boats, boots... just-a-bit

Days 10, 11, 12
The Paradox of Stasis

eternal sunrise like a radish
pulled up beneath us
lustrations of iris revolving on sun sinking,
the trees are hungry,
carefully swallowing
i'm basking in that slow smile
the twins are joyous,
nestled right between the forever day and night
perfectly straddling the line of black and white
a promise pigment in the glassy waters,
reflections, permeated twilight
an immortal midnight garden to revel in
i'm living in grayscale
a timeless, unspeakable beauty
it seems my whole life,
i have dreamed of the plenary contradiction
an equilibrium preserved forever
in caressing shadows, a faultless harmony
irony: mismatched socks,
opposites worn, freak accident breathes new purpose
no combination of colors could rival
this love.
suddenly it is clear:
how boats stay afloat on the surface



imagine.
music box lips , boot songs
he unzips them and kisses them
no other pair of these would do
ensnared in maroon draped heavens:
ladybugs need cocoons, too



young bride hypnotized by smoky eyes in the dark
refusing to remove gazes
prolific pools she loves to flounder in,
bobbing and levitating like the boats
buoyantly balanced, weightless
in waters that sparkle and glisten
(with pretty thoughts)



two stigmas on the dirty earth
one pure, simple, colorless stain
the creamy white of a blank slate
the coconut of childhood remains,
and he says maybe it's a sign
that those times are meant to be left behind
this is my reminder to him
that the waves of memories are never too thin to float in
when an icy treat becomes nothing more than a rainbow smear
in the concrete jungle sea-
a bright, multicolored sugary tarnish
while perhaps slightly less edible,
the beauty is not lost to us



swaying, wavering roots
crawl from the underside of each ship,
stretching down to greet the murky depths of sea,
dancing
anchoring each with gentle coaxing, treasures
only the ocean could retrieve
we watch them soundlessly,
the glowing candied-skin sky melting,
dripping down onto his chocolate dipped spun gold head
we are not trying
to decipher whether or not they are sprouting
from the reaches of the wet abyss
or whether heaven is growing downwards



choking on grit.
and my turtle peaks his head above the ripples
fresh faced from the bottomless pit
i come up for air simultaneously
to find you floating there next to me
you pique my curiosity from ocean floor scavenging
and when i retreat to the blackest chasm one more
it will be a journey ventured alongside
what i had all along been looking for.



euphoria is a
red seesaw dance
cheese and cheap wine dizzies
coffee shop-church chalkboards hold no patience for chance,
(no lack of vitality in the complimentary colors of this dried flower)
instead,
the scrawled signs-
they emanate a soft, sumptuous power
like two lovers that join as one being
for the very first time,
sweat clad and love drunk
now ingrained permanently in their respective minds:
fusion.
of the grandest daedalian type


more sensual than salad finger food,
fingerlicking traces.
more breathtaking
than the melding of freckle geometry,
handmade paper heart faces.
he sees me.
sunflower throne..
freeing.
more beautiful at night,
yes.
you are just my kind
(of picnic)

the wings are wide

Day 8 & 9
Love is...
still believing in fireworks even after Santa has gone.

if i was young, i'd flee this town
i'd bury my dreams underground
as did i,
we drink to die,
we drink tonight
far from home,
elephant gun-let's take them down one by one
we'll lay it down,
it's not been found (it's not around)
Let the seasons begin
(it rolls right on, let's take the big king down)

..and it rips through the silence of our camp at night.





sitting on top of the world, you and i
toes dipping into incoming tides, the colors of unicorn pillows
before even witnessing firsthand, you're well-versed in that look in my eyes
particularly perfect epitome-your description of release
...finds me shivering, alive
you had to sit down.

