Dead Poets

Dead Poets



You say you're bored,
well let me lick the fingertips

of the hand
flipping the pages of life-

to ensure there is nothing missed
pages not skipped.

For see-
Souls play hide and seek in the pages with corners left unlicked.

i am bound with hope-
in a country less a border

less a land, a petty government or gravity held atmosphere.

They all idle
in continuance of storylines,

one limit per body-
take a number,

a bridge to wear upon your back,
barcoded muse-

teacher,
hooker of thought creation;

The big bang that started it all
between forefinger and thumb.

screaming child
ink splatter of first word
from new pen.

On a shelf you wait
to be fingered by an unknowing new poet

a hundred years that precede you-
you hope for this,

an immortality of sorts-
Our books-

vined with passionate green like sticky new leaf bud-
careful collection of cryptic content

full of half truths
of yester

written for tomorrows';

Still creating more wholesome truth than out there in the so called real world-
poetry documented history best

some think-

documented how the history felt
about it,

and percieved it's era's.

hanging faces of flowers;
hung in noose by the hands of time.

The hands and legs,
and skulls,
and lips-
and spines and hips

that construct darkness and light- good and bad-
peace and ignorance

this shelled caravan of man;
all look essentially the same as one another once skinned and honed of flesh,

but by then it's too late for
taksey backsey's, isn't it?

Wisdoms' parting rubbish-

long belt snapped of timeline.

Nothingness is always-
unsure of worldly intent;

firm between the bridges
interwined thinking minds mingle and traverse

ink
and tree

sexed in a society too quick to see-
Sheafed supersession.

They're
too quick to be foolish

too quick to know better
too smart and to all knowing to need anymore knowledge-

Books are burnt moth wings
now,

with these dead intentions of ours
that are forging through the forgotton.

flipped past- pages with gilded edges
enticing no one.

They are too quick;
to slow

too high to walk on sky;
with the electric minds in dreams from yester-eve

too vast to tread man made time
with eyes looking rolled backward into mirror mind,

too in love with falsity
to part seas with the inner voices' pure kiss.

And too foolish to extinguish the white flames
of flowering

power, fear, vanity and greed-
diseased blooms

illness
engulfing these pages

damaged- burned to ash;
renanimated

and re-written,
poets will always be

alive.

Eternal Autumn Within, "What it means to me"

I fall in love with the spark of a write- cast off the pen of thought, of the moment, I live in it, a sort of death or letting go must occur for me to move on to the next piece~ CVA

9 Billion Scales Out of Whack

In response of reading "Infection" By Joseph Jengehino


9 Billion Scales Out of Whack



You and I are the same,
we rot at about the same rate,

fruit of another tree,
from another country-

air more or less salty
preserves one longer than the other maybe?

Brilliant discourse can cure ailment
mind over matter and all that,

can create worlds beyond bordered countries
bridges between genders

break language and cultural barriers alike-
because we are, the equality;

9 billion some odd scales out of whack,
that is all,

that the few wise ones
try to help balance.

sunshine in place of moonshine-
rainwater in place of drought.

I tell myself, to not let the world in too much-
to not give alot, only take a little

to keep the tent doors mostly shut
so as to keep the saharan sandstorm
from flurrying in,

from blinding me,
drowning me in tiny rocks~

Earth filling lungs
early grave that summons me

to wake up,
be reborn

and walk to you,
and others like you

for the answers.

The Apple Eye

The Apple Eye

The fall of autumn end-
Left the skeleton of a last burnt orange leaf-

Laid stunned atop loam;
Cold and hard
Like rigor mortis-

Bound-
Veins;

now hardened
Fossils-

Cremation ash grey
Winter earth now tired-

Loved true
Then forsaken.

Transparent ice shelves
clung to tree trunks

Like the rings
encircling Saturn;

Promisary,
Wedding bands.

The apple trees of wild orchards
in the dark frosty onyx night;

seem farther from society
than they really are,

they're
Lined in rows-

They're
Still fragrant

with their stars
unparished.

That he,
And she-

These-
Young lovers crept wild; with apple eyes

slunking under short canopy
With gemmed chests-

Their Fragile fisted ribcages,
loosened to crested palms opening

Entrusting their dyer short lived
flesh fates-

To the fast purpling modern cityscape;
Smoggy kiss over elder orchard boughs

Iron, steel, and concrete clad.
This dichotomy-

of thought
of feel

of actions made-
of place and space,

a realism,
a daze.

