope with these things. what
about you?
tell me if this helps.
the pretend poem
this day's light on its last legs, hung
in the sky like a drunk painter.
from my porch, a pestilent thought eclipsing
a smile. a forced poetry. this
might really be, but
is it actually worth it?
the hum-drum every day, one-twos
march march, ground to
a fine powder. a mixture of ugly
and what might be beautiful. an
unachievable height, i sacrifice
myself to it, work labor drink
all up in smoke. i am spoiled.
life is casual.
i look past things, push them away
and stare into shadows. meanings...
should they exist. i mean, should they?
this is where i ask for forgiveness,
warn of pretentiousness.
within or without, my eyes
take on a different
kind of hollowness. sometimes
there is pain. like, what's it like,
this thing that insists on being love?
never mind, it's probably just pretty
and glorified utopic
numbness short of death. i do shit.
cook or clean or sweat or cross paths,
go down up under where
the streets reflect a desperation.
and people wanna run me down,
pin some clause to me, make me
make sense. do i have time for this?
love has six dozen meanings,
i'm still chewing on the spelling.
it's possible. the sky just went home,
painted by a drunkard. maybe i know him.
after all, we have to have a use
for things. i force poems because
there is no use for them. other than
being a nostalgia, a lobotomy of sorts.
kinda like a need.
in the sky like a drunk painter.
from my porch, a pestilent thought eclipsing
a smile. a forced poetry. this
might really be, but
is it actually worth it?
the hum-drum every day, one-twos
march march, ground to
a fine powder. a mixture of ugly
and what might be beautiful. an
unachievable height, i sacrifice
myself to it, work labor drink
all up in smoke. i am spoiled.
life is casual.
i look past things, push them away
and stare into shadows. meanings...
should they exist. i mean, should they?
this is where i ask for forgiveness,
warn of pretentiousness.
within or without, my eyes
take on a different
kind of hollowness. sometimes
there is pain. like, what's it like,
this thing that insists on being love?
never mind, it's probably just pretty
and glorified utopic
numbness short of death. i do shit.
cook or clean or sweat or cross paths,
go down up under where
the streets reflect a desperation.
and people wanna run me down,
pin some clause to me, make me
make sense. do i have time for this?
love has six dozen meanings,
i'm still chewing on the spelling.
it's possible. the sky just went home,
painted by a drunkard. maybe i know him.
after all, we have to have a use
for things. i force poems because
there is no use for them. other than
being a nostalgia, a lobotomy of sorts.
kinda like a need.
way words
a world's coldness, estranged mode
of communication. a depth of words
bubbling to a surface gurgle: this is where
the knife slides in. sweet baby jesus,
fuck them.
they paint smiles painted faces
butter honey talk they
act like
they take interest. if i got
time they'll
take it like cheap money,
and money's cheap these days.
so's real friendship.
sometimes it works
but not if they got a thing or two
they need (all i got's
my own volition, and
that's definitely not
up their alley)
sideways and other ways words
otherwise i get lost confused wayward and
i forget
which language do we
agree to use?
of communication. a depth of words
bubbling to a surface gurgle: this is where
the knife slides in. sweet baby jesus,
fuck them.
they paint smiles painted faces
butter honey talk they
act like
they take interest. if i got
time they'll
take it like cheap money,
and money's cheap these days.
so's real friendship.
sometimes it works
but not if they got a thing or two
they need (all i got's
my own volition, and
that's definitely not
up their alley)
sideways and other ways words
otherwise i get lost confused wayward and
i forget
which language do we
agree to use?
dream sketcher
sketch for my pleasure your dreams
as long as you paint them
without rhyming. prove to me
you had a dream
if only because
even you aren't convinced.
take a bite from your heart
and show me those seeds
you hide in your flesh.
teach me about it.
help me know how you plan to plant
some future, whether or not
you possess soil, whether or not
you carry salt in your tears.
i want to understand
why you try
to till the sky, the reason
you build your nest
somewhere in hidden places
the wind cannot carry me to.
as long as you paint them
without rhyming. prove to me
you had a dream
if only because
even you aren't convinced.
take a bite from your heart
and show me those seeds
you hide in your flesh.
teach me about it.
help me know how you plan to plant
some future, whether or not
you possess soil, whether or not
you carry salt in your tears.
i want to understand
why you try
to till the sky, the reason
you build your nest
somewhere in hidden places
the wind cannot carry me to.
the hodge podge snippets poem
as evenings go, this
one is filled with your light.
the moon is lost at sea.
a silence inside your eye,
a silence of deep wells.
you are inside a poem
i wrote into wine's scripture;
claret lips you press upon the glass
pour libations across pages--
uncork the poem
to find autumn light
nestled in the verse
i cultivate for your mouth alone.
is there music inside your tears?
there are empty rooms inside my heart;
if you aren't there, where
will you sleep?
i swear i heard your voice crying out
over the weeping wind/s/wept tears.
i promise
to meet you someplace
west of the moonlight.
if only i could navigate the night
i would weigh anchor wherever i found you.
don't tell me the rain keeps no secrets,
winter will be here soon enough.
if you find me inside my final death
bury my heart under your pillow,
plant my lips within a cherry
and kiss me forever.
this is why my skin aches:
beauty breaks my bones
kisses cause me fever
dawn light crawls into my closed eyes
i find you there, but not here.
the only thing i understand is pure fire.
somebody, please, teach me about different heartaches.
one is filled with your light.
the moon is lost at sea.