(aroused)

a permanent change within- crackles,

electric (your bright blood)

across your rhythmic skin

I feel it all, nestling its way into its new home, from hours away

(soaking in your artisanship keeps me soft and pliant all day)

Yin

Day 7, Part Zwei (Yin)
When I grow up, I want to be a pumpkin
yours, specifically,
larger than life


On this 7th day, 7 things to be grateful for(oh, how to choose...) :
1.Falling asleep with an ethereal dreamworld painted on your retinas: a fantastical landscape painting of rich colors, leaves in mid-shift, deep wetness of rain (the smell of damp wood lullabies your brain) Sliding under the covers clothes-less, rumble of thunder rocking your full-to-the-brim psyche to a slumber
I can feel you here.
2. Awaking to an undiluted joy like no other and gorgeous emails (immediate excitement&anticipation upon eyes opening), then opening the blinds to find a literally breathstealing sight you were not expecting: a golden shower of light from just post sunrise, bathing the whispering lushness of treetops in hocus-pocus against the backdrop of a flawlessly streak free cerulean sky...
cool winds seeping in from broken screen, leaking from the illuminated tableau beyond your window
(carrying the thaumaturgical beauty inside and filling you with a reverence and awareness-almost painful-of how lovely life is)
Captain. You rock my boat.
3.Silk robes on freshly showered skin
S/he: division of self and soulmate
4.Delicious Pho soup walking distance from your house, chocolate non-pudding to wash it down, and for extra measure...best friend tutors
In the darkness, there is no distinguishing you from me, the space between
..everything blends together, we become one another
5. Mutual masturbation= reciprocal door opening, newfound appreciations, influential inspiration- release that sets you free
I'd like to sit inside that head
...of yours and have a tea party.
6.Trying to sing Diana Ross
Studying= no sleep for me, but i'll sneak away to go get tangled up in the dream weaves above your bed
7.Loving the feeling of thinking nonstop about someone, craving their voice
Nothing will ever be the same,

Love's the best sensation
hiding in the lion's mane




So i'll clear the road, the gravel
and the thornbush in your path
that burns a scented oil
that i'll drip into your bath
the water's there to warm you
and the earth is warmer when you laugh

and love is the scene i render
when you catch me wide awake
and love is the dream you enter
though i shake and shake and shake you
and love's the best endeavor
waiting in the lion's mane

yang

Day 7, Part Eins [Yang]
(It's gonna be a yin-yang sort of day)

Sometimes the pessimist wins the wrestling match
i'll regain hold after a much needed
System cleansing, you see
(clickclick.deleted.)
please excuse me while i briefly empty the waste basket that becomes me

After the 4th time the bird shit hit me,
I realized the universe was laughing gleefully
and then- a 5th time in my food for good measure


What is this cerebral madness?
Only the fittest seeds survive
Seems today I'm digging a grave
for the traditionalist protection of your resurrection
(leave me, complacency)
a long trench across the Great Divide
Washing the dishes in the first of two rotting sinks,
since the last no-good never-enough canyon popped its load on me..
while the windstealing feeling is familiar, it has been awhile
i'm burning bridges and building skyrise condos destined for destruction
(just for you: choking on the vile need for SUCCEED)
the human condition condescension of your well intentioned smile

you'll say i'm grasping straws

Shredded by strange city street lines
Press my face up against the glass
with both eyelids shut and no, this won't get any easier
shitbrown irises are blistered, bruised with guilt, the creeping vines
are crawling upwards towards consume. Grass,
but not the pretty pale thin sticked kind
(his favorite)
no, I'm rolling down a hill of St. Augustine hell,
the person I feel I should be the ugly roots
that screech up from the foundation of earth
wrapping tight to trap and suffocate me
(a father's words like late night crackhead hauntings,
the face-to-gravel grind of reality is anything but Victorian,
a bit off chunk of romantic notions)

I am jack's deformed disillusioned definition of security,
sighting them shape shifting
dissolve into the darkness
a final opinion is of less value than an appreciation of
intolerance for obscurity

a weakness lies in the bottomless well of indecision. discretion,
(leave me, sickness)
the peak of weak is a dried up favorite creek,
a longing for the caress of waters that perhaps never belonged
brushing aside in discontent the minuscule signs of life
i wish i had energy to feel weak. one day again
grown in wide open spaces
we turn ourselves inside out
expose what we're afraid to see
and i know what he's thinking
i told myself
you keep pulling

an ice storm threatens the leaves
fluttering in the horizon, i refuse to climb these metaphorical bullshit money trees
preference to remain the weakest link

one single phone call.
now grown up a tad more, more petrified i think.
it takes the posioned cake,
take it all

for my dandelions

Day 6
If it Smashes Down:
Chase Starlight


what is the use of screaming at a machine in frustration,
as it eats the music,
skipping streaming of consciousness?
it's only auto-pilot performing its purpose,
fulfilling its destiny dutifully.