Flowering apples of iris greening-
lovers' dreaming

of a futile future
though ever

hopeful

in wait~

It was written

It was written


Because with us,
we have fire,

eternally licked by air-
there will be time enough

I promise you-

In the face of metallic storms unknown ahead-
lest we forget to drop our sail,

we shall remain on this magnetic path of ours-
not tipped under salt to drown, a thirsting death-

no poetic irony etched regrets-
no paper blurr of inked thoughts lost under water-

We have calligraphy, like diamond-
see,

can't you see what we have?
Universal kiss to the forehead of thought-

Don't ever lose sight of our soul grail.
We have verses that curve off into a nowhere
so grande;

Countries will bow to your pen one day, I'm sure-
maybe long after you're gone?

skies will weep acidic for your words
though you may not notice while you're here,

the rose's blushing while you walk past-

I will always slow enough to watch-
our kingdom grow-

our
impromptu minds

travelling an itinerary
thorned and cold; leading up to infinity clouds-

through the nebulous
cosmos

because we dared to write in fear filled emptiness-
in light too bright, and darkness absolute,
it was written.

Rosettes

Rosettes

I read a book yester-
transfixed

in my cold hard mull,

Sick lungs filling-

my frosted eyelashes, Now, double vision-
see what cannot be seen by common eyes

under microscope
There is
a
world,

a winter wonderland
complexand perlexing.

So small-
I wanted to know more.

Understand even a little,
of this deft transparent fragility.
Snow
ice crystals
so many forms

artistic genius of the cloud o'erhead
I can't begin to fathom-

hexagonical prisms,
light trapping, glinting- tinging like music-

pinging off their walls
as they twinkle through wind song

to silenced mounds.

stellar dendrites-
falling stars~

kiss of ivory angel lips,
as they hit your cheek-

Needles of ice-
I could shoot up your beauty with,

trade red blood for blue

cold life felt.

Bullet Rosette
reigning gun fire

from white and blue
sub degrees

ice like faceted diamond-
carved by none

into this unperceivable perfection.

Even the so called irregular crystals
are magestic-

are
fine abstract.

I photographed frost,
trapped on window pane,

a convict.

it was gold lit from firing pillar candles behind-
slow sexed silhouettes, nocturnal-

the seed planted in me
that started it all.

I dream here,
not of sunshine after rainfall,

not of the ensuing spectrum-
but

of
Ice Halo's

frozen vapours
encircling
sky

port holes
knife cut
circles

cutting the fruit of mind

to the expanse of the universal-

reverse osmosis
froze
mid
air.

cut whole.

Gone Again

Gone Again

You never came,
again.

that is all then?

Mountain views
deaf sight
muted discord
absent silence
followed by
another hundred
more silences
this punishment
more alone
now
than ever before-
mud on my face
backward strut
powder-blue moon-dance.
blank lyrics
dyslexic chorus
caustic
lackluster
affect,
unstitched soul,
water leaking out
green spray
hysteria
needs mediation-
I do
excuse filled horizon
hoped for endless sky-
Eyes shut
while awake
I wanted to see only
how it should be
beyond blue yonder,
happily ever after
in concrete towered prose-
please excuse me,
and this
puppet show of hearts
strings of fear
that won't
be cut
I forgot
to forget you-

why?.

Last Iliad; Last Rant

Last Iliad; Last Rant

If you're there?
Disregard my rant,

If you're not;
Allow me release,

for you aren't here to cushion your ears anyways-

{{plugging canal while tonguing a childish ode such as lalalalalallala~
I believe you must know the one-you have sisters, and must have driven on roadtrips as a child right?}}

so,
seeing as I am here, alone,

yet again,
allow me rant.

You've left me again,
yes- all, (please hold your applaus, your boo's too)

that final left after the last right;
Was taken.

That same old sad story of one bereft left behind
while the other has gone-

rides off into warm banana yellow sunshine-
on donkeys, camels, or is it horses back? Or no-
he flew away on a jet plane, that was it!

While I'm left walking the arching rusted lines of traintracks,
sitting in 24 hr. laundromats-

watching time stand still, jump back, skip forward, hopscotch
of universal feat,

rainbow numbers & chalk-lines.

Watching clean wet clothes of an unknown life
(mine washed gone)

tumble dry all night long,
in a vortex of hot and cold

when once they're dry- a stranger folds them for me-
stacked neat,

for two dollars more. I tip her ten.
I wear the clothes that shrunk two sizes small vertically,
and stretched two sizes too big horizontally-

This scent is not me,
tide is no life- not real,

just artificially created to make us feel fresh and soft and clean,
and civilized,

but are we really, or is that just the tide?

Dream vision, I fall asleep on lumpy broken held together with duct tape chair-
white walled bones-

inside the whale that ate me whole.
cold shuffle of rubbery flesh-

that tastes my sour bitter sweet life-
what a meal of contradictory flavour I am.