a silence inside your eye,
a silence of deep wells.
you are inside a poem
i wrote into wine's scripture;
claret lips you press upon the glass
pour libations across pages--
uncork the poem
to find autumn light
nestled in the verse
i cultivate for your mouth alone.
is there music inside your tears?
there are empty rooms inside my heart;
if you aren't there, where
will you sleep?
i swear i heard your voice crying out
over the weeping wind/s/wept tears.
i promise
to meet you someplace
west of the moonlight.
if only i could navigate the night
i would weigh anchor wherever i found you.
don't tell me the rain keeps no secrets,
winter will be here soon enough.
if you find me inside my final death
bury my heart under your pillow,
plant my lips within a cherry
and kiss me forever.
this is why my skin aches:
beauty breaks my bones
kisses cause me fever
dawn light crawls into my closed eyes
i find you there, but not here.
the only thing i understand is pure fire.
somebody, please, teach me about different heartaches.
Friday, July 17, 2015
suite for sadness
i want to tell you about the sadness i inhabit.
i want to tell you the way it colors my eyes,
how it
hangs upon me like dew
drops or honey...
not the popular misery of a failed culture, or
the missing lover, or the disinherited family,
or jobs, or responsibilities...
...the sadness that is this beautiful life ....
as now, with Bach living in a single cello,
a single breathing dragon ....the wind
is a leafy swirl gracing my skins; my skin's
wed to a pure flame of passing summer...
it's the last light, the way it burns the
treetops like brush tips
painting a setting scene:
evening approaching
with its
long dark
cloak of ashes.
it's the fleeting knowledge of life itself,
this passing parade, season upon season,
the wine of love's
lips, the
solitary essence of vibrating strings
..... stretching .....a scratching sadness,
an instrument of introspection.
(those who believe beauty is only skin deep
know little of beauty, or skin, or depth)
it's this
single
serenaded motion, everything
that eludes sensation,
barely touched
yet somehow as sentient as inevitable death,
like sunrise, exactly like a sad and lonely sunrise
only the sea sees: it's a
single
moment
and that's all there is. you can't move,
barely breathing. you dare not
look away, because this is the only time
this will ever happen. repeat that to yourself.
this is the only time this will ever happen.
that's sadness.
beautiful, beatific sadness.
an eternal glance, an infinite
embrace, a slow smile, that never-ending
shadow passing through ..... long and lonesome notes
spanning your entire life, distilling
every tear, every drop of blood,
each
breath and triumphant moment,
all in a single suite.
a sadness
that cuts the bone at the back of the heart,
sawing through the lumber of life,
separating
those two halves of what
was then and what is
now.
perhaps sadness propels us forward,
bringing us closer to life, to each other,
to that single, solitary moment
of deathly beauty:
the only thing you have
[is]
...........
i want to tell you the way it colors my eyes,
how it
hangs upon me like dew
drops or honey...
not the popular misery of a failed culture, or
the missing lover, or the disinherited family,
or jobs, or responsibilities...
...the sadness that is this beautiful life ....
as now, with Bach living in a single cello,
a single breathing dragon ....the wind
is a leafy swirl gracing my skins; my skin's
wed to a pure flame of passing summer...
it's the last light, the way it burns the
treetops like brush tips
painting a setting scene:
evening approaching
with its
long dark
cloak of ashes.
it's the fleeting knowledge of life itself,
this passing parade, season upon season,
the wine of love's
lips, the
solitary essence of vibrating strings
..... stretching .....a scratching sadness,
an instrument of introspection.
(those who believe beauty is only skin deep
know little of beauty, or skin, or depth)
it's this
single
serenaded motion, everything
that eludes sensation,
barely touched
yet somehow as sentient as inevitable death,
like sunrise, exactly like a sad and lonely sunrise
only the sea sees: it's a
single
moment
and that's all there is. you can't move,
barely breathing. you dare not
look away, because this is the only time
this will ever happen. repeat that to yourself.
this is the only time this will ever happen.
that's sadness.
beautiful, beatific sadness.
an eternal glance, an infinite
embrace, a slow smile, that never-ending
shadow passing through ..... long and lonesome notes
spanning your entire life, distilling
every tear, every drop of blood,
each
breath and triumphant moment,
all in a single suite.
a sadness
that cuts the bone at the back of the heart,
sawing through the lumber of life,
separating
those two halves of what
was then and what is
now.
perhaps sadness propels us forward,
bringing us closer to life, to each other,
to that single, solitary moment
of deathly beauty:
the only thing you have
[is]
...........
moon house
moon lives in a round
house dances around
its house like moons
the sky floats on the
air.
does the moon--
does it? dance
inside
your skin inside
your love's heart does it
love you into
its round house the
sky
that floats the air
? can you
fly if you fly
like moons ?
do you sigh if moon
light spills over
you
?
it's the moon
isn't it? the sky at night
through
air
through
mirrors the sky's
reflected orgasm
shedding light
silvery slippery
like moon light
it's
the moon
isn't it
?
house that is round even
when it's empty
house dances around
its house like moons
the sky floats on the
air.
does the moon--
does it? dance
inside
your skin inside
your love's heart does it
love you into
its round house the
sky
that floats the air
? can you
fly if you fly
like moons ?
do you sigh if moon
light spills over
you
?
it's the moon
isn't it? the sky at night
through
air
through
mirrors the sky's
reflected orgasm
shedding light
silvery slippery
like moon light
it's
the moon
isn't it
?
