Category Archives: #words

with THIN fingers

WITH thin fingers
(my love) who knows
worlds of than great;
a summer’s glint
more as eyes, love
as a disguise unknown
were victories nameless
beside their glories

Stood cold so damp
memories of
or
goldenly floating
inside my youth i
sang dreams penetrating
space over time
washed away all glint
of light within my mind

Well, we dare — escaping
alive silentness gods
to kiss “most beautiful
o most beautiful” hearts
her, my life, as liars
kill their kind.

:: 01-24-2019 ::


I AM NOT THE I OF THE WORLD

I am not the i of the world.
The days of life did some thing
that my self does not approve.
Their veiled eyes lie —
of no light that i (me of me)
hide my face within the dream;
Now the world is alone.
Does it still exist?
For no other reason than
pain it may but then not me.
Most have gone this way;
all met with rage, with
caged souls, beside humanity
isn’t that their most?

A dirty word: hello.
A nerdy bird: i feel stupid.

as if accused.
Life offers gifts
blessed are the meek.
but not for you.
Not for me.
i am not the i of the world.

:: 01-23-2019 ::


MOTHER MARY CRYING

PLEASE sir, take away my eyes
you see the sky’s all wrong
spinning around (whatever i do)
it’s her, Mother Mary crying
upon her knees screaming;

i did it all wrong
and what i’ve done
cannot be undone

whatever i do
whatever i do
whatever i do

it’s all wrong
but all so true

Touched the skin
of a celestial being
just a little thing
changed me
changed the world
begging you take my heart
you see all that the world feels

i feel
i feel
i feel

the sky spinning all around
no matter what i do

:: 01-23-2019 ::


THE CORPSE

There as still and quiet as dead.

Sleeping. ?

Yes.

The walls had grown used to the scene. The dreams tired of the same actors with different faces.

The dead take care of their own.

The corpse lit the room’s lamp and in the gray dark began to work.

It bathed the perpetually sleeping body that lay in bed. Trimmed the hair and applied blush to it’s cheeks.

The sleeping know nothing of the awakened world; the dead know nothing of the sleeping but that they sleep the deepest of all. Dripping, the legs were dried.

The sleeper’s eyes opened.

The corpse closed them with the coldest of fingers.

Placing the stiff scrub brush upon the nightstand the corpse was pleased with the Sleeper.

And smiled.

:: 01-15-2019 ::


MY HEART HAS ASKED OF ME

My heart has asked of me, by the stream
it asked of me:

(What feelings are if anything, truth.)

Do the trees sing their songs
when the wind blows?

The spider web sways but maintains.

When your legs are moving along life’s
twisting paths, do I (your heart)
speak softly to you?

The witness are the clouds above you.

As the tears come who sees your
shadow hide behind the rocks?

The falcon’s call of nothingness,
that spins your mystery.

And sunrise is a wondrous gift
and sunset but a promise.

:: 11-25-2018 ::


I COULD YOU CAN

i could be your butterfly
with a kiss
i could be your never-die
and you’d miss
i could say hello my dear
and you’d smile
i could be all or nothing
but i’d miss

all of me
all of you
all of me

You can keep the diamond rock
and the bill
you can sing a song of love
so i’ll heal
you can kick me to the curb
with the trash
you can call me from the dead
with my head in hands

i could you can
i could you said
i could we did

:: 10-27-2018 ::


CLAM-SHELL MOUTH

I kissed your clam
shell’d mouth
you bit back life
We strolled on
down the hill
full of sun and thrill
You laughed
at my confession
and left me
ghost-shadow’d
It was all
a deception
like it matters now

so what happens
to us now
so what matters
isn’t how
it’s all decisions
within deceptions
is all that matters
now now now

::: 10-25-2018 ::


TODAY IS THE DAY I DIED

TODAY is the day
I died after the clouds broke
their water and still-birthed
the evening.

I am standing outside
by the edge of a mysterious
forest and the wolves are
sniffing the air but cannot
find me.

I am a ghost. And my house
is the tomb I was born within
but no longer contains me.

There is an empty space
within my heart’s shape
that no artist can draw:
all words too broken
for any poet to express
my emotions.

I was birthed on the day
the beautiful angels were
sick and have now died
as God is sick and the world
a breath away from me.

::: 10-23-2018 ::


ANDRE BRETON is VERY DEAD BUT NOT SURREALISM

THE PRECIOUS terror is realizing
most adults are dead children
or like a day that folds itself into
a basket of reborn night. That long-
necked geese and stiff necks are
either pretending giraffes or self
consumed souls; ignoring the mirror’s
reflecting thoughts introspection
devours it’s own mouth.
Surrealism is hickey upon my heart
that bests freezer burn sunlight any
now. Kiss me you brilliant stupid
fool.

:: 08-30-2018 ::


WITHIN THIS SLICE OF BLEAKMOMENT