How tackily-
over -done.

I am filleted,
in straight lines,
against my grain;

To keep me intact,
Held together,
long enough to devour.

My dreams are the grissle,
that the life of the one thing bigger than I-
ate and spat out.

I ate the peach,
once I was free,
(after this death)

and it did not taste so sweet,
after being eaten by the whale in me,

it's golden nectar, it's fuzzy globe-

was the one thing I craved while imprisoned on that chair,
now is half rot-

waited too long-
in clothes too big-
too small,

on a rusty train track to nowhere,
that started here,
and ended there,
where- the midpoint was-
nowhere.

I am the one thing bigger than me,
that I ate up and spat out,

I know now.

You are the one thing real, that I forgot to forget.
That cannot be found,

as I am bound,
wound round and round

(dead end road- with sarcastic road signs like cemetary lane -dead end written in yellow)

claim of infinity by pen and by pad my childlike cape made of pajama pants,
by friends that I thought I had,

a cold shoulder society that shames me,
a false marriage that blames me,

and a love that bled me red;

And may very well have left me now,
for dead-

like a summer rose afflicted by the fall,
but I may be,

soon returning-
ressurected, alone in the snow.

So now you know-
you now,
can just go on,
and go-

for see
I'll soon forget...

That's a lie,
a bluff-

no I won't.

But see
you-

will soon have forgot-
Eyes closed tight,

I will be the snow
muting surround you-

a de ja vou,
a semblance of a strange golden world-

make believe, pastel, oil paint, charcoal, crayon
and spray-

over this canvas,
sky high

that was once ours-

now white washed cracked
cold.

Cuss you

Cuss you


Rather~
Fuck you

{let's not be polite}

And this punishing silence
you bequeath to me,

full bouquets of silent faces
looking up
looking down,

so beautiful they are
with their hues,

pomegranate red-
gooseberry yellow, squid ink violet-
blue,

petals I want to pinch
to see if they're alive, really that vibrant-
and of course I do- only to kill them with my touch, they transpire.

Why are things always so comparable, why are we so astute?!!
Why play these games of ours?

How dare you look at me that way-with those eyes,
those eyes of yours

like spun worlds orbitting what?
Who knows?

those untelling eyes,
that frighten me so-

with temples of colour
gaseous array of heat of cold of
poison

of life absolute.
Of love like no other-

How dare you see through me,
and my senseless-

full sensed
plight

this pointless
poignant life,

that seems to be over just as soon as it starts-
we're on a death valley
itinerary

freefalling from birth canal
to grave

grasping at roots as we fall there-
hole takes us all-

fed to roots,
that make pith, and
bloom.

but who will remember-
I cussed you one last time!

Let it be known!

This
that
which we are
we were
when we expire

to wherever we go-
I whole heartedly fire!!!

full heartedly fallen
like cussed out angels
under poetic guise-

stripped of all hopes for normalcy-

with dirt in our mouths;

And philosophy and star stuff in our bones.

40 Stories

40 Stories

It doesn’t matter anymore,
all that other bullshit;
Look down there from the 40th floor

gridlines, gridded paper, squared off
little ink blots-

The frantic ants below, all aglow-
Red and white just beads of light
Imitating life.

Lined in deadlocked rows,
Rush hour, hands to the sky-
Hailing

Fate, a god?
A cab?

All of the above?

Who knows why?
No cabby stops, they pass you by in judgment, careful selection-
Who makes it home?

Life consists of selection process one after another, right down to the beginning- fertilization-
egg and the sperm, who wins, the select one plus one.

Only the lucky will know, the one with safe looking eyes, and nice granola clothes and the one with skin tone just so-

The others walk head high- through the rain to the subway train,
knowing why-

Chance it, with strangers, sardonically feigned.


Yellow and black taxi cabs like citrine gems- the royalty on these roads!

Or like those coloured plastic beads from childhood your sisters used to string, made you wear, friendship bracelets- with yellow and black strung out-

A small bold circle, just like you.

The sky scraper with office of four glass walls-
That’s your other home, glass like blue iceberg from the arctic-
You lied

You said you couldn’t fly-
Walk on air-

But there you are
just look at you now-
Way the fuck up there

40 stories high!

40 stories?
Who came up with stories as a means to describe height anyways?

I suppose it seems fitting, if you give it much thought,
How many stories do you think there are in a square meter of people stacked up-
One cubicle of life, more, one floor?



