To: You
I have come to great resolve
and must attest,
bare chested
and with the wealth of every beat,
that had I but one last breath,
it would belong to you.
*
Spacious valves,
dazzled skin
and a captured soul,
orchestrated by the abounding measures of an enchanted organ.
*
Awash in the corners of each chamber are your prints,
apparent and benign.
*
Alive inside mellifluous veins streams the rapture of a discovered being.
*
But my castle of bones,
how quick,
they doth relent.
*
Not withstanding,
my crux remains
past soil, bloom, and flight,
an immeasurable part of you.
*
Opulent warmth, fermented dreams & imbued crimson splashed inside an infinitely swelling fortress.
*
In the simplest of terms,
You are
therefore I beat.
Thine Eyes
Compressed black and swallowed, it lays buried inside a canvas of melted, foolish lines.
Busted color leaked into solidarity on an open pupil.
Trapped inside a fluxing current smudged with bereavement and the blissful madness in-bedded from
the gluttony of au courant moments, moments true and peeled,
moments rotted and soiled in the profoundness bathing inside the ticking unanimity of ones own mind;
visible existence.
And oh the things it bares witness to;
Transportive passions spun into the playful minds of eager architects.
Mid-summer sky’s,
boiling,
smiling,
scolding
the skin.
How it exchanges the dreams planked inside the weary tear ducts of tepid cooling clouds.
And blackness, born from a speechless space,
an alchemistic abyss; one third of our lives.
What paradise finds home inside these jello eyes?
For it is they that wrote this, not I.
Eyes of white,
Eyes of gold,
Courted and neatly trimmed by the thoughts of
Michael Angelo.
These glinting, darting, dancing eyes,
Why they have no option but to nebulously sink,
in occasion,
behind the squint of suspicious lids.
Safeguarded at all times.
But while they remain veiled beneath weakened lids,
They remain open,
fixated inside the belly of a crepuscular night;
They do not sleep.
Facing Up
Punch-drunk in a persuasive sea
I am caught in a bottle bound for beleaguered shores.
And around me dizzy trees and mountains roar.
Clouds shock themselves into tears
While I stare, facing up, thinking of you my dear
Tip-toeing inside the black, you gently waltz across evening shadows
And suddenly whizzz across the sky like an eager arrow
And all the while inside this noisy night
Pondering is swallowed by the twinkling of lights.
Etched between the moon and stars
are the arches of your smile and your lips, the hue of Mars.
And while I want to crash inside your heavens dust,
You cannot hear me above the oceans rust.
And though the sky has not offered its hand
I sit watchful with each breath ready to compress then expand;
Until the dusk peels back its skin
And I am kissed by dawns begin.
What is Bliss?
But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.
Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.
Mixed with chilled white milk and
Stirred inside endless clarity;
Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.
Coated with crying, frothed cream,
just happy to be apart of something.
Half-done, half- raw, half -baked, God, together.
Dreaming of filling in the space of unsealed lips.
If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?
And in the beginning, life, like shattered shells splintering the solitude of a slumbering tounge, it slit, spilt and fertilized nebulous dreams.
And just like that and oh so suddenly, with the wind against my teeth I was born.
Slapped, belligerent and bear chested
Heart raged & reclined against varnished rubber ribs, clinging to the water in which it lived.
Vertiginous light, truly naked and all devouring sound, you’ve resurrected me from vapor, liquid to one solid mound;
And here now, I am now here a life.
And you, oh so solid feeling pain?
“Finally free, unencumbered light. It was a seed in a planted tree that created me.”
Oh sweet, apple of my eye,
geometric stills, I cannot see where they truly lie.
Pathological movement nailed to growth,
Tormenting and ticking this sculpted sands bleeding beats, doomed to a moral code, an oath of good deeds.
And at the entrance to mortality?
A chair of choice soaked in the blood of everything I will come to love, your voice.
And yet still, I am but a visitor, a pilgrim crossing carnivorous rivers, moving to keep solitary cells in their proper jails, wanting to meet my home in the space where whispers reside, hoping for the fruit of our labor, that we both bit, to bear our bonded bones before we are a drift.
And so here I am, Frankensteins monster, cultivating understanding, adapting to longevity, bedazzled by the questions that come from first bites, disheartened by mechanized beings and forever searching for Adam in my dreams.”
I belong inside the fold of your coat;
Familiar, it’s scented in mahogany, from the rack it’s been hugging all day.
But now it is I who hangs, clings, so sincere and devote.
From the second the sun yawns, I am a captive of the city,
Slipping down stairs, squeezing through doors, hoping for the clock to take pity.
Moving, shaking, hustling, yellow horns & green lights,
But hidden inside the crinkle where your ink is fast asleep, is where I find my might.
Nestled in like a babe in womb, I recoil and hook my ear against your doting chest;
And I am bolstered by the mellow thump of a familiar drum and the rolling waves released then compressed.
Buried I am, in reckless abandonment, sheltered and drawn in by the whispers of a prayerful humm.
Like the morning brew of a cracked coffee bean and the front door left ajar, at last, I am welcomed home.
THE WILDERNESS
Wild?
It is but civil.
Scattered trees whose nails are painted in rose buds and thorns
Waving inside the lofty breath of rushed and waited wind.
Quiet, its weathered lids, canopies above
your quick-flirting eyes.
And you,
You cannot woo it, even should you try.
For it is the wild that drowns unmerciful structures.
It doe not speak through electrical wires and erect thumbs;
Nor does deal in self-devouring gold.
Crowned in the mirth of a quintessential performance,
It’s self-invigorated
As the rivers do not mind you, or me.