Save your Breath,
instead,
for singing in the shower
[as kaleidoscopic bits of flower wilderness
are massaged into your sudsy head.]

I was reading through old journal jottings from Europe, from the day my ex-roomie and I explored Dachau outside of Munich (the first concentration camp.)
What rose to the surface of my mind is itching under my fadedcopper (rusted helicopter) skin,
needing to be shed.
What we saw there, that day, could never truly be captured in words,
no matter how delightful (or stark&dark) the words, but I still wanted to soak in it awhile.
An except from my travel journal-
"Raw Truth in Exile:

I've been seeking it in everything
and now we chase the obsidian ghosts of history as we board the train to Dachau.
Kellen and I agree: these parts of history-
the black underbelly of the beast,
no matter how melancholy-
they should never be drowned or blocked out,
no eyes should be closed to it."


My eyes could scarcely comprehend and take everything in, being in the exact same places as thousands had suffered fiercely and died in.
There is so much to learn in such a place: weird to say, but I could have stayed for days, and still I would have been discovering useful knowledge and awareness of the past and its relevance in the world today, things I never gave nearly enough lingering thought to.
However, its about so much more than learning, this history.
I got a glimpse like I never have before at innumerable levels of the human condition:
how completely corrupt, cruel, and unrelenting humans can be (esp. in their quest for power/selfishness/greed) and yet also, how avidly courageous and strong they can be, even in the most extreme and debilitating conditions.

Can you imagine being so terrified by the threat of death-constant, filling your body with dread every waking hour of every day, that you ran into the borderline/edge of the no-go zone, knowing you would instantly be fired upon...ending the endless suffering and mistreatment you had been experiencing for far too long?

And yet- what stood out above the background-din [static rumble] of pain and haunting images was the discovery of all the ways the prisoners clung to the smallest signs of hope (through each other, writing, reading, music...the beat goes on).
Sometimes the prisoners were kept in barracks, chained to the walls, that let no light in. The only way they could tell it was day outside was through hearing the faint singing from outside from other prisoners. One man began to knock on the wall, reaching out to another prisoner, who soon figured out that he was knocking the ABCs,
and began to decode the message the other man was giving him.
They communicated this way, knocking was their way of speaking-about their background, who they were, where they came from. Prisoners did these things in order to salvage what was left of their state of being-
a way to preserve their faith and delay the psychological decay going on within them (since they couldn't do much to delay the physical decay brought on by malnutrition and mistreatment.)
The smallest bit of light filtering into their cells could bring such relief and joy...a few minutes in the library? They looked forward to for weeks.
These prisoners knew that if they even left a fingerprint on a locker, or had a button missing, they risked terrible punishment: even just an imperfectly made bed could lead to them getting beaten or put "on the pole" (hung from a pole for hours on end). And yet....so many of them kept seeking out methods of self assertion to help them grasp on to hope (clinging to solidarity).
One of the main ways they did this was through poetry- poetry was capable of giving back to them the sensitivity and remaining humanity they sought to preserve. I read a poem one of the men wrote in secrecy while at the camp, and it brought tears to my eyes, truly and poignantly moving me.
"In suffering lies the song of poetry, like a hymn that liberates and penetrates to the bottom of the truth....
I seek to express open wounds of the soul that no one can heal,
wounds that are much deeper than the ones that weaken our bodies."
The poetry I read did not only resonate with the agony of captivity, but with something banished from normal thoughts of youth and stemming from one of the hardest gifts to know and achieve that we are given:
forgiveness.
This is where the real courage comes into play, when even the most horrible of human suffering and loneliness occurs, and one can reach beyond the suffocating anger, pain, resentment, hatred, emptiness....and forgive (the things that hound us in the night).
This is why the writing I read struck me so deeply- it was not just a cry for help, an expression of soul-wrenching desperation,
it was an elegy of freedom.
We take freedom for granted.
Freedom to live, to let go, to love, to forgive, to give, to take, to grieve, to make...
Our suffering is what makes us so beautifully supreme: ferociously powerful in our unsurpassed fragility.
(And the alternative to feeling the pain of loss is having nothing to lose).