How many pages could they fill?
Bound- pound for pound,
ounce for ounce,

ink, blood and water-

you're king of the world way the fuck up there!
40 stories, squared off is what?
Math was never my niche,

nevermind, you already know- you're a god (calculator at hand)

you could start a kingdom, ruler of worlds
of glass and of concrete

I could make you a crown,
of gridded paper-

paper clips for jewels,
as you walk on air,


fly

Sprain

Sprain


Exoskeleton of silver frost
pigment of longing

metallic ornament
of paramour

lashes now iced branches
forking light-

liplined blue blood shoreline- where his boat docks, comes and goes-

he skims

round her warm dusty rose
mouth

parted slight-
her wide fruit mouth,

hopefilled utterance-

Black cherry-

his aftertaste acrid on her tongue;
Long after he's gone.

She turns to words of others to be taught patience,
to cure her unfilled-vacancy when left-
to her own devices, as they say.

Motel light flashing, cheap, winking, men chase after her- with no worth,
she closes her eyes tight, pretends she's some other place.

Swears by existentialism, and all the rest-
most everything holds a truth when glanced at right-

discovers common ground laced in other perspectives-
Loves to live in another's eyes- craves flight-though, may never get there.

In his eyes
clairyoance is unbreakable
impossibly strong like diamond.

Human mind like sky
broken
set
fallen
risen
always cycling, a perfect circle-

Mind's colour palet changes from day to day-
never painted the same twice-

There is no possible duplicity in mind-
we're more original than we think,
more lucky

than imaginable.

She's always falling, learning, pulling splinters from her knees
bleeds to earth, feels the pain-

of touching soft skin hard-
to frozen winter loam,

is grateful, reminds her she is- yes, indeed alive still-
green moss- to cushion afterward.

She never cries for fear, for hatred or for heart-
she,

rejoices instead.

Surround her here-
Blunt colour against the niveous spraining-
straining
in that wood,

Red holly berries.
Wreath of the woods-

crowns of the pure hearted children that play there-

Canopies of woven bramble cover-
like tunnel
to another place

The only thing creeping in
are her poinsetta petals, (or are they) leaves like brick-

tasting the sprain
of dream.

Cupid

Cupid

Please wait for me,
I am on the run in a paralell-

this day,
give me an hour or two to return-
please don't leave me,

not naught again,
please let live-
not wither.

everything carries me to you-
I am impalpable ash caught in a cloud,

I am specs of ash reflecting light from your sun-
in envy of life in it's purest state;

I'll take what I can get of you,
but will always hope for more.

Oh, how I yearn for a reacha touch
of calligraphy always from those Italian hands of yours

arched fingers like bow and arrow
from cupid,

that strikes with the force of shifting earth
to my soul

my heart.

Plum Tree

Plum Tree


My life
Demeaned by others’ worldly materialism, (leaking into my mind-)
By unkept currency-

Though, I’m not so sure that my shortfalls are
A mistake

Like I am certain that lives lead solely in pursuit of that life
Are-

Please stop telling me what you have; what I don’t.
Your wealth is not the same as mine, let’s not compare
Full pockets to empty pockets

Mine are empty for they leave more room for cold hands to warm, while getting lost on frosted forest trails-
more room for pen and for pad.
Some see more worth in
Blossoming tree full of petals and foliage; to autumn tree skeletons’
You are not so wise as to claim the worth of either tree, nor the purpose or beauty of either tree; they are of equal worth with separate circumstance.

I know I am homeless, now without a heart-
Sitting below a plum tree devouring plum hearts in wake of mine gone, though through consumption there is no replacing such a loss,

I can eat and eat and eat the hearts off tree boughs, seed swallowed whole hoping for new roots to grow from me, into a new life-

Similar in look and delicate feel, but no amount of nourishing sustenance will suffice a void like this left by him.

I know to you
I may seem homeless now
With no roof to fly to

But I can’t buy another and claim it falsely for my own home,
I can’t barter soul for equity.

Vetivert

Vetivert



Needs him near,
to stave off these thoughts of naught-

these thoughts of all
entirety.

Surround us
are lovely

bloodfilled hearts,
sonnets-

full with ardour-
gift wrapped

under long black trench coats,
platinum cuff links,

brass buttons
and linked pearls and gold-

are the satin ribbons
and bows

unwrapped,
bare pear flesh devoured

in warm fired room
beside

feathered frosty
windowpane.

Men with coal hearts
look into the windows
of jewellers,

displays of bound-
garnets, amethyst,

rubies, canary,
emerald-

secretly
pine for their hues.

Rumination of many minds'
weighing heavily in these leafless trees.

Simple minded prayers, thoughts, well wishes,
ill wishes, stresses, grief, worries, cynicisms,
so on and so on-

colour gamut of our world.