Above we see mere clutter, but below,
Below its all one grand parade.
Organized, processions of apple roots, warm clay and leaves, as emerald as eyes,
journeying to drink beneath sun-bathing water lilies.
This rivers skin, reflective and teary eyed, like bottled wine drunk on light,
it absorbs EVERYTHING.
And this,
THIS is my wilderness!
Mad, its barks reveals its pouting veins buried beneath wrinkled moss.
Its ceremonial quirks, and exiled sounds,
They twirl and turn and take me.
Somehow transforming corrosive syllables into brilliant, soundless, swishing waves.
Here, one has not a choice but to listen & behave.
FOOLS & KINGS
Their love was the cause of levitation and crying leaves.
Upon first sight, he beheld blue dust; speckled inside the iris of her reflective mirror,
They lingered, spellbound & bogart.
While gold and pink light, soft and incandescent, spied between the fissures of his fluttered heart.
Their interlocking dewy eyes, congealed in-time.
The musings of tomorrow and yesterday, evaporated outside the bloom of detangled vines.
And with the zest of a king and the heart of a fool;
Mouths unraveled so rapturously, that as they stood,
From form to dust and water to a paphian musk,
They became every form of life, rising and sinking, from dawn to dusk.
Mozart’s Beak
Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.
Here, my blood boils between sighing senses and a sewn In gut
Like cats teeth
I gnaw and claw at my weakest strands
Pulling apart the places where I failed to take a stand.
I stand heart swelling between my pores
pushing
this scared crows beak through atmospheric places fighting for MORE!
Ruin and rapture, left to swim amongst the stars I soar.
As my lips peel themselves around
Paradoxical pastries pleasurable and poisonous
It is my insides that hemorrhage rabid & boisterous.
Adom split, I am spared by Three
Frozen shelled it’s my soul that screams FREE!
Pouting, swollen in arrogance
It bleeds through my eyes
Where I remain is far from where my soul flies.
And as I sink beneath the graveled earth, devoured
by swallowing mud and loving larva
it’s Mozart’s beak that reminds me of nirvana
Flapping feathers furrowed then freed above
fluffy mounds of blushed cotton,
Breeze brushing backwards beyond dreams begotten.
Tonight I dream of leaving it all, of basking in the forgotten.
And in that warm, dusk kissed light,
Horizon stretched
My insanity is etched
A thicket of desires beating through pounds of flesh.
Thirsting for resurrection, I stop only to drink from his reflection.
Still stood, cold framed
Purged
And sweaty
I soar with Mozart, extending myself, creating compositions, rubbed and ready
Violent they’ve become sharpened steal pointed and pinning
Forcing me to go to the beginning.
And in the beginning, “the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”
My veins weep as my breath, it leaps beyond this eternal sleep.
Sometimes I stand in one place,
but I am not there
In this place,
you do not know me.
But should you look upon my pushed past in present face
There you’ll find, entombed inside gorged lids, his soul, the God of impenetrable space.
And though his bones they have bled into oat, ash & dust, his stories, quite blahsensical, they shall ever never rust.
Whilst parliamentary principles perabulated in his head, he laid upon his pillow, solving problematic proverbs in his bed.
Swashbuckling tales wrapped in a small trim blue skirt as she holds a ‘drink me’ bottle beginning the flirt.
Algebraic equations tunneling the mind, make it difficult for her to follow that big bunny’s behind.
But since I am no neologist, dreaming in ratios and gold, I can understand what the Jabberwocky’s point was in being told.
Oh and ahhhh the joy in those frabjous words interlocking the tounge with the mind as it does.
Confounding it all is.
This world’s upside down.
You’ll find that man who claims to be of scripture filled with Mach·i·a·vel·li·an sound.
And that human who won’t work, it’s only because it left its soul in the hurt;
something those pecking birds feast upon in deserts.
But fear thee not and believe in thy all,
for a Tureen of faith may cure the fall.
And if ye shan’t believe in thy might, I suggest you take an absence from this thing you call sight.
Go ahead, be brilliantly bold, as blind as a blissful old bat,
fill your belly with the stars till its round, fruitful and fat.
Go on twaddle twinkle, trip towards your leave;
as it’s won’t be quite difficult in more than seven impossible things to believe.
Confounding it all is.
This world’s upside down.
The waltz
I am the soil And I the tree
Together embraced, closely.
I am the wind And I the leaves
Together we float careless and free.
I am the heart And I the beat
Together we move quiet and discreet.
I am the pencil And I the paper
Together we scribble the answer.
I am the bones And I the skin
Together we build cover, beginning to end.
I am the door And I the knob
Together we absorb every throb.
I am the path And I the water
Together we travel, paving next chapters
I’m the composer And I the composition
Together creating melodies that grow and glisten.
I am the paint And I your canvas
Together splashed and blended into the infinite planned for us.
I am the body And I your bends
Together till the very end.
So when your color fades
and lines surround your eyes,
My lips will seal your heart with first loves reprise.
And when you are tiered,
I will be your awake
Forever in a waltz through love and heartache.
The breath to your lips, the sound to your silence,
The view to your window and the X to your spot;
We are but four eyes and one vision,
Percolated poetry, bound for eternity.
YOUR FIGURE
Corkscrewed into immeasurable positions starting with the contours of your figure,
dexterously clasped, in perfect place.
While deliciously sewed into the geometric spaces of your arched neck, and shadows of your moving face,
Are raised textures moved by the gusting waves of gravity and kissed by the elegance of nature.
Made from the pillars of crashed star dust and the ash of volcanic lust, filled inside the tear ducts of a satisfied creator.