Flashback: Death was brought upon vast numbers of people with no hesitation, no sympathy, no mercy...bodies were taken away piled on one another, miles high, in backs of trucks,
taken to the crematorium then thrown aside, discarded like bits of gum wrappers in the summer wind. The dead were robbed of all dignity completely.
That broke me.
Would I have been one of the hundreds, if I had lived in that time and place?
I love the color green and all it represents, symbolizes, signifies to me...
but back then, it made certain people stand out as abnormal- a green triangle was the symbol associated with the "asocials", or people who demonstrated "asocial behavior" (prisoners who were taken into preventive custody.) So many groups of people were denounced, it was not just Jews...it was those who rebelled against the government, spies, prisoners of war, Austrians, emigrants, homosexuals, different religious groups, etc. All of them were punished without warning, at the slightest insubordination or order from others (as in, not just the Nazis- even someone like a kitchen worker.) And aforementioned "asocial behavior" could have been virtually anything the Nazis got a wild hair up their ass to arrest someone for:
"nigger jazz"
"degenerate art"
"gutter literature"
I'm fairly certain I would have been among the convicted:
I tap my feet and jig wildly to jazz,
am currently reading a number of sullied books (soaked in gutter water, think: "The Preverse Garden: Fairytales for Adults"....oh, such a hopeless romantic, har har)
and some of the twisted, progressive, obscure art I adore would fall far outside the category of "degenerate"
This realization is what made me realize I am one of those who takes their freedom for granted...
it is easy to thrash in the jade waters of cynicism when we aren't reminded,
even in little ways,
especially by ourselves,
of how lucky we truly are.
Each passing minute,
every liberation of mind, body, spirit allowed,
no matter how small and seemingly insignificant,
each delicious meal I eat,
the comfortable beds I sleep in (topped with liberal amounts of pillow goodness),
the souls I bathe in,
the love that lights my fire,
the abundance of (especially fleeting) beautiful light shed in my life,
everything I observe and soak up (no matter place, person, word, music note, taste, smell, caress, idea, dream, wish, ache,
blah blah hour long rant goes here)
it is all so valuable.
I seek to try my hardest to fully savor everything that surrounds me to the best of my ability,
to celebrate the elegantly evil universe in all its splendor



Yes, indeed-life is at best, brief
...maybe we are just biding our time until the black hole arrives
and swallows us, whole,
nothing but an airy belch existing as proof of our mark
or, quite possibly,
it is a mere shadow of what exists in the infinite abyss, the Unknown
There is a sinister, crawling shadow that beckons from behind every pretty thing
but does that mean we should compromise our pretty living,
question the fireworks? no, not enough time
(It could all be snatched from us in the blink of an eye)

My favorite part was this:
learning of how the prisoners were so ravenously hungry- not only for food to nourish their body, but for hope to quench their devastated souls-
that they would secretly eat dandelions


It is when i am neck deep in the quicksand-moor
that I stumble across these lovely-ugly creatures (like sunflowers)
these yellow bits of hope
mere weeds- fierce beauty disguised as homeliness and simplicity
isolated and strong

how could one go through this life without tap-dancing along the tightrope edge
(fear of corners-losing oneself),
without feeling the thick ache of resignation?
It is when I feel myself sinking the quickest,
like Venice,
destined to be sucked down into the depths of murky nothingness,
that I remember the unspeakable beauty of the city-
and how,
although its life is simply slow death,
it holds light like no other.





paper cup fraying string connections sustain
for the time being-
when the firestorm settles, we will still remain
morbid gods holding hands,
the tightrope of what they call time
stretched tight between you and i,
mountains of magic rumble upwards from the spot where our worlds collide.





dandelions,
blossoming upon the golden nymph skin
the halo you put me in,
you see me for me
the free, roaming spirit that lies and glows beneath
the facade of weed.

wordless chorus

what a weekend. time for catch up

Day 2-5
sometimes there are no words. only love

suddenly. an unexplainable, visceral chemistry
instantaneous and melodious
it draws us close and holds tight
the ball of crackling energy exchanged fuels a force deeply ingrained
the same magnetism that I soaked up one warm night months ago, kneeling in the rain
it absorbs our spirits,(i'm a sponge for details) transcends body and mind
we are constantly learning, about and from each other
in every lips-touch-wrist, garden kiss, shooting star wish
there is something viciously beautiful and love-lit
(although there is no word in any language or wildest fancy to describe it)
bit by bit, the pieces fall together and by some grace of fate, magically fit
even if we don't understand the source of such a strangely beautiful, rapidly growing sunflower
[[the core of the enigma, the origin of the seed]]
to deny the mystery means to deny the power.