~feel the sand hit my lobe
when I lift the peachy sea shell to ear-

the longing to be taken away,
to hear oceans hissing from across the globe- call to me,

funneled now-
into canal~

to mind,
subconcious,

imagination,
perceived reality;

reminding me of this metonymy
of ecstatic life-

I drink water from the cup of blood,
of mud, from being, from earth;

to become, blood, mud, earth
and water.

I implore to be taken away-
a mythical hitchhiker on the backs of blue whales

then,
a tidal being-
a sea thing,

swept into the sticky spring green weeds-
a vetivert root

tossed over the capacious sea
from tofino's surf

to Japan, Alaska, Russia,
washed ashore-

drowned-alive
a still-born
taking first breath

in the after world.

Fairytale love, I wish for-
some foreign ice prince,

ever so-
unlikely preserved;

my countenance blank-
washed,

my roots of vanilla and amber-
acrid-

over abyss, salt. ice,
and slow-

death.

Paper Bag Princess

Paper Bag Princess



Smog filled imagination;
Oil slick lips-

She thought she was alone.

Charcoal eyes,
Others spume their sociological judgment.

Polluted tongue-
Tasting pure words from past eras; how unworthy of her.

She poured rainbows’ of calligraphy onto him, the only one that sees her-
A parallel from another place, she may never meet.

That she left behind for sum days and hours-
while she sorted herself, straightened out her insanity into neat tidy
boxes, safely stoed them away with monochromatic labels-

A hope filled paper bag princess she is, though.

Flowers in her hair,

Stolen from pithy stems, near a gutter where it grew
Orange.

Her porcelain lounge legs
Salty- sultry- scathed

By men
She regrets.

But can't escape from-
that prision she made in her mind, is now a foundation of her eventual domise-

Men who made babies with her,
grew light and blood and life from her-

That loved her on their own terms.
Not caring if she did love them too-

The babe is all she has of this paralell world.
One truth against whole oceans of lies.

Living room forts of blankets and cushions,
where they tell stories of fairytales, happily ever after’s-

Where they hide.

Flashlight torch lights their journey; through a world made up.

She sings in the acid rain,
Umbrella transparent

To let in the gray paint her face-

Poems written in the corner
Alleyway’s riddled with filth and urban graffiti

Murmur of stardust over garbage
Most unlikely of places-

Recycled thoughts, cardboard, aluminum, plastic,
we are less original than we all think-

She says-

Right down to our genes
We’re more related- relatable than you all perceive-

Skin blood bone light and
electricity-

Flood Waters

Flood Waters




Went to hike down the trails by the train track-
Flooded out by the lake, by the creek-

My now leech tongue- drained of blood,

For I’m
Boatless,

Nowhere natural to go, to write, without a boat,
We are drifting down currents of uncertainty.


The water was onyx black, reflecting the autumn skeletons, branches sunken
Like the teeth of the dead half buried in loam,

Marbled cobalt-ivory sky above,

And the sun was finally out-
Blaring lemon against the tarry blackness;

Of flood waters
Unreceded,

Black and yellow,
The new Black and white.

I found this zesty, yet strange-
Put me into a daze-

Then I came to this place, to warm my hands-
Warmth to softly bandage,

My cut hands that tainted these blackened clairvoyant
New waters-

Poisoned now by traces of my O negative perfume.

Lucid I sat there, read your words, un natural setting unwelcoming,
Went back to the flood,

Waded into the trails,
With uncertainty below in the under tow that fills my boots now-

With onyx below and yellow above-

was stunned to read your words
that mirrored thoughts unfolding in my mind like photographs
just then.

A Town Called Catatonia

A Town Called Catatonia



Just give it something-
To keep this slanted calligraphy gleaning- always-over~
Angelically- above-


False leather eyelashes and crystal silicone valleys-
Beyond yonder,
& beauty queens;


We’re born in the era of hansoms’
And gaslight.

Turntable- tracks skip our favourite lines,
Play the ones we care less about.


This collective jade soul, over-
Enameled hearts; and
Delineated eyes leave yours and I’s

Minds’ sore,

Spinning fast marigoround-
Is this procession.

Dead-end roads-
You and I have found ourselves on previously, too many times in false pursuit of a foreign feel of being felt-

Now stark epiphany.

Sky scraped eyes,

Concrete tongue, cracked from continuity of lashes- by
Laws and letdowns; supposed realities, commitments,

And obliged networks we’ve made that bind us with rusted links-
maybe even unto our graves.


