My smiles are all inside
a jukebox attic of your
forever never-forgiving
bone cave mind!
I have a chisel sharp-thought
bringing me freedom
and you wish your highness
could bring every man
to his knees. I forgot my
parakeet who speaks
all the seedless words
of your tongue.
To wait for a simple sentence
conjures an ink-dipped heart.
I’m just a tattoo kiss
upon your heart.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
My smiles are all inside
a jukebox attic of your
forever never-forgiving
bone cave mind
I have a chisel sharp-thought
bringing me a freedom
and you wish your highness
could bring every man
to his knees. I forgot my
parakeet who speaks
all the seedless words
of your tongue.
To wait for a simple sentence
conjures an ink-dipped heart.
I’m just a tattoo kiss
upon your heart.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
Today it was the, “short-sharp” pains
of a 5th Avenue-dressed-like soul catcher
that teased my spirit to life. Tomorrow
I believe the Southern attire with bare teeth;
a Mississippi-mud soul variety who will greet
me. The crickets have clamped their thorax-
heart and swamp frogs bellied up in boiling
bayou of THAT ONE. There’s still Southern
Comfort!
:: 03-23-2015 ::
I have a devious
minor chord
: it begat life
which I knew —
the fallen stems
of walking
lifeless shadows!
I could hug a
section of any
street if it
loved only me!
and the god-
damn birds
are lovely lean-
ing Songstress
words I am
compelled to die
for! Raw throats
of morning song
— I die.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
It’s the experience
of life that sculpts
the soul!
I too wondered why
then knew! My flesh
spoke too loudly while
the sun baked my fields!
I had the ultimate choice:
to tend to flesh or clean
my own — I choose life
and damn the flesh!
:: 03-24-2015 ::
The morning’s yawn is street-like sounds after
pre-dawn rains. I remove the stems of my waking
body from bed. This day the sun is a lazy un-
procured star that hasn’t yet met her bride but
the horizon hides hungrily behind the promise
of a martial morning. Yet again, today I divorce
last night’s dreams from today’s wakeful place.
:: 03-18-2015 ::
if by the largest mistake
i should find love
then by that mistake
i should be measured by
when mountains have crumbled
and oceans be dry
i shall embrace my mistake
and too, remember my life!
:: 03-18-2015 ::
And by the clock of life
i heard the birds
begin at times by three
and some by four
and my heart by soul
i heard my spirit
and times of love
and pain o’fear
I paint their song
in deep red-kiss
A distant neighbor
came by to say,
“i heard the brook
speak your name
like water upon
the rocks!”
I took his hand
and said these words,
“Tis Love in all
of life!”
:: 03-08-2015 ::
I sit here by the beyond
one spreading dot
of comfort space
and to feed the angry
snapping thoughts
of everything wrong
I could only weep
but for what I do not know!
:: 03-09-2015 ::
Love is a Nation of little people
the invisible workers of
inexhaustible nature;
a titter-patter walking
across all hearts
and passing through doors,
across erected walls.
some cry, “Hello!”
but mostly they go unknown
with tiny eyes glistening
and heavy souls
:: 03-09-2015 ::
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