Passion where is thy heavenly gift ?
Beg I do for pastures of romance &
love thee — my angel follow me too in
Kindness — compassion for all thy life
Understandings; wisdom from burning fire
Heaven thou, dream I giveth prayer to
Love is thy reason for living life
and desires for love escapes thy flesh
afire angelic wings kissing devil’s lips
a Christ-passion for all high and low

:: 04-29-2014 ::

I think today I broke a word within my ignorance!
I did the deed within my garden to stab with spade
upon a letter within the soil where lay the bee!
And in my haste I slay she
and shouted in thunder:
‘Oh! It cannot BE!’

Goodnight my angel and so it’s time to close your eyes…

Everything but the head, where she is still touched by the forehead of a stranger, from one of the corridors, one of the cracked doors, where her
lovers walk, from the stones and shadows of cold halls, the one that is lifted from the depths of a world of books. You only exist, my love,
with the touch of your palms.

From behind my childhood wall, I have met the daughters of stars, from behind my own walls, the girl that lives in the corridor, has warmed up my life,
there with me on the cold polished floor, my passion.

Everything is there, hidden in the dark depths, revealed by the hallway, the fading curtain of candles, the evening light, a kind of passionate romance,
my love, whose bones are growing every day as if they were long-dead, those young girls, the memory of the last night, the abandoned street,
the shadow of an old bed, a memory of the night that passed, but only lives in the room where I am lying.

LOVE blows gentle bubbles of yearning despair
untouchable world-like systems within the brain
— beauty and horror //love and hate\\ under woe
and then up grows green and flowers of romance

THE PLEASURE AND PAIN

(THAT one hides whilst the other shows itself hiding)
how both show nature: that a rabbit in fear still
enjoys love and life although burrowed.

comes here a man. carrying fear and brute — a woman?
by love and tender skin her tongue and heart.

she’ll spin that spirit and by eyes assuage the beast.

:: 09.15.2029 ::

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 ::

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 ::

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 ::