Tag Archives: #death


IN anguish i am alive. As we are whenever
a tear drop has always meant. Fiery and
at times absolute coldness – of all
recorded time and as our yesterdays have
confounded minds always forward toward
a dusty death of revelation.

Always (sometimes?) told by a poet full of
anguish and unrequited love —
that which signifies Nothingness.

:: 10.13.2021 ::


AGAINST the cymbals of echoing blasts
became the embryo born-splat.

The squeals were louder than priests
calling for money upon silver plates
clanging with the clank and claps ensued
STD is the mother of lost souls craving
crunching love.

Yeah. Well.

WHEN i was sleeping but dead-living bangs
ding swish and swooshing rafters of whiffing whizz.
how the heart can ache after it is dead.


Buzz and barking angry flies. went the mumbling brook;
warble song above a tree branch near the echo moan of yesterday.
where i lay.

Now. All alone.

:: 10.07.2021 ::


Fell down inside my foot  & wonder’d
will i ever be secured?

Ate the poems and children’s stories
of childhood and hung upon the chord
of my insecured    LIFE.

Butterfly poet blurry eyes — what we
think — and wish upon those good ole
days //superluminal light \\
    how organs inside our bodies
play music like an ancient orchestra
upon a wooden floor.

I want to be with mommy now.  She gave
me love and without mysterious energy
: i sometimes remember her smell when
before she just died all i remember is
her smile and love.

\ i wish i could hug just one more time/
oh turn back time to those old days
when she was my age — so stressed out.

now burning a candle of my words
now my name is clearly insane
to those days when mother sang
and those were the best of days

:: 09.28.2021 ::

buSY BEE inSIDE MY HEART (Oh king of my dreams)

‘buSY Bee inside my heart /// oh ate through toward my eye
buzzing and can’t you feel my heart burn?  Can’t your heart
bee my love — to travel and die upon a crust of moon drift dirt.

I heart how thoughts became living beings inside my head
and march within a vast army of disillusioned minions.

  Can’t you hear my love burst?  Can’t you feel my love bust?
Like we as Werelings so tiny as quanta light;  little creatures
who live 1,000 years but only a day in our time.  And we have no
fur but like to wear dead animals upon our skin.  How filthy
our skin is with microbial animals like horror stories feeding
our souls with dead mouths.
 Busy believe-me King-thing:  who comes
to save me while it hurts your.  Will you hear my love words?
My love BUZZ?  I want you like a crazy wave needs shores /// my
dead brain \\ jet sounds outside the ear canal of disaster.

Will you love the busy Bee inside my heart?

or Leave for Another Sound and string of strange words?
undulating hips and puffy lips.  Watch me waddle away
into horrific oblivion love buzz.

:: 09.09.2021 ::


“Dear! Let us find a room where we can shine!”
As the sun in a place unconfined by walls?
“Yes! A place full of moons and suns and hearts
and kisses untold!”
Yes, let this be so! And so it is.
Oh. how the walls shimmer as living skin!
That the roof is not there becomes sky!
How creatures of tender hearts enter our home:
the butterflies and their hosts!
“Dear? What happens now?”

:: 09.08.2021 ::


OH time is never owned cause time is always loaned
you can never give more to it and you can never leave
without leaving a piece of you
so the yesterdays we were others
today we believe we are we
and how life can help one
believe we’re better than yesterday — hold up yourself
to the Living Light: i once was youth and now ageless
so believe me.
And how the sun rises
and how the seas undulate
and hearts beat…
time is never owned.

:: 08.18.2021 ::


I ride the path by mouth – a trillion bottles of water —
parched lips: and nothing more! Give me you love; oh
i need that thing so bad.

The pen is dried and tears have taken a road by south.
dusty road of youth and hunger for passion.

Who should feed those vagrant words? They starve at day
and flee by night! And detours, forked by white Spaces
and pregnant pauses give birth as too tiny doubts upon my ink!

Ah baby you’re driving me mad. So give me your love.

I watched the children drown there. Within possibility.

A fountain in the square of town is where I dip my quill,
and the Crier shouts,

“Oyez, Oyez, Oyez!”

Remember all the good souls!

Oh give me your love.

:: 08-23-2014 ::
::tiny revisions::


There are cemeteries that are lonely, graves full of bones that do not make a sound, the heart moving through a tunnel, in it darkness, darkness, darkness, like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves, as though we were drowning inside our hearts, as though we lived falling out of the skin into the so

And there are corpses, feet made of cold and sticky clay, death is inside the bones, like a barking where there are no dogs, coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere, growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone coffins under sail, embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair, with bakers who are as white as angels, and pensive young girls married to notary publics, caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead, the river of dark purple, moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death, filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it, comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no finger in it, comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no throat. Nevertheless its steps can be heard and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I’m not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see, but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets, of violets that are at home in the earth, because the face of death is green, and the look death gives is green, with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom, lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies, death is inside the broom, the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses, it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots: it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses, in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out: it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets, and the beds go sailing toward a port where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.

:: 06.05.2021 ::


DROPPING from the sky as a rain drop
i feel so good dropping from my life
i feel so very alive and the skies weep
and my soul sings.

i don’t believe in your religions or hypocrisy
and i feel like a drop of pure rain
my Soul is bare

falling down into the soil & feeding a new
seed of a flower and i feel so good —
oh yeah.

Don’t take my photo until i’m born
and i don’t believe in your sanctitude
i don’t believe in your lies
and wonder what my parents think of
me now

To give a Soul for a Flower
A soul for a flower

:: 05.11.2021 ::


HUG me but leave me alone
tonight kiss me but say nothing
harvested feelings come and go as
ghosts weeping for you and me
watching how we changed: smooth skin to lines
firm convictions weakened tells me there is more
i held the hand of failure and watched how love died
like we never had brakes once so alive and now changed
i watched the sun explode like nothing ever before seen
and once so alive — watched it change.
you left me alone / months into years and decades gone \ and its
like you never went away always alive and eating my insides.
watching how we changed ah oh ah i watched the sun explode.

i look at the plot of ground
and the green grass of Earth
tomb stone and words with tears
it is like you never went away
still so alive.

:: 05.03.2021 ::