Happily stranded in the unmoving lightning storms of/in one another's minds
every nuance brings an exotic peace-content curiosity
bent on the loss of sense of time
there is nothing redundant, insincere, or cliche about the flawless verbosity
hauntingly captivating, you are..
alarmingly alive.
You are the provocative, mystic winds lifting my soul in flight
the burning gases chasing worlds in the brewing midnight skies
the flashing, sweeping lights that pierce the fragrant October night
christening the precious dark with beacons of bright...
feeling.
Love is a lighthouse.
conventions could only dream of what this is made of and in
the universe thoughtfully contemplated your request-
[[the proof twinkles in the ethereal cold air warming your heart and chilling your skin]]
-and the gnawing awareness that it's shifting for us is it's way of wishing you the best

Hope is desire riding on the breath that dusts the fire from a German chocolate cake,
the unspoken delicacy that straddled the wind and began the journey home.

Homemade red flower wreaths encircle yellow peter pan hats wonderfully
(once again, a perfect fit) and i find myself encircled, likewise, in the oblivion of
your sloe eyes and half smile
Love is a mosaic glittering in spring oblivion's sunshine,
reflecting in fountains of youth.
You are the golden breeze that sweeps through the tousled waves of richly opulent leaf-sprays
and carries me away from something i mistook for home,
surprised to discover, as i fall towards new bountiful horizons,
a splendor unlike anything i have ever known.
Love is the fertility that produces a fruit tree
(flourishing tall and proud with musician-hand branches that breathe ashes into the zephyrs,
giving (re)birth to souls that seek the ultimate liberty)-
Love is the damp earth that forms the walking-path of the road to awe.




Pleasure little treasure.
i surrender, admit
i cannot deny.
the sensations that become me upon waking to that look in your eye
i'm dreaming of repeat
you sink my battleship, bullseye, following suit behind,
a breath for a breath, a pace meant to last and built to match mine
yes, we find each other
whether surreptitiously or effortlessly, it's still every time
Heaven is two muses living in an eternal Eden, feeding one another fresh handpicked apples,
the threat of banishment the last thing from their minds.
(an infinite autumn)
my hands have not been so impeccably fulfilled in ages
peach sticky, pumpkin picking,
reeking of garden, tangled in the inky hair of the gentle beast
joining with companions that hit chords so consummate you could hear the predestined
caressing another's aura- balcony affection feast
wrapping around the chainlinked cage (spelled L I F E)
i am content locked inside, swimming in the dusky, epic oceans of liquid fire (iris-like)
Freedom is swallowing the key,
starting from scratch..the manifestation of a brand new colony,
a personalized live-in Halloween-Christmas village, made explicitly for you and me.
l'arte d'arrangiarsi:
the art of making something out of nothing
(like turning a few simple ingredients into a smorgasbord, a few gathered friends into a festival, or a few small sticks and stones into raging, leaping flames)
you can be my violinist, triumphantly caroling in the just-fallen powder layer
i'll take time away from the ultimate photobooth and bakery
to ice skate with the town's tightless slut shakily
and then bring you home trays of banana bread still hot from the brick oven
we'll ride the haunted ferris wheel, glorious in our heights timidity togetherness

To fall is to .....
if tasting my lips is your communion
then my faith lies in falling,
not organized genocide
your cherubic touch is the divine theology to which i prescribe
and your mouth, immaculate, brushing my skin leaves me a fervent follower,
drifting towards sleep's remembered forgettings amidst prayers at night
if i can remember to breathe,
breathe in the scent you left tangled in my hair.

