Monthly Archives: July 2017

WORSE THAN ANY DISEASE

|| 2 feet from the mud
on 6 inch heels breathing
difficult words while screaming
it’s all for real
like kissing touching
the weeping burning sun
hugging frail entrails
–while shivering like
bleeding soldiers and
we’re all within a living
hell /together my billion
soul brothers and sisters\
there are some remedies
worse than any disease
my withering hands hold
your face as i offer
an invitation for
memory loss ;
you receive ||

:: 07/30/2017 ::


GOD’S TEETH

THAT we did nothing but unravel

The end of all things

And how surely devoid of feeling

The fleeting thought of finality

Not a tear nor a whimper;

Into the void of inevitability!

And the heart is a given nail

The brain a hammer and thoughts —

The infamous tempest!

:: 07-30-2017 ::


MOUTHS ARE DEEP RIVERS

[Mine] mouths are deep rivers as cold
As the dead that love the living

As alder blight can strike
The love of youth

The unholy woolly wilting
Unlike aching souls for
Golden beasts

When feared
We pray
When comforted
We play
When crushed
We die

In bits & pieces
Like twigs and leaf
That twists and floats
Down a raging river

We go.

:: 07-28-2017 ::


10:10

I hear they dug up Dali and I’m sure
awaiting in this fact there’s a
hidden joke — but it’s so surreal!

:: 07-22-2017 ::


ANACOLUTHON KNIGHTS

i can never tell you how displeased readers

  are by that position    the singular
moment when nothing makes any fucking sense
to them at all  but only to a few brilliant pebbles
that soar across the night canvas unknown
to the dullards of academia
  it is the ONLY reason i write;  to express
self to those very few who HEAR ME.
  the rest are noise and there is no time
for wasting one’s artistry on rigid brains
   and stiff necked human-geese.
Then again, my imagination never demands
  an audience of understanding but more
of an emotional receptivity.
   A slumbering shadowy cloud-vignette
     seeping from a tormented mind onto
   freshly sliced paper cuts.  This is the
color red screaming in a dying ink stroke.
:: 07-21-2017 ::

THE NIGHT’S PURSE

The last of a songbird’s notes have fallen into the night’s purse,
and you have known my dances are behind shadows where some of
me has hidden to heal or die.

It seems there are no truths but only dirt and tears and at last
the only remaining mouth that spills songs into hearts
and tender arms is yours my love.

Where we exist there are no stationary objects but a wide orbit
that entertains the unknowable; to feel the butterfly awaken
is an infinite joy stooped upon the vast spirals of our Cathedral.

This love, our love, is universal and eternal.

Forever yours!

:: 07-12-2017 ::


WELCOME MY GHOSTS

THAT I have tried and succeeded is only in great measure

That you have been there with all my fears and displeasure.

Holding my cramped heart and swollen hands is how you have

Saved both my mind and spirit – the soul; still intact down

By the emptying rivers that lead to unexpected consequences.

And to weep while watching the death of a perfect day and to

Realize that birth was only half that day ago is sobering:

We watch each other’s eyes while laying on our sides and

Breathing in cadence I tell you that I am a fortunate peasant

And you the Queen who has welcomed by Ghosts.

:: 07-12-2017 ::


SOFT BREEZE SUMMERS

MOSTLY, as soft breeze summers
dance is when the world spins
for me, it is you that i
marvel; my most passionate
pasttime being with you
AND holding the hands that my
heart craves is like beautiful
flowers that dance in splendid
golden light my love!

:: 07-12-2017 ::
(c) 2017