Souls that secretly glisten- gilded, unfeigned

Against scarlet smokescreens-
Despite their efforts, lies hold truths.
Yes, yes they do-

But truths never bear lies,
only perceptions-

So-
Give me nothing,
But hope filled fictions (I’ll take what you can spare)

Molted gold feather-
From your wing, dipped in ink-
Writes our story of nothing-everything; known- unknown-


That keeps me dazzled-
Eyes open when closed

Please don’t slap me down dear world;
Please keep my flighted soul asoar-

For-

I’m catatonically glacial- when only here, not there- lost in translation; when between worlds,

Iced over and numb

I could scream
If my frozen voice would allow me release-

Dove under the glasson ice skin over neon novocain lake-
In a town called Catatonia population, nihil.

Unable to break through, when I needed effervescent blue-

Sunk like stone unknown, slate cloud shrouded human being,
Supersession of one life-

When you’re gone, simply just not around.

Lung filled world,
World filled lungs-

Drown me in a love so grand, hysteria maddening ensues-
My own soul can’t even fathom this universal source.

These fractures of thought, splinter my hands;
Can’t contain fluidity of flow this violet eve,

When you’re all that I breathe, and all that my senses perceive,
Sun, world, moon,

The five and the eight,

The universe of heart reaches to the universe of soul-

Kisses lips imperfectly aligned
Created the big bang-

Flowered into this you
N into this-
I.

UnI in Universe

UnI


What is a soulmate?-

This is the one only real
question

that is facetted eternally
with infinite endless answers.

Like a mother and child, the child asks and asks, and the mother
never denies truth.

what if,
you were faced with
light too bright

darkness like abyss
on a raft

in a sea with endless horizon
whichever way you looked to-

in a fiord encompassing-
green depth that never ended-

in a city that towered higher than possible-
to the heavens,

to imagination pure.

in a house with too many mirrors, and no windows- what would you see?

in a world that's long forgotton,
these ancient ways-

what if you were presented with your soul,
and your others'

stripped down to essence
light infront of you,

and her.

Standing in a burned house; The morning after

Standing in a burned house;
the morning after



This place,
Now char

Burnt house,
Bright Ornaments of Christmas

just put up days ago
Bright against the char-

now

Epistilbite,

Gold and silver
trimmed wall mirrors

Cracked china tea cups

Collage of beautiful rubble artwork-
Photographs bubbled and melted-

Float in the flood after the fire
The water-

muddy green,
still clear though-

With ash like pumice,
colour-

Grey skies

Standing there,
transient

Not a dream
Not real,

but something else,
this morning after-

Standing-
At the burnt house.

I ate the lemon

I ate the lemon

I ate the lemon
of your eye

Stole the glimmering zest;

I'll take the blame,
for my tart craving

my sour oblivion
that sliced you-

with this steel knife of mine,

I took the seed
of yellow

from the pulpy flesh
'tween my teeth

and planted it-
now rooted

in my core-

I'm a yellow lemon thief~

Wild Blue Yonder

Wild Blue Yonder

The seasons’ rouge vicissitude
mimics us-

We are everything
And naught;

In the face of false realities
that dis-illusion us,

From the only one true realism
we both have.

We’re Simultaneously-
Neither-
Here
Nor-
There-

Shifting paradox of flesh-
Of mind;

Shifting flame of green;
Now blunt white;

Flowers of fireworks twinkle-
Susurrus of mind to soul-

Only discourse of aphorisms that flowers’ truly unflawed-
This simple plain of objective beauty that folds us neatly in the pockets,
Of others-

Is a quagmire of ornery discord-
That you,
And I,

Stand fractured,
Reflective against-

This modern day

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Love's Procession

Love’s Procession

They make love in cobblestone alleyways

of foreign roads,

Travel unknown lands-
Cavalcade of forbidden love-

Waited a lifetime

f

or this.

Soft clam sands of Portugal-

Crested over the Charles Bridge arching over the pristine jade

Vitava River,

Watch the old town’s astronomical clock
Strike 3 Am,

Under constellations’

like crystals.

The Serengeti grasses

goldenrod yellow-

Up to her thighs-
He chases,

Steals a kiss-

without her allowance;

this small crime, committed-

Under the smoldering paprika sun of South Africa.

Lust like glimmering sparklers on New Years Eve,

held over flutes of bubbly champagne-

In bistro bathrooms after ordering lattes,

they blurr like steam-

They get lost for hours

in the tall stacks of books, labyrinths of tall shelves
Dusty bookstores-

They lose their sanity in.