I'm splitter splattering along the edging of beautiful,
a history, taunting me,
of causing brilliant disasters and insignificant casualties
(so many times fucked up, or maybe it's me who is fucked up)
YET...
somewhere between growing into a woman
(who had sex behind unfamiliar bushes on school nights with boys that called themselves men and were near strangers-lips tasting of cigarette smoke and halfhearted affection)
..i had dreams where I swiftly danced around moonbeams and specklekissed the stars,
and it was me who made them shine, and I cried at their beauty as they soared across the heavens
or, that is,
i fell onto the path. a leaf in your delicious lap, a hope to grasp
yeah, that's right-
You're a dream, my star.
maybe it's you who should be pinching me
if i fell long and hit hard enough
would i slam into your soul?
taste the ecstasy of every complex simplicity

Unadulterated intimate gratification-every part satiation (no man left behind)
be my ongoing interruption.
and the way you shuffle your feet sometimes ...shyly, anxiously, instinctively?
more endlessly thrilling than a cheese-gore plethora (gradeB midnight horror flick, you follow me?)
you watch every move with unequaled fascination
..laughter is never at a loss
but i am.
it's easy to be speechless when, whilst wandering a labyrinth of unimaginable curves
you stumble across a treasure chest
brimming with wonders and every existing thing beyond words


Discovery takes a new name tonight.
i'm crouched beneath a shower of leaves and stars,
arms open wide (in gratitude and surprise)
torrents of atonement
happily licking the wetness from skin suddenly unbroken
simmering in, inhaling, the unequivocal creation only once plainly spoken
and yes, i admit- i often get flustered
when trying to find a comprehensible form of expression, i find only silence
comfortable but clumsy
i will wear the badge with pride, it reads
"stripped of once sought for dignity"
Fulfillment is the sighs of lover's drowning in one another, a drug to live off of,
the indefectible caress
...the one that satisfies contradiction infallibly.
(the simultaneous needs for spontaneity and messy consistency)

My reflection (head miles high in the blue hour candy puff sky) has been altered.
echoes of your radiance stare back at me, non-smugly
it's such a lovely feeling..
to pass a perfect stranger who smiles at you sincerely,
and realize that they are humming, possessing a bare bones sort of happy,
for all the world to see
then suddenly realize they are a splitting image of yourself
or to hear these words
"it has been so long since i have seen you like.. this."
This is telling me that truthful-buoyancy,
so real and pure it is disquieting,
can happen in reality
i'm crossing my fingers and counting up the seconds
but for once, no tracers of cynicism tempt my vision's foresight
i stand, boot clad feet rooted to the earth, triumphant and ready
all hauntings aside,
i am enticed by this integral autumn twilight hayride
and will surf any speed bumps with confident knees


We are covert foliage dwellers, the joy of dark beer consuming park benches,
beloved exploration takes place, hiding beyond country festival blooms
air thick and sweet with addiction, eyes speaking volumes
(indeed-i love old people, but when competing with his soft one dimpled smile,
german polka dancing is for the birds)
besides..
you know how it goes. actions speak louder than words
are you already becoming part of me?
(from bent knees,
rings forgotten on the railing, she asks
will you please?)
synchronized hours and white-fuzzed clothes fall to the floor
unparalleled release in each other, from the first beautifully tentative couch kiss
to the hip alignment shaking my core

and when you taste your own soul on another's lips for the first time
everything is taken to another level
and it's like losing your virginity (but in my case, with a more sublime revel)

I'm sinking deeper into the gorgeously odd background music mixture
fake plastic trees and ghosts of braying donkeys
the moon glows in your mouth
and in the deepest gasp of spirit you're backlit and radiant, a now permanent fixture
you paint me trembling
so, my hands mold the lines of your face and body,
returning the favor justly
and i meant what i said.
while sporadicly devious,
(like an "accidental" cheap wine spill tumbling from a white plastic cup)
You are the most spectacular work of art that even the wildest of dreams have yet to scheme up.


Fruit stand hunting with supreme company, windows down,
wind tangling your hair and psyche into a past-pretty disaster
tiny dancers on lips,
kindred hearts jumping in time
like synchronized swimmers skyrocketing through the rolling waters of life
(pouring onto pages-screens-through the use of unconventional poetry and rhyme)
oh, lionfire,
your demure roar stirs me even in the deepest of sleep
effervescent embers spark the edges of a onceuponatime blank canvas,
ravishing and smoldering
the Phoenix chose that fateful night to remember she had wings
shake off the ashes, re-learn the kinetics and movements of alive
then, reincarnated
fly for the very first time.