house that is round even
when it's empty
poetry girl
some wear their
heart on a sleeve.
you wear your
heart on your
heart. your heart
beckons:
write poems.
so i do.
but....
there is perhaps
no more
beautiful poem
than the one
written into
your heart.
heart on a sleeve.
you wear your
heart on your
heart. your heart
beckons:
write poems.
so i do.
but....
there is perhaps
no more
beautiful poem
than the one
written into
your heart.
wonder moon
it's such a wonder
the way the
sky opens the sea
splits it
sets the
deep light free: moon
shines face down descending
from its round house
afloat with air
drinking in the sea's
scattered light shattered
stillness.
the sun finds
its other purpose
in its farewell, painting
a chameleon sky
to make room
for moonlit
sculpture.
such a wonder
full moon come
to life
on the sea.
the way the
sky opens the sea
splits it
sets the
deep light free: moon
shines face down descending
from its round house
afloat with air
drinking in the sea's
scattered light shattered
stillness.
the sun finds
its other purpose
in its farewell, painting
a chameleon sky
to make room
for moonlit
sculpture.
such a wonder
full moon come
to life
on the sea.
the lovers
the way they look at each other
the moon is the first lesson the sun
rings the bell the sea repeats that fire
and their eyes burn their lips smolder
their bodies' singularity becomes its own light
the way they look at each other
the sky retreats stars wink the dark
strands of falling hair shadows
their delight in palpable humming waves
and waves arrive seeking their own pleasure
the way they look at each other
is its own laughter its own banquet
the only two people alive who do
not hunger they feast on each other
their eyes their touch their common corporeal
the moon is the first lesson the sun
rings the bell the sea repeats that fire
and their eyes burn their lips smolder
their bodies' singularity becomes its own light
the way they look at each other
the sky retreats stars wink the dark
strands of falling hair shadows
their delight in palpable humming waves
and waves arrive seeking their own pleasure
the way they look at each other
is its own laughter its own banquet
the only two people alive who do
not hunger they feast on each other
their eyes their touch their common corporeal
skinshine
days long linger the light
sunlit skin tattooed with dirt i labor
the earth sip sun
slather it on my skin
akin to sunshine. i am some
shadow
stepping into light. shines on me
sweet but sad like
waves stand on shores
saying good-bye. similar
each time: some tides
high, some low. the sea
is stormy calm
and unreachable. by land
and sea we seek solace,
soul place or some place
to simmer like summer
where everything is growing.
sunlit skin tattooed with dirt i labor
the earth sip sun
slather it on my skin
akin to sunshine. i am some
shadow
stepping into light. shines on me
sweet but sad like
waves stand on shores
saying good-bye. similar
each time: some tides
high, some low. the sea
is stormy calm
and unreachable. by land
and sea we seek solace,
soul place or some place
to simmer like summer
where everything is growing.
rain
the first drop of rain
sneaks in i barely
notice i wonder
if i imagined you
were born in clouds
the second drop of rain
seemed mistaken i was
blind you were there
only i thought there
was only sand for shelter
the third drop of rain
made me thirsty i
asked for more my mouth
open barely slaked
the tide already leaving
the fourth drop of rain
unexpected and i hoped
the thunder was you
announcing the lightning
as i faced the sea
the fifth drop of rain
is a joke a crime
diminishing daylight heat
pause and repose
we invent games for
the sixth drop of rain
grew tired of waiting
i looked inside you
asked why i drift i
said i misunderstood the sea
the seventh drop of rain
tastes bitter tastes
less like hearts i vacate
empty confusion always
asking the wrong questions
the eighth drop of rain
eats my soul my
heart with doors unanswering
no rooms but where
will you sleep if not there
the ninth drop of rain
blends into all others
i can't count anymore i
stand naked in the rain
you leave me to the sea
the tenth drop of rain
waits sees what might happen
leaves room for doubt for
hope for solitude to creep
shadowless crawling toward me
sneaks in i barely
notice i wonder
if i imagined you
were born in clouds
the second drop of rain
seemed mistaken i was
blind you were there
only i thought there
was only sand for shelter
the third drop of rain
made me thirsty i
asked for more my mouth
open barely slaked
the tide already leaving
the fourth drop of rain
unexpected and i hoped
the thunder was you
announcing the lightning
as i faced the sea
the fifth drop of rain
is a joke a crime
diminishing daylight heat
pause and repose
we invent games for
the sixth drop of rain
grew tired of waiting
i looked inside you
asked why i drift i
said i misunderstood the sea
the seventh drop of rain
tastes bitter tastes
less like hearts i vacate
empty confusion always
asking the wrong questions
the eighth drop of rain
eats my soul my
heart with doors unanswering
no rooms but where
will you sleep if not there
the ninth drop of rain
blends into all others
i can't count anymore i
stand naked in the rain
you leave me to the sea
the tenth drop of rain
waits sees what might happen
leaves room for doubt for
hope for solitude to creep
shadowless crawling toward me
know this
listen, you know how this is:
you look upon my skin crawling
with sunlight and you want it
to summon the moon's
embrace, cradle of the sea's deepest
secrets. i am
no master of subtleties yet
i can pick flowers and arrange them
into your poem.
perhaps you only see the distance
between us where i am
convinced we are the same
wave on opposing shores
of our mutual ocean, and
i confess that my heart
was last seen at sea, fishing
for lost scraps of light
the moon let go.
