She, laying upon a mattress (upon a beach in her mind)
caressing of two fingers distracted by the voice of the sea
leaving flotsam upon her finger tips; who in spite
of her privacy attracts the enemy.
Moral police approaches, she immobilizes them with her noisy
hand ~~ and the men pull their soul out of their cozy beds
and suck their agony.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
Vices of men are my domain.
Their wounds my sweet cakes.
I like to chew their vile penis’
because their ugliness makes my beauty
spectacular and chooses me.
(As the letter continues to spiral
out of control, she writes:)
“Since the dawn of time I’m sure that
no couple has ever lived together
in perfect bliss.
Is it any wonder that men
don’t want me because I know what
their biggest vice is?
And I know their biggest loss…
And I don’t eat their penis’
because it’s gross …
I eat it because I enjoy it.”
:: 07.07.2022 ::
Flee from the mountains of sadness, flee from what bleeds with tears, the sea of tears, of which the precious earth frequently raises her skirt to pour out the fire from her heart.
O, when the winds set the sea upon fire and rips apart the garments of the sun, when fearful tides mingle into froth and face the dead corpses of the sea, when the hands of night rend the stars O, then shall I pity men!
Behold, man! Here God shall hearken, and when he hears our prayer, he shall restore both our health and our strength.
Should God restore our health, we shall cast aside the blame of the night’s tears, and the blame of the sea’s lamentations, and weep no more, for we shall be restored to our beloved.
Should he restore our strength, then will our sorrow properly vanish I will not languish in the ocean of tears, nor the barren rocks in the seas of sorrow, for we shall now be given back our health, and our strength, and our health, and love.
Let him restore us now, if he can, to the old climate of joy and the old climate of sorrow, and then I will weep no more, and shall not make this complaint:
that He, that is God, has forgotten us.
:: 07.07.2022 ::
SOME POSSESS talent
whilst others are possessed by it!
One is a gift and the other potentially
a fatal disease of spirit and soul.
//–//
I followed a
f
a l
l i
n g
feather
toward the ground along the twist
-ing-twirl -ing >dizzy< | path |
I found a penny which held no thoughts together the feather and copper bone
fell upon an anvil cloud of striking stone!
:: 08-05-2014 ::
Now listen to me, my Lover; is there love as sweet as love this?
Then lo! wither thou art, there in that far wall
a single flower is frozen, and through the hole is a voice.
See her pretty breast, whereon there kisses I beat,
till from the wall I hear her song on the steps.
Is it I?—no, but it’s my own.
I have never known thy love;
I have never said that I loved thee;
But now the walls that kept her apart
have let me in, and I can say it.
At the sight of it all
the tender thoughts of love
of that sad flower
Come and they tread
Upon the blooming thoughts of me.
Now I hold the flower,
and play with her rosy lips;
I kiss the blade of thorns,
I seize the stem,
and press my lips against the petal.
It is not my flower, it is not my love;
It is but her sadness and her grief.
I hold it and let it go.
We are equal in tears:
And this sad flower
When it is once freed
Shall come and say
How sad she was!
Again I kiss her stem,
And pass from the courtyard.
And then shall I knell.
:: 07.05.2022 ::
i WALK along the ground with tired feet
sun hello today beating upon this back
That I’m not alone feeling
burning desire
wishing more reasons
to live life
/ feeling freezing breathing \
i walk alone on this broken ground
i’m coming back again so
moon, goodbye tonight soothing souls
believing reasons meanings heaving
~ disbelieving___
Touching dreams feeling meaning
i’m not that much further away
than the shadows moving near me
that i’m not alone feeling
feelings remembering burning
wishes like a burning sun
upon my back.
I never wish to be here again
never remember how i got here
; voodoo.
:: 07.05.22 ::
WHEN i was God i dreamt i was a child
i dreamed of flowing rivers
and a youthful love called Lilly
When I was older than Light
i became flesh and told to wait
When i was older within flesh the voice said, “wait.”
An act of divine.
I prayed in pain — it hushed me.
I burned the scrolls they called Holy.
And i took the creature’s hand I created
a spot, the piece of mud, now your land.
Now almost perished from the Earth.
:: 07.04.2022 ::
My Sweet Lover of ages / the Strange Claims Adjuster
of mysterious poses \ within a world so cold
making pink ice cream ponies,
How we scream sometimes at each other and spit in
the frozen air /touch me if you will upon my stomach
where all butterflies are tied
up \ —-> i met the corner
with the skin of my soft hip
and sanguinolency masterbation
spread outward into the castle
where we went || deep inside
the body of our MIND
ABYSSOPELAGIC lust! Oh okay,
the next morning we went hunting
(after that funky time) for panacea.
She took me within her arms with
more than two eyes burning inside
(the lights went out) I fed her
special green grass and she sang,
“Taradiddle” oh wicked __ nikki.
I spoke a word, “
Mercy” but i could never buy my
Life back with any money ||
Kisses mellifluous while watching
syzygy align!~ We grind.
:: 07.03.2022 ::
On one of these laps of the fishing boats with their red sails that scour the island of the insane we look up.
The woman who was staring from the harbour is back there, in a sea of people.
We read about the great gap between the people and the colonialists.
The press that did not come here that shows pictures of half-naked women with white clothes and black teeth.
The madness of the man on the second floor is beyond the penetration of the purple arrow.
We read the messages of the leftist and the feminist struggle in Portuguese and Spanish and we do not know what it means.
The man who raises up the voice of union does not know the relatives who listen to the voices of the streets and of the flowers and of the trees the voice of the ascetic saying that does not stress the ear.
I clearly knew beyond this stormy weather within my head. I am the poet writing this prose.
The sailor sailing blindly — flying!
:: 07.02.2022 ::
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