Only to find it again-

On the vineyard hills under red grape moons~

They-

Write under fruit trees,

Clementine-

Persimmons,
Tangerines,

Passion fruit

Kiwi vines

Lemon trees-

Split their minds open,

halved like wild fruits'with pocket knife-

ready to be eaten;

Confusions' acrid pungence-

perfumes the air

She rests herself between his arms on small skinny boats

through Venice’s canal's of

soft sap green-

Falls asleep on his collarbone

for a moment.

He puzzles over her expressions,

tries to read where she went to-

read if she's faithful?

They dance in the streets under the flickering yolky street lamps
of foreign places,

live music sung in other tongues

carrying them down the streets,

as they laugh and dance

after they've had a few too many drinks~

She

Watches him sleep for hours.

Kisses his eyes-
Afterwards,

In an act of pink lipped catharsis

wondering where his mind goes-
When his eyes are faithfully shut

What a cacophony of noise that stirs
in minds muddied with loving clouds of austerity-

jealousy is the symptom of true love watched-

of true love touched-

this bittersweet balance of absolute delicacy,
Housed in this caravan of souls.

Blue Gold & Pink

Blue Gold & Pink

Does anyone believe in love anymore?
Love bleeds a rare blood,

shared.

That is supposed to be
There to watch us parish.

This is such a strange day-
A dove death,

white as ivory,
a shoebox funeral by the apple tree.

This day,
Filled with questions, upon questions that contradict one another-

these questions unanswered have left holes-
In me.

For these are the questions that remain always answerless,
with infinite alternate endings.

This day reaching round bends with blind-spots
that I'll never know were there all along-

glistening polka dots
Blue gold pink

Simple circles paint my mind,

sharp curved edges blunt my peripheral-
of unknown feelings felt,

These stark white walls I’ve been pinned against-
the clinical sterile smell.

I’m so close to loss, a loss absolute,

there’s a metallic taste on my lips,
That doesn't belong to me.

I can’t descry-
Painted blue gold pink

On the canvas of this day-
Curved confusion,

Ambulance lights red and blue,

Sirens blare hysteria-
A stranger,

A woman dies alone,
an aisle spill-

She was alone,
Though I was there,

Peeking around the bend,

a confused child with circles of pink blue and gold in my eyes-
As I got a little closer,

Crouched down,

put my face on the ground parallel.
To keep her comfort,

loveless this woman lied dead,
for he was not there to watch her die,

no one she knew to watch her die,
There was only I,

whispering an ode to soothe-

I looked into her eyes,
Dead

Mine alive.

I watched the light leave,
simply go away.

I couldn’t help but ponder,
Where did her light go?

All her love, where?

This answerless
answer;

Like dove death.

One Verse

One Verse

This evening
of unity

one versed
song,

sung
a sapphic ode-
a continuum

a myriad
of

collectives
of the five

created the

eight.

Burning Yellow

Burning Yellow

You say these words-
like there's ink on your mouth.

I can see the burnt yellow paint drip from your lips-
dead duck chicks-

feathers flurry round-
like a soul fallen down,

cobalt blue draining tears-
tragic spectrum fans it's array~

pearl coloured bulbs crack in the permasoil-
of glasson frost fingers-

winters children,

christmas lights soften the hardened taut cheeks
of our lustful lovers~

And my red,
like petals off a lenten-

my lips over bitten out of nervousness
in anticipation of the unknown ink that you pour over me,

that paint a hill vibrant-

A soul more true than ever thought possible.
And I,

am here,

burning dead blossoms'

Violets, peonies, lavender-
pink fairy slippers

crisping them away-

as your colours submerge into my acrid haze.

Salivated potpourri fills-
like a brumey magestic smog

of warm breath

breathed from cold lips-

Rings

Rings

I feel I've been-
over and over again,

reborn.
Like a tree,

My life consists of rings,
One per year,

That grows tough and briny,
Then sheaf's off-

like the pages of a journal-
coats are shed,
reborn

each page

Renewed into this,
this you-

a new blank unknown
ready to be filled with poetic life

A most beautiful-

Calligraphy unjarred.

Through Neon

Through Neon


Through the neon
of blaring white screens,

all I can imagine,
are your hands,

your eyes,
then I melt.

Am drawn back with the need
to know more-

to try to get a better view
of purity,

that mirrors my own.
Oh,

how I would adore to live in the
iris of your eye-

for one moment-
to see how you see,

beauty surround
you.

Blood Lust; Soul Love

Blood Lust, Soul Love



When you only leave for even mere minutes,
the sands of our hourglass-

chafe my soul

like sandpaper,

granule not granule, but Sahara-
I miss you terribly-

this ridiculous necessity
I find in you-

This unyielding affinity
this insanity laced genius

laced sanity-

this maddeningly blinding light-
of soul torch

that is so bright over my eyes,
all is a negative-

over exposed to me now.