look, maybe you know this:
you look upon this skin of me
tattooed with sunshine and you want it
to transcribe the moonlight
so it rhymes with the sea
but i have only secret poems only
i can interpret but
if you plant a field of daisies i will
come and till your poem.
you look upon my skin crawling
with sunlight and you want it
to summon the moon's
embrace, cradle of the sea's deepest
secrets. i am
no master of subtleties yet
i can pick flowers and arrange them
into your poem.
perhaps you only see the distance
between us where i am
convinced we are the same
wave on opposing shores
of our mutual ocean, and
i confess that my heart
was last seen at sea, fishing
for lost scraps of light
the moon let go.
look, maybe you know this:
you look upon this skin of me
tattooed with sunshine and you want it
to transcribe the moonlight
so it rhymes with the sea
but i have only secret poems only
i can interpret but
if you plant a field of daisies i will
come and till your poem.
string sad
such simple sadness
in sounds from strings
fiddle sings streak sad cheeks
salted with solitary streams these
tears that are dream shadows.
i sit where we sat when we
first met oh how much could
change in the time it takes
the tide to pull
the moon full
of cheer the music now
conveys a change in feeling.
give me melancholy, give me
happiness, but take from me
this long sad waltz
the fiddles fell back into.
take from me whatever
failings i perpetuate but
never take from me
the lingering memory of
you sitting next to me
smiling the way the moon
waxed the philosophical we were
when the sea opened up
to that brilliant lunar light.
in sounds from strings
fiddle sings streak sad cheeks
salted with solitary streams these
tears that are dream shadows.
i sit where we sat when we
first met oh how much could
change in the time it takes
the tide to pull
the moon full
of cheer the music now
conveys a change in feeling.
give me melancholy, give me
happiness, but take from me
this long sad waltz
the fiddles fell back into.
take from me whatever
failings i perpetuate but
never take from me
the lingering memory of
you sitting next to me
smiling the way the moon
waxed the philosophical we were
when the sea opened up
to that brilliant lunar light.
leftovers
sitting in sun
lit lounging under long
shadows lengthening drinking in
the libatious summer.
rolling boules across the dust
scapes the onlookers revel
reveal their pleasure for little
passions. fiddles tune the air
leftover from festive nights
the breeze blows balls pinging
ponging and i sit longing
to laugh your laughter to
chat with you after the day
is done and naught needs doing.
so short so sweet like seasonal fruit
your scent lingers as i scatter
featherless wings wishing
i could fly the way you wanted
me too. all your splendor on offer
yet i chose only to seek
your mind your heart your other
arts those parts that make you
the mosaic i am left piecing together
how much i enjoyed the way
you showed me the long way
back to myself. the table is open
the ping the pong the sing the song
of two people catching up after all this lifetime.
lit lounging under long
shadows lengthening drinking in
the libatious summer.
rolling boules across the dust
scapes the onlookers revel
reveal their pleasure for little
passions. fiddles tune the air
leftover from festive nights
the breeze blows balls pinging
ponging and i sit longing
to laugh your laughter to
chat with you after the day
is done and naught needs doing.
so short so sweet like seasonal fruit
your scent lingers as i scatter
featherless wings wishing
i could fly the way you wanted
me too. all your splendor on offer
yet i chose only to seek
your mind your heart your other
arts those parts that make you
the mosaic i am left piecing together
how much i enjoyed the way
you showed me the long way
back to myself. the table is open
the ping the pong the sing the song
of two people catching up after all this lifetime.
traveling girl
her verve her
vim that visual
unusual
as if
perched
on the verge
of beautiful
birds she keeps
in hair
unkempt yet
languished like
lucid languages
her grace her
grandeur that grin
splashed face
she faces
the sea
as if
this land this
place is a place
to paint to
play upon
leaving foot
prints imprints
in my heart my
shifting sands
seeking her
tide
should it ever
return
her arts her
heart her soul
i sought to
know
how she
could populate
these skies
her stars her
eyes a light
shining
into my dark my
night water heart
she touched she
left
rippling waving
farewell down
tunnels funneling
light upon light
but i am not
alone in receiving
her shine her
illumination
vim that visual
unusual
as if
perched
on the verge
of beautiful
birds she keeps
in hair
unkempt yet
languished like
lucid languages
her grace her
grandeur that grin
splashed face
she faces
the sea
as if
this land this
place is a place
to paint to
play upon
leaving foot
prints imprints
in my heart my
shifting sands
seeking her
tide
should it ever
return
her arts her
heart her soul
i sought to
know
how she
could populate
these skies
her stars her
eyes a light
shining
into my dark my
night water heart
she touched she
left
rippling waving
farewell down
tunnels funneling
light upon light
but i am not
alone in receiving
her shine her
illumination
bonnie lass
funny, that sun hat bonnie
lass, laughs and lingers
this long way to another way.
funny, her manner's demeanor
dreamy but anchors aweigh
her heart in the sea.
funny, her heart is the sea
i see in her stare her
eyes are shallow waters soul deep.
funny, her magic coat of curly
smiles sails round rainbows
circling the sun.
funny, she shimmers both
sun and shadow she shows
both sides of her heart.
funny, she should linger
as i wonder whether she is
wondering whether i am.
funny, that sun hat bonnie
lass, her laughter lingers
exactly as she is natural.
funny, that sun hat bonnie
lass,
laughing.
lass, laughs and lingers
this long way to another way.
funny, her manner's demeanor
dreamy but anchors aweigh
her heart in the sea.
funny, her heart is the sea
i see in her stare her
eyes are shallow waters soul deep.
