i dreamed a dream so wonderfully sweet
dreamed a dream of if and then what
i dreamed
struggling to never awaken
struggling to never remember
i dreamed
and within many tears awoken
wishing i had never ever
dreamed the dream so wonderfully sweet.
:: 06.21.2020 ::
IF SO
is good
if SO
is comparable to
the lit ferns of paradise i bid good well
and good nights
to hear the dim notes of heavenly songs
flutter through currant bushes as our veins
this pleasant evening of tangled vines.
My sky is a lover — the lover of my Soul:
brush strokes of communion and paints so bold.
The sky is an angel.
and my hand and mouth are so ignorant.
Have patience — no boredom please;
the ink well is full and obtuse.
:: 06.18.2020 ::
W\
a s/
it o n c e
or t w ice
Love fettered the lining of
a once golden sun
when your thin hands touched
this Heart? Was it once or twice
i tasted the nectar of your heart?
if Once then the shame upon me;
if twice — then i agree –> thrice\
was it once? Was it twice?
my twisted lips and covered eye
take flight!
:: 06.21.2020 ::
\ Mister E.E. Cummings and Ms. Dickinson,
i have made up something new and the
difficulties — why? People are traditional.
as they like what already exists \
and when someone comes wanting 2 revolutionize
everything…simply everything…well, these words
i write come from the heart, that poetry is female
therefore she speaks my heart. Sir. Ma’am. forgive
me if my prose disturbs your heart — and that is exactly what i aimed for! /
:: 06.20.2020 ::
\ Upon one hand is a large finger —
then the other a butterfly
oh hear the fallen rain! the gutters
of my lonely heart — it sings;
a melody before here unheard of!
The Smallest is a Thing of no name
barely, an echo of memories
–and just the same! Such a strain
upon this stain that still remains,
within my soon fragmented brain –,
the smallest thing; as butterflies
having taken flight from dark memories.
AND i remain always the same.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
THE quietness of a wingless eternal flight
(a lover’s heart) sings in the wind
as a flag of no Nation on Earth.
The voices of this Poet’s head struggling with
the echoes and nostalgic words from an awoken
emotion /so my eyes have opened to see
a flock of sing-song birds fleeing to migrate
within my tired lonely Soul.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
HOPING is a giant hammer, terrifying, and insane
at tender times, while the heart hides away;
crying like laughter releases compressed
emotions — this is no wrong or right but a golden
trumpet, teeth shattering upon each note played___
the paunch of my feelings gilded wainscoting.
Wonder ing if Heaven has graveyards — the hope
of dying twice/once in hell upon Earth the other
one inch inside the pearled gates.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
DRESSED within your black frock coat
darkly lecturing among the dead flayed
and white faced interns — next to tunnel railing
with white cuffed sleeves sketching a prose unknown
and Dr. Franklin West studiously taking notes
— the operation upon a dead body has no mouth
to scream.
the conservative operation
for osteomyelitis /and amputation out of question;
an advance sight for its time — prevention of
infection is seen.
:: 06.19.2020 ::
WELL, that no one is serious at a young age;
–cacophony of laughter and endless nights
And avant-garde blaring cafes are the very worst
to clear a mind — if not a true poet.
— memories as shadows weakly limping and a liver
requesting what last drink you consumed —
i once strolled beneath a green fluorescent
light on the promenade//i once lost my tongue
and saw it caterpillar-like crawling on a fine
June night; i think then i lost my eyesight
and now require echo-location like a creature
that never spoke!
There! The fossilized town in amber-time;
everyone is frozen until i speak toward any
of them — for eternity.
:: 06.19.2020 ::
SWEET music hungry waves
/a loud flight of birds\
sunlight before my dark shades of dimmed
complexity, — /all memories beating against
the shores of sands ebbing through yellow
foilage of my heart’s bent alder-waist
, an image caught within my biolight –>
regret, melancholy honey by
99F of a distant murmur of dried moist
black mittens held by hungry kittens:
feed me feed these mouths of
murderousClaws agate, ?she hid?
in the other too finding sweetness
–>
eyes of gold and onyx
my ex-mistressess — muite and screaming
from the depths of all their graves
echoing a voice, I raise!
:: 06.15.2020 ::
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