Twisted legs, bended backs, pointed toes and compressed skin forever devoted to the crusade of movement.
Plagued by radiated grief rising from loose pores and fashionable frowns stitched in blood,
debonair yet truant
Lame lids suspended above a perked nose and colorful fingers nodding in agreement over a twisted spine;
Squeezed between the elastic, bovine forces of a regal figure, gleeful in design.
Rounded O’s and parallel lines washed upon a shore of puffed powdered sand,
emotive blushing lips and bleeding chocolate tissue.
Endless potential, harmonically infused by the bumping beats of a pumping heart, blunt and unscrewed.
Pirouetting into being and bolstered into bent contradictions of love-shaped lips wired into rippled, crying eyes.
Conjoined figures seeping of visceral avidity and shaped in the silhouettes of crooked letters forever melting & mutable, like wax molded thighs;
Your haunting figure, smirks outside the lines and bleeds of palpable pleasantries, gaudy and wise.
It pecked upon the twigs sloshed into a pond of warm blooded mud just between a briars patch.
Through the rose window and beyond the rumpled Victorian curtain, my eyes were fixed;
Upon this bird, adorned in a black feather coat and emerald eyes, was calm tranquility, as it slowly tugged, no, merely kissed the twig, in hopes of resurrecting it from the dampness of yesterday’s rain.
And nearby a tree guarded this Rusty Blackbird from rays of light and the wind, from slight of sound.
Transfixed I was in the facile movement of nature, symphonically conducted by an invisible maestro.
Finally, after minutes of bearing witness to this dance, I saw the mud birth not one, but a string of twigs bound to each other, like the pearls upon my mother’s neck.
Delighted, or seemingly so, the blackbird dragged, collected and flew away;
And as I stood, weighted in a lachrymose farewell, a preponderance of thoughts pecked at the pool of mud gathered in a frozen place inside my heart.
Only, where was my maestro and does he know my name?
So I sat and took to ink and paper my plight.
And while heavy in eyes, I wrote this, blotted in the vanity of self-pity and below the breast, where forlorn feelings often linger without a tree to shade or wind to silence;
In hopes that I too, will be like the Rusty Blackbird, drenched in pined watchfulness from a distant window, with a pile of twigs at my leisure, in perfect time, as I too, will collect and fly away, leaving it all behind.
The Rarefied & Colorful
Albeit barely born, by the time he hit one, he had already seen and created the world.
And while letters had not made sail into his unfurnished mind or wrangled between the columns inside his vacant mouth, his heart spilt of stories in far away lands, undiscovered pastures, roaring seas and of a friend in whom no journey was improbable.
It was upon the back of a pictoric baby elephant, the young boy would fall asleep.
Bobbing inside of sequestered thoughts, his head lay warmed by the sloppy and playful movements of the babes frank and floppy ear.
The sun pressed heavy against his lids, securing a passageway for careless dreams.
Smirking in the golden light, with eyes shut, the boy saw the earth extended and rising; the very form of natures ample bosom evaporating into the mirth that exists inside of a formless habitat.
Illusive was the rushing wind sliding betwixt the window seals of journeying butterflies dipped in ink.
Surrounded they were by birds thrashing about in a performance with grand sonority aimed at pleasing a slumbering prince.
Connected to his dear friend, his hands became prismatically interwoven, holding the very same print.
Sprinkles of mustard dust swirled with black night, flushed into scarlet curves that drowned inside the reflective skin of emerald leaves.
They were one and the same.
Together they journeyed to the ocean, where, through keen magnification, they observed the condensation of a violet sunset cavorting, in blustered fervor, with thawed foliage and sunken clouds of white.
They wondered past caramel mushroom abodes, deers trapped in necking, phosphorescent trees and hospitable vines.
A world built upon the back of the collected musings of the an emblazoned mind.
And as he grew, in him the elephant remained; a token of remembrance of all uncharted dreams and to the prodigious mastery that rests inside the thirsting veins of not merely a Walter-Mitty, but a prayer for immeasurable possibilities.
Placid Strength
Now I get it, statuesque yet coiled;
My mind it ziggz and zaggz,
Past things that never existed.
Forward into an abyss of delight and madness.
Dancing through the air, my spirit swings past the mist of sorrow.
Walking through the crunching leaves I leave behind tomorrow.
The rushing breeze of bristled leaves and the growing groan of the pale moon reaches down and clears the sea.
Empty, my mind, adrift, no more, but resting upon the delicate shore,
Has found a place no more perplexed not asleep, nor awake but at last at rest.
The Painting & The Man
It hung there, storing up perspective through condensed and frivolous verbiage from the common and glamorous tongues of the paralyzed hearted onlookers.
Not expecting or projecting need of definement, its colors bled through kissing the light, stagnantly with purpose hoping for excited yet mindful discovery.
Until one day it found it.
Upon first meeting, two unsuspecting hazel pupils met the color of her lips mounted upon canvas in the shape of two doves whose love was permanently brushed into eternal bliss.
With unbridled glee he was reborn through the eyes of her. The unexpected discovery of him through splashed yet planned oil, bled from the canvas on to his heart.
When suddenly the rush of blood, the untimely palpitations, and the unconquerable state of euphoria foreign to his coding, left him exposed and defenseless to his virtuous self.
Whereupon self-discovery ensued, fear spawned and cowardice prevailed. And in a fashion of willing self-destruction, he pricked upon his hope.
A clouded black beheld the hazel and he leaked of saddened red in the two ridges inside his head.
In a still room this empty frame once thrived, a canvas whose strokes of unwavering pulchritude rose above the rest.