funny, her magic coat of curly
smiles sails round rainbows
circling the sun.
funny, she shimmers both
sun and shadow she shows
both sides of her heart.
funny, she should linger
as i wonder whether she is
wondering whether i am.
funny, that sun hat bonnie
lass, her laughter lingers
exactly as she is natural.
funny, that sun hat bonnie
lass,
laughing.
boys
what dreams cling to your
sleep peaceful
when i marvel over your immensity?
you should know this...
you broke my heart
wide open for your light to shine this
realization of myself, to illuminate
the meaning of love without conditions.
the very existence of your beautiful being
teaches me more
than my lifetime of books.
you write your essence into
my heart broken into more hearts, more
hearts to hold you,
to hold you.
sleep peaceful
when i marvel over your immensity?
you should know this...
you broke my heart
wide open for your light to shine this
realization of myself, to illuminate
the meaning of love without conditions.
the very existence of your beautiful being
teaches me more
than my lifetime of books.
you write your essence into
my heart broken into more hearts, more
hearts to hold you,
to hold you.
changing
the sky is fire the sky
like flesh aflame burns desire
sky on fire burns like flesh
burns like desire
the sky is fire
heart whose wings
find roots in death whose wings
root in farewells watered
by tears wells of sadness and sadness
is a well with salty feathers
wings made of crystal tears
i do not know the name
for forgotten dreams i do not
understand my name scattered
etched into a changing sea
i cannot remember the name
of the sea that i forgot
when sea becomes flesh
like flesh aflame burns desire
sky on fire burns like flesh
burns like desire
the sky is fire
heart whose wings
find roots in death whose wings
root in farewells watered
by tears wells of sadness and sadness
is a well with salty feathers
wings made of crystal tears
i do not know the name
for forgotten dreams i do not
understand my name scattered
etched into a changing sea
i cannot remember the name
of the sea that i forgot
when sea becomes flesh
long moment
i live my life in a single moment separated
by the individual waves breaking
scattering the light
across the glassy strand shattered
by stillness as i reinvent my breath.
standing facing the sea in fury
the sea in repose i see my life
in a single moment separated by multiple
horizons i cannot touch much
less recall those sad ships sinking
into the sky's melding with the sea.
yet sad ships with sad stow away
memories never do take this sorrow
away for good--perhaps
this is why the sky is round
the waves return
the moon reflects itself
and i have yet to learn to sail
because the wind is still a mystery.
perhaps i remain here looking for a cure
or to cope with this extravagant melancholy
by surrounding myself with salt with
the sea with this dream thick with blood.
the moon is a frozen suspended solitary
tear, a single mineral lost in the stars.
my life is one long moment
interrupted by tears.
by the individual waves breaking
scattering the light
across the glassy strand shattered
by stillness as i reinvent my breath.
standing facing the sea in fury
the sea in repose i see my life
in a single moment separated by multiple
horizons i cannot touch much
less recall those sad ships sinking
into the sky's melding with the sea.
yet sad ships with sad stow away
memories never do take this sorrow
away for good--perhaps
this is why the sky is round
the waves return
the moon reflects itself
and i have yet to learn to sail
because the wind is still a mystery.
perhaps i remain here looking for a cure
or to cope with this extravagant melancholy
by surrounding myself with salt with
the sea with this dream thick with blood.
the moon is a frozen suspended solitary
tear, a single mineral lost in the stars.
my life is one long moment
interrupted by tears.
land light
there are in these lands mountains
trees clouds faces laughters
that capture light that
last stretch of day
before night
catching glowing rays
as memory lingers
passion kindles
barriers dwindle
this land breathes fire salt
water wind the humus of decay
the mineral of rebirth bones
to build upon flesh
to extend as sunlight splashes
falls like water feathers tears
suspended in animated drizzle
it's an existence of hardness like
mountains push the sea
softly the green leaves of light
perch their birds branch roots
rivers stumble run their way toward
the sea the
immense coffin watering
graves we came to dig
as it happens this place this
land is last light hovering
atop every everything atop every
thing under
the sun the
sea rejects the glisten the sea
hides its own secrets
buries its own dead sometimes
spitting bones sometimes
inviting you to dinner
this happens every day this
dance this light that dark that
equally disproportionate split
between distant lovers two
deep purposes in flames in transit
between light dark between
water fire water stone and everything
is illumined is
part of this land
trees clouds faces laughters
that capture light that
last stretch of day
before night
catching glowing rays
as memory lingers
passion kindles
barriers dwindle
this land breathes fire salt
water wind the humus of decay
the mineral of rebirth bones
to build upon flesh
to extend as sunlight splashes
falls like water feathers tears
suspended in animated drizzle
it's an existence of hardness like
mountains push the sea
softly the green leaves of light
perch their birds branch roots
rivers stumble run their way toward
the sea the
immense coffin watering
graves we came to dig
as it happens this place this
land is last light hovering
atop every everything atop every
thing under
the sun the
sea rejects the glisten the sea
hides its own secrets
buries its own dead sometimes
spitting bones sometimes
inviting you to dinner
this happens every day this
dance this light that dark that
equally disproportionate split
between distant lovers two
deep purposes in flames in transit
between light dark between
