Daily Archives: September 15, 2021

REVERIE

O it’s so fine to Get Up from resting a night
upon her white bossom!
— of her now dead but once beating heart.
Yesterdays i do remember when the sun came up
and tomorrow’s were yesterday’s thoughts. Oh I
grieve now(with romantic phrasing that could never
ever capture that moment of pure love) death is not living
but death surely is remembering.

AND how angels stretch
their undying necks/ remembering what mortals call moments.

cosmic love giggles.

But i am still unborn. Less than a fetus of cosmic life.

Today is a long memory from birth to now. And I have learned
very little.

Forgive me.

:: 09.15.2021 ::


THE BEAUTIFUL HORROR OF LIVING LIFE

Mom how i love you and I am so sorry
that life was so hard — part by you
another by people:

i saw the horror when i tried to help
you but the two men were grown and I
was just a boy & they raped you
— it broke my heart. (them: too strong)
I never turned away but felt i should look
at the world to discover love.

And how you sceamed for me to run away
and hide — OH never mother i’D RATHER DIE.

I had a vision of a Life I’m living and
how so many people turned away from this
film of pain. I grew up upon a dragonfly
and we flew away ——————-

The water was blue the whales singing blues
and i climbed out of my head and went toward
the coffee beans. I told the people: i have
nothing to say but something spoke / i went
into a dream \ and now we talk about history.

God only Knows What I’d Do without you —
then you died. June 2021. I miss you.

:: 09.15.2021 ::


MY HOME IONIAN ISLES

I taste your desire” a strawberry mind
blue muffin(casket walls of wet desire)
breasts of isolated systems of
dynamic mathematics
by its numeral ills
of base ZERO …
monolithic flowers swaying 1.61 degrees
by beautiful deaths.
GRIND() my pressure
colored paintings weeping
upon famous walls of museums and words dripping ink-words
toward the masses. I weep. I weep. I weep. those dreams
are more than handles than woman or man than sunlight
in isolated systemic hearts.
older than wooden ships that offer vanished ghosts
who hold this hand of mine?
Of mine. Whom zooms through
one perfectly beautiful now…
my home Ionian isles.

:: 09.15.2021 ::