Until at last, a pupil whose courage surpassed its fear of ascension into the undefined rapture of self- discovery, finally, passed the test.
And still the red craven room still stands stained with bloodied brown, blue and green hands.
Filled with apathy and no remorse from the numbed that lacked the courage to come forth.
Knotted Inside Braided Vines
I want to be knotted inside the braided vines of your heart.
Far away, inside the slowly moving wings of your relaxed beat,
Softly blowing between the clouds of your most intimate thoughts,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
And every morning awake to freshly squeezed strawberries dripping between the smiles of your fingers,
And to the bliss of your words dipped in honey,
sliding off the sides of your tongue;
While being wrapped inside the rising warmth of your hungry skin,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
Late nights and flickering fires bleeding of clenched wax and heated thirst.
Cracked hearts, traveling hands, painted toes and arched necks, genuflecting behind exposed linen and closed curtains.
The whispers of wind between the window seal, the grazing of rose pedals against welcoming bones,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
Evaporated through the lips of pleased desires and stones muzzled in squeezed silence,
Through swaying emotions and tilted waters trapped in waltz;
And mixed between our minds, sweet cream and peppered dreams,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
Her Speech
Her lethargic breath was rooted in the cave of a cumbersome heart.
Standing a foot the blank podium, tethered by opportunistic strings,
was the birth of a whisper
ascended into what became, a cataclysmic thought.
Like spiraling stairs with no beginning nor end, she spoke.
“Ejected from the gorge of emotional destitution,
I have realized that I have ascribed form to an existence that is but a shadow,
if not a dream.
And while I’ve remained fixed upon my daily deeds
I have abandoned his internal needs;
Misguiding shapes inside a living tomb.
I call upon the earth to fissure beneath my brain,
To thwart an arrow into the chasm of my heart,
and to pardon this lump of clay’s weary ways.
Soil and ice, no longer will you replace permutable fog.
For truth, a concept whose doors are not open for interpretation,
alas, has made the journey through pore and rushing blood and found its home
upon electrical wires breathing life into a paralyzed heart.
I say, empty handed and fragmented from a self-induced illusion,
that, that which is, is not a at all, and that which is to be, is to exists inside of me.
Compelled to create prickled shapes that would garner me the world, while gazing upon a blank wall, all at the expense of my heart beat.
Fair exchange it was not.
For I have spent most of my clock devouring the irrelevant, in hopes of quenching a parched soul,
and merely numbing it in the process.
But now with exhumed vision and frail valves,
I have but one thing I want to do, and nothing else.
With the elegance of life’s exoskeleton bewildering my eyes,
And with the seed of servitude rousing a previously unemployed heart
Through inspired skin and resurrected possibility
from below me and above,
my only purpose here,
is to love.
Stuck Outside the Dream
Faint as a memory, vivid as a dream,
That’s how I remember him.
His hands firm, ironed to fit the concaves of my weathered skin.
His love vivid, shaped to illuminate the shadows of my being.
He was a soft vision, only unlike any phantom I had ever seen,
For I had felt his touch.
His hair always smelt of plucked roses, a soap given to him on our 20th Anniversary.
His lips, provoked by the beat of my heart, were always filled with the vowels of kings.
But at times, when I’m awake, I can’t help but wonder, hath my senses played a trick on me?
Am I interwoven inside the womb of my own insanity?
In love inside two worlds, I, we, both were trapped.
A communion derailed by the coming of the sun and the yawning of the moon.
In my sleep and in his awake I am found.
My life with him permeates of promethean heat, of longings quenched, of rapturous immortality.
The pleasure of his skin stacked upon my soul only deadens my being when I arise in the day.
For empty is my bed and I just a mere lump of clay.
Alone, it is intolerable, for one cannot function & absorb the torture of blocked possibility.
So I have chosen to live in sanity.
For what’s a dreamer to do when trapped inside their awake, but to bridge the gap, rescue the dream from being lost, at stake.
The origins of this life that exists inside black lids, I know not of.
Perhaps a love, so benevolent, a man, a spirit so prodigious, that no conceivable birth from nature, reincarnation itself, can interrupt.
Conquered, our breath hath focused its way through time.
Pillaging the process of winter, summer, spring and fall;
We decided upon inseparability through any means at all.
And now, his reality is my dream.
Expired are the days of wanting,
As he remains surrendered to me, I shall remain my feet off ground my heart in heavens, un-yielding to my awake.
Varnished we remain, I clinging to him, like warm bark upon a shivered tree.
For is it not in our insanity that we are truly free?
-
Between the Gap
It’s that small whisper in-between the fog
Wounds hushed by plush snow.
And woeful hearts melted through tepid strokes.
Light, right before the fade of dark.
An abandoned desert first touched by the print of man.
Or fire seduced by adjacent streams.
It’s that closing of the gap as I near you.
Can you feel it?
The swaying hairs reaching from my arm.
Can you see it?
My swollen iris, lids double fluttering.
Or can you hear the wings of butterflies
pounding against captured air.
Long, rolling, syllables,
thinly spread upon a bed of silence;
begging to fill the space where you begin and I end.
And why is that as far as I’m allowed to get,
beside the respite of breath billowing between our lips?
I want to subsist inside the gap.
The difference of the two?
A slight of hand,
a slit between being alive and merely breathing.
.
I’ll Come Down When You Release Me
Ohhhh you jingle jangled vexation, so shaken and oh so stirred;
Like the twisted teeth of a beast, finely smoothened to a round, creamed nub, nibbled and disturbed.