water fire water stone and everything
is illumined is
part of this land
i ask
why is everything opposite when
the hand that stretches out to you
reaching for your heart
flashes rose covered daggers
glistening as mirrors you inhabit
why do i stand astride the sea
the land the moonlight calving
the surf with repeated sun
while we expect to tread water
when the force of stars pushes you in
why seek answers in these pages
not yet written with autumn leaves
while summer wraps itself in me vine-like
as i see where the light leads me
away from the past i cast in this present
what do they say those silent stones underfoot
walking treading tracing circles in the sand
trying to understand the tides that star fish dream
of the air the sky we climb
trying to find the sea up above
what is the sunset really saying in color
in sensational fleeting moments furtive
we sip the wine drink the clouds eat earth
sleep with water and sunrise becomes amniotic
so we nurse with blind eyes beating hearts
why do i return here seeking you
as if your heart my mind our song lives
in ink wells full of wishes sorrows
ecstatic regrets i exorcise feelings
in fluid blue hues sometimes the blues
where do i find my glory salvaged
rising again with flowers again summer
again on fire i follow the light the
dark the teachings of broken words
the harmony of hurt the disjoint in delight
the hand that stretches out to you
reaching for your heart
flashes rose covered daggers
glistening as mirrors you inhabit
why do i stand astride the sea
the land the moonlight calving
the surf with repeated sun
while we expect to tread water
when the force of stars pushes you in
why seek answers in these pages
not yet written with autumn leaves
while summer wraps itself in me vine-like
as i see where the light leads me
away from the past i cast in this present
what do they say those silent stones underfoot
walking treading tracing circles in the sand
trying to understand the tides that star fish dream
of the air the sky we climb
trying to find the sea up above
what is the sunset really saying in color
in sensational fleeting moments furtive
we sip the wine drink the clouds eat earth
sleep with water and sunrise becomes amniotic
so we nurse with blind eyes beating hearts
why do i return here seeking you
as if your heart my mind our song lives
in ink wells full of wishes sorrows
ecstatic regrets i exorcise feelings
in fluid blue hues sometimes the blues
where do i find my glory salvaged
rising again with flowers again summer
again on fire i follow the light the
dark the teachings of broken words
the harmony of hurt the disjoint in delight
loneliness
sometimes this loneliness this
endlessness this is
when its wept kisses
slip away sleepless
this aloneness is this
homelessness i am
witness to this
wetness of cheeks unkissed
wiped away by sweetness
what emptiness is this
empty nest chest fist
fights heart lips
whispers i wonder if
anyone heard this
sometimes this loneliness this
light darkness is this
wish to kiss tulips wine
sips and roses'
hips swollen tongue tips
finger tight grips
slipped in between sleepless
stillness
moonlit
endlessness this is
when its wept kisses
slip away sleepless
this aloneness is this
homelessness i am
witness to this
wetness of cheeks unkissed
wiped away by sweetness
what emptiness is this
empty nest chest fist
fights heart lips
whispers i wonder if
anyone heard this
sometimes this loneliness this
light darkness is this
wish to kiss tulips wine
sips and roses'
hips swollen tongue tips
finger tight grips
slipped in between sleepless
stillness
moonlit
Monday, April 6, 2015
companionship
there are times, these
states of nowness levitated
through skies moon cloudy
and frog sung, we
laugh chat reminisce remind
ourselves to each other
captivated by nightly chants
we pull from full
pockets. of clarity,
we seek to crystallize, or
comprise some understanding
of this sensual fleshen
earthen pleasure, imbibed
libations inhaled sweet
sacramental sentiment.
such moon, such shine
stars that map destinies,
destinations chanced upon.
we find our
selves in the midst of happenstance,
cosmic humanoids afloat
we grasp for friendly hands.
oh how we need this,
being together.
wind and solitude, sheltered
in the company of soul, mates
like companions, ones
to scratch earth break bread with.
states of nowness levitated
through skies moon cloudy
and frog sung, we
laugh chat reminisce remind
ourselves to each other
captivated by nightly chants
we pull from full
pockets. of clarity,
we seek to crystallize, or
comprise some understanding
of this sensual fleshen
earthen pleasure, imbibed
libations inhaled sweet
sacramental sentiment.
such moon, such shine
stars that map destinies,
destinations chanced upon.
we find our
selves in the midst of happenstance,
cosmic humanoids afloat
we grasp for friendly hands.
oh how we need this,
being together.
wind and solitude, sheltered
in the company of soul, mates
like companions, ones
to scratch earth break bread with.
evening stroll
clouds lit as moon
shine, tidal sea
suspended
gentle with stars.
dragon breathes like moons,
shines
shadows scrawled
surfacing
earth.
breath str etch ed as
sky
words to live by,
we ask for
tomorrow.
dreams weave
evenings
days lit, sharing sun
moon
sea and shells.
she glints eyes sighted
by my soul, she
shines
I grow
>>light!
toward>>
smiles endlessssss miles
circumnavigated, we
en-- --compass
--compassion.--
---a heart a fire a passion---
burns, nests grown
into
we sow tomorrow.
her moon my sun
this land, we
s
i
n
k
in two
seas joined
by our
s******k******y.
shine, tidal sea
suspended
gentle with stars.
dragon breathes like moons,
shines
shadows scrawled
surfacing
earth.
breath str etch ed as
sky
words to live by,
we ask for
tomorrow.
dreams weave
evenings
days lit, sharing sun
moon
sea and shells.
she glints eyes sighted
by my soul, she
shines
I grow
>>light!
toward>>
smiles endlessssss miles
circumnavigated, we
en-- --compass
--compassion.--
---a heart a fire a passion---
burns, nests grown
into
we sow tomorrow.