For a self-proclaimed, expert procrastinator it's hard enough to study
it's far more difficult when i'm trying to recall and memorize
..each individual propensity and subtlety of your radiance, your body
[and God, you really are stunning]
my mind is racing the tick-tick-tocks, forming meaningful patterns that had yet to exist
whispering dew-strung webs of words my sanity resists;

we float in and out of the conscious humdrum of every day,
spinning in a beautiful display and array of pacification
because of this .... reality just isn't on our side
i am jack's dream-coated smile.

anticipating the REM resplendence you induce
what more could i do?
(how could i ever be expected to sleep, otherwise-
knowing i have to wait to wake up to you?)
reminder: patience, little tugger
everything worthwhile is meant to be held out for and held between excess
You are the eagerly long awaited, guiltless pleasure and unsullied ecstasy of recess.
(or better yet: You are my Pandemonium)

Dirty tea, moon tugs & non-milk

Day 1
Happy October
Let's celebrate its in-with-a-bang arrival with a little (mostly accidental) rhyme
sweet, sweet October...you never fail to disappoint
you have truly outdone yourself this time

Yes, God is a woman,
with smoky turquoise eyes, reflecting liquid satin when she smiles
Once upon a time
She whispered to me in hushed melodies
that rose and fell like the dance of the tide
She smelled like deep sea saltwater,
magnolias at sunup,
freshly turned damp earth, cold mint,
mossy rocks sandwiched between the infinite
(tangy breezes filling crystal crevices)

Dusty knees & dirty cerulean cloth clad feet
September has dwindled, stale in the face of October's iridescent embrace
but this laugh is fresh-faced,
pop-rock bubbles up from the core-
an innate instinct once asleep
spilling over, becoming me
cracks spiderweb their way into the ice of hibernation

A child looking at ruins grows younger,
but cold
and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
Walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer,
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
The long grass lies pointing uphill-
even in death, for a reason
that none of us knows
And the wren smiles in the early shade now
come again, shining glance, in your good time
naked air late morning
My love is for lightness..
of touch foot feather
The day is yet one more yellow leaf,
and without turning I kiss the light
by an new-old well on the last of the month
(gathering wild rose hips
in the sun)

(Time to)
F.A.L.L.
Find All Life Loves

You jump from rock to rock,
stone slabs barely keeping you moving forward as you sway-balance above your fears,
take the chances time and again, hoping to get it down this time
You make it across, sometimes by the skin of your gritted teeth
Safety on the other side leaves you dreaming of something better, yet..
and as for the surface hesitance?
A longing for a certain beautiful disaster is familiar underneath
(Sweet vertigo: desire to fall)
Some day you will run across the stepping stones with ease,
then unexpectedly leap off
as you succumb to gravity you suddenly take flight
finding yourself, surprise! face to face
with something just right






Swings fly higher and heartbeats flutter
Creaks that utter gentle secrecies into the dark still canyons of the month's first night
New affections reflect formulas of patterns that grow within the grass,
Budding from ancient familiarity that breathes a flawless ease to life
It is nearly surreal
The feel of your hair between my fingers, rich & smoky, glossy with folded bits of light
(dreamcatcher for the shiny flickers of barely-there stars and streetlamp whispers)
I could lose myself in the bittersweet metallic scents,
(they stream through the wild kinked locks of my hair, each strand finds a head in the clouds)
The woodchips caught beneath my heels,
The tie-dye thought/word bubbles that echo my sentiments effortlessly,
stealing my thunder and the last of my breath from me
His deep-reaching gaze and sincerity make feet shuffle gravel and skin melty,
they could be my undoing, surely
I'll burn alongside the figurative schoolchildren as the leaves flutter then...
fall.
Foreign-welcome: this unbeatable combination (like synchronized double sliding, side by side)-
A natural, a free flowing intimacy born into being from first (again) glance
And a smoldering mystery that finds me speechless, enticed
Alternation of giddy smiles and contemplations of quiet reverence
I'm rolling sleeves on the shadow-crested rooftop
Tugboat echoes across far distances
Those soft, supple lips jump-spark a childlike joy in me that refuses to stop
This is the kind of static electricity I don't hip-bump-avoid by any means
And when his eyes catch the beat of mine while he sings,
Fingers strumming a balcony melody
I lose awareness of all else (faded Zen background of steaming tea)
Finesse that vibrates not merely talent, but a knee-weakening knack