Untilted tie and just finely combed stands of brazened, babbling hair;
Collected and composed by slowly moving fingers, hypersensitive and aware.
The heart of a seeker skying across a row of wilted men and tawdry woman.
Vehement with drooling hunger in search of delicious, dapperly virtuous words spoken.
Doomed to levitation till the ground beautifies its attitude, displaying lament.
Forget about maybe, sorta’, possibly, next time, try again, next give me, now!
Interweave yourself within the tidings of my ticking soul anyway somehow.
Abate my angst, resurrect my serenity and give my feet a reason to kiss the ground,
Ubiquitous clay rise to meet me.
Sincerely and Truly,
Your Lone Floating Daisy.
La Luna
Once upon a moonlit tale, born inside a planted jar,
is where he fell in love with a delicate evening glowing star.
While trapped inside this heavy mass,
he reached his rays beyond the glass.
Though stuck and filled with fright, he knew one thing,
He’d do anything to have her see his light.
So pointed at the night one day,
he poured himself upon the fractured driveway.
Swimming in-between its cracks,
he found his way upon the oceans back.
And while challenged betwixt the midnight waves,
He held on to the glimmer of light inside of her beating gaze.
And when reaching became tiresome and the wind a heavy burden
He reached upon the feathers of a willing black raven.
Into the sky this light was carried,
while pulsating he hid his eyes beneath ruffled feathers, hopeful & teary
From beneath the oceans belly to sleeping above a bed of cotton
His dreams became more puissant, as he neared the place once forgotten.
And as he reached the sky, he let out a big breath and died.
With abrupt euphoria his rays danced inside the darkness
And his message thundered into the void where her heart was.
“Can’t you see my love,
the world is so small and we big in it.
I just needed to think that beings like you exist.
I hope its okay for me to confess all of this.”
And before his final word was etched,
she reached her arms to him outstretched.
Pressed against the midnight sky, her lips upon his cheek she kissed
And revealed they collided, taking pleasure in each-others eternal bliss.
Holding ones breath before breathing
It is the needling pain of teething
It’s compounded tears stubborn to the slip
It is the ticking fear of hours unmet
The dripping sounds of irrepressible sweat
It’s cavernous waters painted in black
Highlands of queries confined and stacked
Encumbrance shaped by shadows
Expectation swallowed by sparrows
A flood of white viscous sugar in a cup-less place
It’s being a square peg in a round circle, displaced
A feeling without a name
Mere words begging to be tamed
A melody replayed without a theme
It’s being trapped inside a gnawing dream
Its treble clef trees and roaring roses swaying to be heard
It’s the silent song of a pleading blue bird
Aloof and afloat caught between hope & a life boat
Is where this dream doth lay
You’ve revealed me.
Broken flesh ripped from the bone, unfathomable like song seeping from a closed lip stone.
*
I felt the trail of your lips in deep slumber.
It bound then bled the breath out of me, like starving rose vines clenched around a brittle tree.
*
You occupy the space betwixt anguish and revelry
Crystalized, like a happy sea pearl, bathed recklessly; You move me.
*
Cremated in the ecstasy of risen dust, I am a composition made of sentimental leaves, the nights beating lights and dirt, fermented & churned to rust.
*
Molten your thoughts.
Like grapes swallowed in the belly of a hungry hand, pick, bite and swallow me whole ;
And if you abandon the complexities of pride
you will feel me with each mouthful.
*
Let the heft of your visible existence sink & die
And I will be the waves on your shore that rise, crash & cling to your every side.
*
Undressed & transparent, tunneled between softened ribs, is everything to you I give.
Foreign eyes, thou art my fere companion.
I prithee, only one thing,
That thou not wait for thy slumber of permanence to embrace me.
Rather, drown me now in the hours before the final escape of breath in thy rich pleasantries;
Bountiful in its tangibility.
Merely allow a plume of deep considerate breath to slowly emanate from thy soft lips.
Side-winding, thine words shall trickle down mine sleeping ears and find home in the midst of my silent storm.
And then take mine hand, unraveling curled fingers, ever so softly, one by one;
And with adoring tenderness place upon mine palm thy pearls of possibility.
A glimpse of what’s to blossom.
For what am I, but buried hope, pushing inside a sculpture that breaths;
With eyes that are free, and lids that are shut.
Captivated in the promises of grand rapture stirring inside mine gut.
What started out as a hum became a boom of unmanaged thought.
Staccato beats biting in the measure of grit, clamped against his cage.
Provoked into becoming, he did not look before he leaped.
And what was once dull, complacent, flowing water trickling down a lane of satisfied tissue,
Became jagged hunger aimed at swallowing everything whole.
Thickened desires shackling the senses and sharpening impulses,
Gave way to choking the vices of a freshly lit butt stacked in-between the violence of his teeth.
Clench fisted and with trembled brow, a plot of smoke slithered in-between the fractures of his mind,
While dank internal narratives bled from his axis.
And behind his eyes was the freezing heat of brazenness, freed from constraint.
A beast billowing from behind his flexed peeled skin
serving seven
ser
Ripped through the carnage of his cerebellum,
Whilst zoetic engravings oozed from his lucidity.
And palm to ground, with flexure vision interlaced in roaring grandiloquence, he sired the earth.
By summers end, I kissed his lids beneath a tiered willow tree.
Sweeping in the wind, it’s lazy arms enlivened us with each touch.
And while I lay upon his beloved chest, his hand in mine we clutched.
A perfect day.
Crickets swallowed silence with infectious songs, while
bees and crimson roses embosomed all night long.