her moon my sun
this land, we
s
i
n
k
in two
seas joined
by our
s******k******y.
gravity
what ? is this star
dance i am, your
gravity's capture, orbiting
your light, always
these seasons lingering.
we revolve each
other, illumined. we make
shadows, moonlit. we search
for shores, safe
harbors, havens to
cling to. adrift we are
in all of space, closer
to each other, closer. i am
nearer to you. my heart
mirrors you
growing
within me.
dance i am, your
gravity's capture, orbiting
your light, always
these seasons lingering.
we revolve each
other, illumined. we make
shadows, moonlit. we search
for shores, safe
harbors, havens to
cling to. adrift we are
in all of space, closer
to each other, closer. i am
nearer to you. my heart
mirrors you
growing
within me.
smiles
what smile she brings she is
similar to sunshine
such smile she brings is
soul shining
her smile she sings such as
spring surprises
her smile she sings so
summer serenades
a smile that smiles
shines similar to sun
a smile that smiles
shimmers of sumptuous
symmetrical
synergy
similar to sunshine
such smile she brings is
soul shining
her smile she sings such as
spring surprises
her smile she sings so
summer serenades
a smile that smiles
shines similar to sun
a smile that smiles
shimmers of sumptuous
symmetrical
synergy
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Books
William James downtown
is a free box orphanage
for forgotten worlds of word.
Bastard books beg
from the sidewalk,
pleading eyes windows
to worlds.
If only more people would shut up
and read
shut off the TV
and read
shut off their phones
and read
shut the fuck up
and read
more
we would have better things
to talk about.
Those castaways,
those homeless
wandering books
that preserve time,
they populate my life,
gathering and lingering,
seeking my solace
I seek in them.
Thus, I am the patron saint
of lost souls.
is a free box orphanage
for forgotten worlds of word.
Bastard books beg
from the sidewalk,
pleading eyes windows
to worlds.
If only more people would shut up
and read
shut off the TV
and read
shut off their phones
and read
shut the fuck up
and read
more
we would have better things
to talk about.
Those castaways,
those homeless
wandering books
that preserve time,
they populate my life,
gathering and lingering,
seeking my solace
I seek in them.
Thus, I am the patron saint
of lost souls.
to yearn for no one
waking time, and
hand me the wind.
dance to tick-tock
but leave me no time to finish.
where did i leave off?
i haven't even started yet
my footprints are behind me.
i am so long
in the distant fog,
seeking you i find
my selfish perpetuity.
perhaps they understand,
those trees grim with decades
folded into seasons.
it was never gonna be
easy, was it? did
mother keep it all secret?
she made all of this.
when i get home i will
light the stove and stare.
i am fire with no air.
will you ever see me?
i am perfect camouflage.
maybe i forgot our secret.
eyes of a blue dog.
did i dream you?
i don't believe in dreams.
you don't believe me.
acres of grey dawn stretch
and the sky yawns. i yearn
for night so i know
you still remain. absent.
i fall in love with shadows.
i'm jealous of the light.
i am locked in between.
time is between time, ticking.
space is surfaced with curves
from your zenith smile
eclipsing every forlorn geometry.
my arms are spread open
welcoming, embracing emptiness.
you shape this void.
hand me the wind.
dance to tick-tock
but leave me no time to finish.
where did i leave off?
i haven't even started yet
my footprints are behind me.
i am so long
in the distant fog,
seeking you i find
my selfish perpetuity.
perhaps they understand,
those trees grim with decades
folded into seasons.
it was never gonna be
easy, was it? did
mother keep it all secret?
she made all of this.
when i get home i will
light the stove and stare.
i am fire with no air.
will you ever see me?
i am perfect camouflage.
maybe i forgot our secret.
eyes of a blue dog.
did i dream you?
i don't believe in dreams.
you don't believe me.
acres of grey dawn stretch
and the sky yawns. i yearn
for night so i know
you still remain. absent.
i fall in love with shadows.
i'm jealous of the light.
i am locked in between.
time is between time, ticking.
space is surfaced with curves
from your zenith smile
eclipsing every forlorn geometry.
my arms are spread open
welcoming, embracing emptiness.
you shape this void.
recalling then now
i am only recently
of the ocean
returning in some
nighttime beautiful, if only
the moon actually
spoke to me.
there was a time
dreams were watery graves,
there i lived, dead
but stinking of nightmares.
or fear. certainly confused.
distant like love
as i ate my own soul.
came from there,
and slithered away
from peels of skin.
revelations in them days, dark
revolutions, shed blood
and tears far
from innocent. call it
an upheaval. when earth moved.
and somehow,
there never was a god. prayers
silent sought idiot lips.
never have i
kissed such beautiful demons.
then the moon got quiet.
nowadays, just tides
and seasons and silent the sails
of salient wind, though
solitude would be beatific.
i have pretended to know
better. but i know
better now.
i invented the ocean
so i could drown there
and come back for this
encore on shore,
palming silent psalms,
peddling lunar soliloquies
to solar cemeteries. sunlight
glints the sea. i have seen
beyond this.
still i cannot replace her.
of the ocean
returning in some
nighttime beautiful, if only
the moon actually
spoke to me.
there was a time
dreams were watery graves,
there i lived, dead
but stinking of nightmares.
or fear. certainly confused.
distant like love
as i ate my own soul.
came from there,
and slithered away
from peels of skin.
revelations in them days, dark
revolutions, shed blood
and tears far
from innocent. call it
an upheaval. when earth moved.