They say cats rub their face against you to leave physical traces of their scent
A leaf-strewn path so you can find your way back


Doted-on Seeds, planted in rows
Two apples grew into their skin on opposite ends of the result-
An explosion of flowering life that stretches arms wide as it grows
The green and red bookends on an ever changing, swaying tree
Unaware of the other's presence until, circadian rhythms crash,
The 10th month sets them free
Released from the once-safe shelter of branches, they fall
The grass-reality of ground rolls them to a meeting point
Recognition doesn't drown out the realization
That they had never fully appreciated or known their home at all
Time elapsed somehow leaves no gaps
In these spaces, his voice appears
Smooth like oven baked honey...organic, inherent, raw

What goes up must come down
Murphy's Law
















And our laughter rains down from the top-of-teepee heights
Showering the quiet crunch of earth with webs of nostalgia and pure comfort's release
Wrapping the cool, musty grounds with gold circles akin to bits of shining hope,
Strewn across and around the sloping midnight fields like rope,
(climbclimbclimb UP, higher...you ring my bell)
They seem arranged as if each one had found its place; together they appeal
To some glimpsed order in my mind
Preceding my chance pausing here --
A randomness that also seems designed.
Gold circles strewn across a roller-less playground draped in a pretty, young simplicity
(Quiet save for the rusty squeals and caress of lips meeting)
Evoke a silence deep as my deep fear
Of emptiness; I feel the scene requires
A listener who can respond with words, yet who
Prolongs the silence that I still desire
Clacking crows come flashing through,
Whose blackness shows chance radiance of fire.
Yet stillness in the field remains, for everyone
And as for me?
Drifting towards sleep's crayon & parachute lands,
His hand cradling the lines of my face,
Is plenty.

Life is like the surf, so give yourself away like the sea.












Our pale reason hides the infinite from us.

climacteric

in the face of the timeless void of death, how do you choose to search for the vitality of life?
as for me, i think i like the endless quest, the best

how do you measure time?
in plucked guitar strings, disjointed happenings, brisk dips in the sea of memories?
in coffee spoons, empty teacups, developed negatives, film strips?
leaves piling, marked out calendar days, number of phone calls you made?



different senses activate various reactions
as for me, i think i'm on to something, it's stirring

when you feel something, however minute, click into place
it resonates inside of you like the echo of blinds being raised in an empty, quiet room
you feel as though it was meant to happen this way
you're in the right place, at the right time
and i couldn't help smiling the whole way home tonight

each moment is a ripple. let each one ingrain, entrench itself within you,
every subtle movement in the waters combines with others, forming
the free flowing ocean of dichotomies that becomes you,
moves you











Who can mediate
between the body and its undoing?
At night in each of my limbs
I feel the skeletal tree ache,
and I dream of leaves
in their feverish colors, floating
through the small streams
and tributaries of the blood.

Once more, the sun rises as it rose in summer;
bounty, balm after violence.
Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields
have been harvested and turned.

September starwinds

The fleshly flowers whispered avidly:
This being's face is soft, he shall not pass;
And all the little jeweled blades of grass
Made mutterings that sounded like low glee.
I looked across the great plain warily.
These glittering swords that shone like splintered glass,
Though singly impotent, might be in mass
A savage, indestructible enemy.
So, hesitantly, I put forth my foot
To seek, beneath the flower-heads, a path.
I found my leg become a hellish root,
I saw the hungry flowers toward me crawl
With bright-eyed ecstacy, exultant wrath,
And on my flesh their mouths, devouring, fall.





It is a certain hour of twilight glooms,
Mostly in autumn, when the star-wind pours
Down hilltop streets, deserted out-of-doors,
But shewing early lamplight from snug rooms.
The dead leaves rush in strange, fantastic twists,
And chimney-smoke whirls round with alien grace,
Heeding geometries of outer space,
While Fomalhaut peers in through southward mists.
This is the hour when moonstruck poets know
What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents
And tints of flowers fill Nithon's continents,
Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.
Yet for each dream these winds to us convey,
A dozen more of ours they sweep away.

Venezia

i suppose when one is trying to procrastinate on paper-writing
and is lacking romance in their life
the best thing to do is rummage through photos
and relive the world's most romantic city

some of these will eventually become parts of series, which I will post later on
but for now, here are some of the favorites I took