Further, in the afternoon, like kings we partook;
Sliced oranges tangled in white lace, webbed buttered croissants, delicate and warm. And a medley, of green, purple, red
and yellow leaves, an ode to a summers passing.
Upon the suns genuflection we built our nest bellow twinkling eyes and in the graces of a smiling moon.
We were the makers of dreams and the bearers of empyrean possibilities; a love uninterrupted.
Post-feeling and pre-thought these words arose
Exalted and fastened into possibilities untold
Hope carves itself into polished dreams
As life tip-toes on a glassy balance beam
This destination beats in the rhythm of filling in the spaces of a journey, screaming in nature and roaring at heart
Bleeding immortal purpose, defined as abstract art
And while I stand plied in position and seeping of visceral avidity
I know not when my mind will grow beyond the gentle winds and sand-castles of my yesterdays
As I cower at the tall buildings fortitude to mute the suns illuminating rays
And my ability to defeat them, today
And as the sun rises I have yet to reconcile the weight of tomorrows set in motion by the dead
So taciturn in my dealings and concealed in my being I am fastidious in my head
Awaiting what, who, chance and luck
To feel the embrace of being freed, lightning struck
Enigmatic in its ways, this cog is smeared in beauty and durable ways
Does the evening black blind thee from transparent truths?
Before I knew my wants
it ’twas you I desired.
Strangers we are merely by flesh,
but thine heart, ’tis thine heart that I know best.
Why amongst a strobe of lights
’tis thine eyes that affect and excites.
And while thou covers thyeslf in a sheath of fears soaked in the anxieties of olden, crooked paths,
know that the more thine release, the less thou must combat.
Embraced ye shall bask in the merriment of an undiscovered place.
So I say to thee in this breath, as though it were mine last, that infinitely I shall bend towards you,
for thou art my sun!
So if ye shall not rise with me,
then let there be no dawn.
And held between my knees and this gray old cotton skirt,
A porcelain cup it rests, with swivels of you in melted dirt.
And inside these swivels of you, are looping, daydreams
Sparked by deeds, not done, and never ever to be seen.
*
Steam engulfing reveries swimming in my pretty porcelain rivulet.
And all the while I take long
loud, visceral, sipssss
Close my eyes and let the vapor stroke my eager thirsty lips.
*
Sitting here, tapping my foot to the beat of my pen
Imaging you walk through the door,
over & over again & again.
Foam tracings of what was once suppressed, now expressed.
And I delightful in it’s proclivity towards daydreams tasty & undressed.
*
Oh so flushed and out of sync,
my fancy for you makes me re-run & over-think.
Proliferating feelings of upside down, right side up, see-through, covered,
so in & sane this love drunkard.
*
But until snow and wind freeze you on my way.
(Warmth being the thing you feel with everything I say.)
I’ll spill my ink on willing leaves and scribble away brain waves.
Stare into heated porcelain and see visions;
Falling leaves falling for me, jellyfish stinging you in your head and having you wake up in my storm happy bed.
*
Transparent cravings bottled in the angst of firmly, fixed fingers
Pressed against floating like fuzzys, sealed in my coffee rim figures.
That’s where she existed best.
In the dark, in the light, high upon the rafters,
Perched above the clamor of civilization.
Where fog embraces light in the form of bulbous clouds.
Where the pangs of sorrow are dulled by the atmospheric civility that only floating can offer.
Where tears find home in rain,
Calmness in the breath of nothing,
and stillness in the charm of fluttered roses.
And just the mere possibility of all this, that desire to break free from skin,
It cruised beneath her heart and pushed against limp veins.
Like leather tightly wound against screaming bones,
She felt the itch of wanting to escape;
To melt past rattling walls and bursting bubbles.
But only with shut eyes and kept breath could she find the courage to leap.
And spinning in the solitary moment of her first step was truth flashing upon somber lids.
It was in the rain,
It was in the wind,
It was in the beat of the sun
and in every crater of the moon.
She was interwoven in the bliss of this deserted place.
Every night bathing in the light of the stars
And every morning dancing with a flock of wings.
In her despair she had surrendered to the dream and found triumph in the crux of her soul.
Pirouetted in the divinity of absolute mirth, alas she was home.
And when it’s sets, with its peering eyes,
like Christmas bulbs blinking through black stitches,
what does it think?
Scarred by reflections of angst yet riveted from illustrious deeds;
That heavy night.
Dense in darkness and lonely in speech,
it enunciates through it’s vastness;
Postured in silent elegance,
it says “Nothing.”
With sedate frequency it dwells in plummet-less breaths.
Infinity,
in.
And then,
languidly,
out.
Watching for the world to look up, seductive in its gaze,
it’s cloaked in the madness of ticking hearts
conjoined with collapsed lips.
That heavy night
Like the coat of a romanced black stallion it rouses embracing and beckons the moon.
And I like every creature, with one foot vexed inside the tremors of olden slumbers, and the next,
detailed inside the scarlet breath that is now, stand erect, faced pressed agog, against the black, overbearing night,
That heavy night.
Not a mere curtain to the end, but a prelude
to newly imagined beginnings.
A dwelling place for dreams to drip upon a vacuous canvas.
Oh that heavy night.
Between the Gap
It’s that small whisper in-between the fog
Wounds hushed by plush snow.
And woeful hearts melted through tepid strokes.
Light, right before the fade of dark.
An abandoned desert first touched by the print of man.
Or fire seduced by adjacent streams.
It’s that closing of the gap as I near you.
Can you feel it?
The swaying hairs reaching from my arm.
Can you see it?
My swollen iris, lids double fluttering.
Or can you hear the wings of butterflies
pounding against captured air.