and somehow,
there never was a god. prayers
silent sought idiot lips.
never have i
kissed such beautiful demons.
then the moon got quiet.
nowadays, just tides
and seasons and silent the sails
of salient wind, though
solitude would be beatific.
i have pretended to know
better. but i know
better now.
i invented the ocean
so i could drown there
and come back for this
encore on shore,
palming silent psalms,
peddling lunar soliloquies
to solar cemeteries. sunlight
glints the sea. i have seen
beyond this.
still i cannot replace her.
insular
as is, often, when insular
i am i
hesitate with certainty
withdrawn. there
is no reason
you involve
where you aren't.
so i am distance.
comprehension
is not understanding. only
because you can
not know
me, even though
i preside.
subtlety is self worth,
knowing limitations
lends itself to the giving
of shit. well,
there i am, here.
if you can
not see me
i am not me. there
are certainly shallow
waters elsewhere
i left long ago.
i am i
hesitate with certainty
withdrawn. there
is no reason
you involve
where you aren't.
so i am distance.
comprehension
is not understanding. only
because you can
not know
me, even though
i preside.
subtlety is self worth,
knowing limitations
lends itself to the giving
of shit. well,
there i am, here.
if you can
not see me
i am not me. there
are certainly shallow
waters elsewhere
i left long ago.
honey girl
seemingly she
is shine, she is
shimmer's silver in
silence's lips, her
butter or honey
cinnamon spiced
but how she smiles!
she sways her way
seamless, dreaminess
her eyes clear
streams of consciousness.
i sit astride her banks
sipping her sentience.
we share sentences,
sing our minds' songs.
snow melt skin liquid
her lucid hair languish,
lays long path
stalks of grass.
she talks as her nature,
walks her stature natural.
her beauty breaks art.
her heart is beauty
broken open, her open
mind makes mosaics, broken
bits of art into
stories that tell her
apart from mimicked masterpieces.
she is necessary as salt.
sweet not like sugar,
sunshine instead.
moonlight in her stead:
soft shadow she
summons, seeming
like the pure shimmer
she is. like summer.
is shine, she is
shimmer's silver in
silence's lips, her
butter or honey
cinnamon spiced
but how she smiles!
she sways her way
seamless, dreaminess
her eyes clear
streams of consciousness.
i sit astride her banks
sipping her sentience.
we share sentences,
sing our minds' songs.
snow melt skin liquid
her lucid hair languish,
lays long path
stalks of grass.
she talks as her nature,
walks her stature natural.
her beauty breaks art.
her heart is beauty
broken open, her open
mind makes mosaics, broken
bits of art into
stories that tell her
apart from mimicked masterpieces.
she is necessary as salt.
sweet not like sugar,
sunshine instead.
moonlight in her stead:
soft shadow she
summons, seeming
like the pure shimmer
she is. like summer.
golden girl
you wish up
on a star if
night comes true, then
wishes be
come sun
flowers f
all
ing
light
splashed
across her grace petals
her yellow is not yellow,
nor the gold that is
gold, solid
heart worth its own weight
this is no secret
she repeats sun laughter
she repeats summer seasons
revolving around her
simmer
apparition. a goddess?
never. she
some body specific
some bud special
bless
this world
with her
laughter blossom
on a star if
night comes true, then
wishes be
come sun
flowers f
all
ing
light
splashed
across her grace petals
her yellow is not yellow,
nor the gold that is
gold, solid
heart worth its own weight
this is no secret
she repeats sun laughter
she repeats summer seasons
revolving around her
simmer
apparition. a goddess?
never. she
some body specific
some bud special
bless
this world
with her
laughter blossom
enigma girl
perhaps her lips
her parched longing
is to quench her thirst
for light, like
a deserted darkness the sun
finds a place to rest upon.
tendrils of a star are
fingers teasing
enticing what's inside her
to come try a similar
glimmer. at a glance she
kisses her sunbeam kisses.
perhaps she finds she
is not thirsty, merely
recalling her heart's
solar foliage.
her parched longing
is to quench her thirst
for light, like
a deserted darkness the sun
finds a place to rest upon.
tendrils of a star are
fingers teasing
enticing what's inside her
to come try a similar
glimmer. at a glance she
kisses her sunbeam kisses.
perhaps she finds she
is not thirsty, merely
recalling her heart's
solar foliage.
garden girl
she seastack faced by waves
she half sea half stacked stone
she perches directionless birds
she weaves nests from silent song
she drops tears not falling
her pearl drops linger
assuming the ocean's artillery
protecting her clutch to motherly breast
her single note
her lone string
her isolated guitar
her light estranged
her star distant
her constellation mysterious
solitary feather falling from
the only wing to ever fly
elusive dream slipping quietly away
when sleep becomes tiresome
shouting symphonic crystal swan
pregnant with skies
eyes rivers hands soil smiles art
fire unites water
what she is
wrapped in the raiment
of her living heart
she half sea half stacked stone
she perches directionless birds
she weaves nests from silent song
she drops tears not falling
her pearl drops linger
assuming the ocean's artillery
protecting her clutch to motherly breast
her single note
her lone string
her isolated guitar
her light estranged
her star distant
her constellation mysterious
solitary feather falling from
the only wing to ever fly
elusive dream slipping quietly away
when sleep becomes tiresome
shouting symphonic crystal swan
pregnant with skies
eyes rivers hands soil smiles art
fire unites water
what she is
wrapped in the raiment
of her living heart
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