Long, rolling, syllables,
thinly spread upon a bed of silence;
begging to fill the space where you begin and I end.
And why is that as far as I’m allowed to get,
beside the respite of breath billowing between our lips?
I want to subsist inside the gap.
The difference of the two?
A slight of hand,
a slit between being alive and merely breathing.
La Luna
Once upon a moonlit tale, born inside a planted jar,
is where he fell in love with a delicate evening glowing star.
While trapped inside this heavy mass,
he reached his rays beyond the glass.
Though stuck and filled with fright, he knew one thing,
He’d do anything to have her see his light.
So pointed at the night one day,
he poured himself upon the fractured driveway.
Swimming in-between its cracks,
he found his way upon the oceans back.
And while challenged betwixt the midnight waves,
He held on to the glimmer of light inside of her beating gaze.
And when reaching became tiresome and the wind a heavy burden
He reached upon the feathers of a willing black raven.
Into the sky this light was carried,
while pulsating he hid his eyes beneath ruffled feathers, hopeful & teary
From beneath the oceans belly to sleeping above a bed of cotton
His dreams became more puissant, as he neared the place once forgotten.
And as he reached the sky, he let out a big breath and died.
With abrupt euphoria his rays danced inside the darkness
And his message thundered into the void where her heart was.
“Can’t you see my love,
the world is so small and we big in it.
I just needed to think that beings like you exist.
I hope its okay for me to confess all of this.”
And before his final word was etched,
she reached her arms to him outstretched.
Pressed against the midnight sky, her lips upon his cheek she kissed
And revealed they collided, taking pleasure in each-others eternal bliss.
I’ll Come Down When You Release Me
Ohhhh! You jingle jangled vexation!
So shaken, and oh, so stirred;
Like the twisted teeth of a beast, finely smoothened to a round, creamed nub,
Nibbled and disturbed.
Untilted tie and just finely combed stands of brazened, babbling hair;
Collected and composed by slowly moving fingers, hypersensitive and aware.
The heart of a seeker skying across a row of wilted men and tawdry woman.
Vehement with drooling hunger in search of delicious, dapperly virtuous words.
Doomed to levitation till the ground beautifies its attitude, displaying lament.
Forget about maybe, sorta’, possibly, next time, try again, next give me now!
Interweave yourself within the tidings of my ticking soul anyway somehow.
Abate my angst,
Resurrect my serenity,
Give my feet a reason to kiss the ground.
Ubiquitous clay rise to meet me.
Sincerely and Truly,
Your
Lone
Floating
Daisy.
I want to be knotted inside the braided vines of your heart.
Far away, inside the slowly moving wings of your relaxed beat,
Softly blowing between the clouds of your most intimate thoughts,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
And every morning awake to freshly squeezed strawberries dripping between the smiles of your fingers,
And to the bliss of your words dipped in honey, sliding off the sides of your tongue;
While being wrapped inside the rising warmth of your hungry skin,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
Late nights and flickering fires bleeding of clenched wax and heated thirst.
Cracked hearts, traveling hands, painted toes and arched necks, genuflecting behind exposed linen and closed curtains.
The whispers of wind between the window seal, the grazing of rose pedals against welcoming bones,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
Evaporated through the lips of pleased desires and stones muzzled in squeezed silence,
Through swaying emotions and tilted waters trapped in waltz;
And mixed between our minds, sweet cream and peppered dreams,
Is where I want my soul to rest.
You introduced me to him.
His rickety voice scratched against my ear buds yet filled me, ever so slightly, to the brim.
I was young and you were dapper & sweet,
He was strange and a bit tottery & offbeat.
But never mind that he was not my favorite tune,
You loved him and that made my day, even on the rainiest of afternoons.
So in the fashion of a freshly made acquired taste,
I lay in bed wrapped in the melodies of Dylan while staring at your face.
Over and under he strummed me into a blissful sleep,
As I closed my eyes and dreamt of your kiss skin-deep.
The next morning the city was gray and I was blue,
As I watched you smile, wave and walk away with noble virtue.
And although you were gone, it was Dylan’s song;
That kept me afloat, for another day,
For as long as I shut my lids, I could pretend it was all gonna’ be okay.
Your lips and Dylan’s voice are the last memories I left behind,
Before moving on past my emotional moonshine.
Oh virtuous eyes swamped in raw emotion,
how you have unraveled me.
From the moment your skin settled upon mine eyes,
I was undone.
The beginning of you left the end of me at a loss for motion.
And as I stood, and watched, there they were,
Attempting to rise from worn lips, these words.
Held between your lids was the melody of an un-played song;
Puncturing the very depth of me.
And in my mind,
bottled thoughts travel through my fingers and my
Tender wounds are wrapped in the grace of your soft skin.
For when you speak, you strum more than the basic cords of life,
You coil my heart and my impetuous hand hath no other place to exist, but within the arcs of your face and neck.
And as your mouth goes weak, my lips seal the freedom of your breath
And thy soft and bountiful words tumble off thy tongue and into mine speech.
How they slide in perfectly round shaped pear tones,
Whilst expanding my lungs and unhinging my bones.
Oh you unrequited exclamation
You are the breath beneath my words.
And the expansion of a folded heart.
It pecked upon the twigs sloshed into a pond of warm blooded mud just between a briars patch.
Through the rose window and beyond the rumpled Victorian curtain, my eyes were fixed;
Upon this bird, adorned in a black feather coat and emerald eyes, was calm tranquility, as it slowly tugged, no, merely kissed the twig, in hopes of resurrecting it from the dampness of yesterday’s rain.
And nearby a tree guarded this Rusty Blackbird from rays of light and the wind, from slight of sound.
Transfixed I was in the facile movement of nature, symphonically conducted by an invisible maestro.
Finally, after minutes of bearing witness to this dance, I saw the mud birth not one, but a string of twigs bound to each other, like the pearls upon my mother’s neck.
Delighted, or seemingly so, the blackbird dragged, collected and flew away;
And as I stood, weighted in a lachrymose farewell, a preponderance of thoughts pecked at the pool of mud gathered in a frozen place inside my heart.
Only, where was my maestro and does he know my name?
So I sat and took to ink and paper my plight.
And while heavy in eyes, I wrote this, blotted in the vanity of self-pity and below the breast, where forlorn feelings often linger without a tree to shade or wind to silence;
In hopes that I too, will be like the Rusty Blackbird, drenched in pined watchfulness from a distant window, with a pile of twigs at my leisure, in perfect time, as I too, will collect and fly away, leaving it all behind.
With no hesitation, I love you;
And without ever having seen your face or having touched your lips,
it is you I need.
A vision from childhood flowing through my veins implanted in the seed of me;
Although absent from my grasp,
I will wait for you.
A stranger in passing yet a lover at heart,
From inception I’ve known you,
as I know myself,
a collaborative work of art.
And be not fearful my darling, for
We exist,
Although the world may try to convince us of this.
For in the sands of time, the God has written our story;
Two lovers bound beyond flesh, mounted and drawn into the constellations, awaiting first kisses glory.
And with sweet longing and sometimes sad emotion, I think of you.
Believing that no beautiful thing stands alone, is true;
So until we meet, wherever you may be,
I shall dwell within you, and you, within me.
As I close my eyes and remain faithful to the visions I see,
No matter the bustle, no matter the noise,
Beyond my body, I wait for you with distinct poise.
So here it is, a letter to you my dearest love,
I send this out to the heavens above;
With a kiss I do sign, eyes shut, with your hand in mine;
Together as one, until the stars align.
Gazing at the same star, We shall be but one traveler,
Merely waiting upon time, to make us one lover.
Knotted Inside of Braided Vines
Sweet dew gliding through open window panes
Exhaling upon an unfastened chest.
Fresh linen sheets coiled after an evening rain
This is unraveling at its best.
*
Warm tulips and raindrop kisses,
Adorn the skin in the romance of midnight wishes.
Between entwined figures enraptured in amorous contentment,
Are timid first touches & eager anointment.
*
Below the arc of lucidity and within the crux of ones heart,
Reside vehement shape shifting figures engulfed in tranquil, moving art.
And outside, the sound of screaming trumpets in the shape of a burning torch
Warm clenched beings, waiting for redolent caffeine to pinch them from their perch.
*
Inestimable connective tissue breeding forth rapturous delight.
The days of rush & roulette gone and solely breath in consciousness imbues the air,
For which bewitching becomes the thread stitching the day to night;
Forging a trail & abode for serene simplicity to appear in sight.
It hung there,
storing up perspective through condensed and frivolous verbiage from the common and glamorous tongues of the paralyzed hearted onlookers.
Not expecting or projecting need of definement,
its colors bled through kissing the light,
stagnantly with purpose hoping for excited
yet mindful discovery.
Until one day it found it.
Upon first meeting, two unsuspecting hazel pupils met the color of her lips mounted upon canvas in the shape of two doves whose love was permanently brushed into eternal bliss.
With unbridled glee he was reborn through the eyes of her. The unexpected discovery of him through splashed yet planned oil, bled from the canvas on to his heart.
When suddenly the rush of blood, the untimely palpitations, and the unconquerable state of euphoria foreign to his coding,
left him exposed and defenseless to his virtuous self.
Whereupon self-discovery ensued, fear spawned and cowardice prevailed.
And in a fashion of willing self-destruction,
he pricked upon his hope.
A clouded black beheld the hazel and he leaked of saddened red in the two ridges inside his head.
In a still room this empty frame once thrived, a canvas whose strokes of unwavering pulchritude rose above the rest.
Until at last, a pupil whose courage surpassed its fear of ascension into the undefined rapture of self- discovery, finally, passed the test.
And still the red craven room still stands stained with bloodied brown, blue and green hands.
Filled with apathy and no remorse from the numbed that lacked the courage to come forth.
Discover the sound of my lips upon your open heart
And let it be though these portals of heaven that my sentiments be made
Wrinkled in pleasure and smoothened by the dawdling steady touch of your hand
Beyond navel to nose your lips are fluent in me
And I in you
Like two twines in prayer my heart is crossed and pointed upwards against your
beating chest
The rhythm of your eyes engrave tunes
Useful and poetic
I am lulled to sleep by the gentility and hope of a million tomorrows that feel like today
Cocooned in silk we face life and death and we are one
In the same and lost and found, here then gone
A wave scrapes shore, a rose takes its bow, and the stars blanket the sun, as you have blanketed my heart
You’ve surrender, happily, as I’ve surrendered
And as it was in the beginning, I pray, let it be in the end
Your lips embroidered to my Zen fully polished skin.
Now I get it, statuesque yet coiled;
My mind it ziggz and zaggz,
Past things that never existed.
Forward into an abyss of delight and madness.
Dancing through the air, my spirit swings past the mist of sorrow.
Walking through the crunching leaves I leave behind tomorrow.
The rushing breeze of bristled leaves and the growing groan of the pale moon reaches down and clears the sea.
Empty, my mind, adrift, no more, but resting upon the delicate shore,
Has found a place no more perplexed not asleep, nor awake but at last at rest.