This rhythmic panic of blood love
so loud

I can hear my heart
over song~

Key Holder

Key Holder

In this place shams holds the keys
to the palace

of infinite love in friendship;
Of infinite angst and laughter-

of known and unfounded glory
and of endless freefalls'.

even after the muse that holds the torch has left
to another world anew,

unexplored

this infinity shall remain grown ancient
into this land

an unyielding
dilapidation

of timber and stone.

Into our Hideout

Into Our Hideout

Sometimes I wonder?
Do the others that bleed our hearts red-

or lust your heart orange-

can they see a small window into our world
do you think?

Are they catching on,
can they sense a difference

emerging like a wave ebbing high,
or a small autumn whisper through the oaks'

Can they see into our irises a door half shut-
with only a peek......

A most curious slit-
of a world

unknown to them-
this world that is ours,

do they hear our whispers of ink-
of green,

of white blaring screens?
Our silent sound sounding an alarming

nothing-

Masquerade

Masquerade


Destitute,
this tundran mouth-

So unforgiving,
this sort of death following death

calling for you

through the jagged ever honing plains of voice and throat-
I will die for you; you will die for me, a thousand times-
Now, come and find me.

Of bleak
yellow, brown, black and grey;

these tundran confines; converge into the heart-
Meets the sultry smudges and controlled paint strokes

of sequins, royal velvet and lace shades-
unfathomable-

now,
Imagined-

Italian hand made masks-
Dreamt-

This masquerade-

Of billions.

Hearts thumping,
classical piano playing in the backdrop,

a lovely serenade-
to this tundran abode,

This hunting for death being followed by life,

in search of the woman behind the mask-
Hers,

Dusty rose, scarlet red lips,
silver bells…

Escaping clocks,
broken heel-

Fairytale cliché after cliché after cliché-
Met.

Chasing silhouettes down-

Stairs
And
Delicate
Stoned
Archways.

Dead end,
wall barrier of confrontation of sorts,

Where they-
Slow danced.

Demasked-

Deletion Renamed

Deletion Renamed

And the door shut abruptly-
A light most curious was tamed.

This eve of purple rain,
This eve of red ribboned lips;

and
cream lace covering foreign panes~

no more childish fingertips-
penning his name on this fog surfaced clarity-

Billy Holiday
singing in the background-

Is simple deletion of lovers that never met-
played out too long in this song-

sung like spread dove wings,
this song must be renamed,

in the face of fear absolute,
embraced;

and flung like holiday glitter to the fogs,
from crested peach palms freed arched like wings-

To be carried out to roofs afar where soul friends
can meet.

Kiss Me

Kiss me

I wanted to sit here,
And write beautiful poetry-

Free of worldly distraction~
But my mind is buzzing with song-

Some tempest, l
ovely chord

With blood notes.

And all I can conjure deep within my rings,
and out to my more shallow depths of bark-

Is that I want to kiss you.
Oh, how I want to kiss you,

In this fiord of fragility-
trees of blown glass quaking in winds

whorling down from funnel clouds’

That shattering sound
surround

That fragile telling lip-line,
your jaw-line like a bare bough reaching up-
to mind~

I tilt my head,
the slanting of want,

Wanting to be eviscerated
Consumed,

turned into an impressionist
blurr....

Fragility

Fragility

fragility
this sand of gold

so easily blows
through the winds of want

and is spread
like autumn

through the sea's of need
to fertilize the loam of creativity

to nourish the stems
of soul

that landed on this fateful stoop-
a rose

Rust

Rust

Flash of embers
from the sky

rust my mind
'tween

eye to eye-
Simple grievance-

this fast fire
green flames

cobalt blue

molten metal
absconds

the metallic plight
of paramour.

The evolution of fear

The Evolution of Fear


Failure
Epic failure-

The type of which you must claw your way from sunken stone in mud-
To reach the higher ground

where natural opalesque
light

Is visible, yet again.
More beautiful than previously seen.

That is how we know we’ve lived a life at all~
For those who live too carefully-

that they haven’t failed epically~
Have never lived at all,

And to those who have never loved epically, selflessly-
Painfully,

And to those who live superficially, esthetically, materially~
Have never lived at all.

Won’t you go?
No, won’t you just stay?
What are you doing, why?
I must leave..
Maybe I’ll stay and sit awhile?

Question’s we ask out of fear,
we are primal animals-

Capable of remembering now
The source of our discontentment, although

fear is supposed to leave after it is confronted,
And that is our evolution of fear, or rather de-evolution of fear.

We as a society cannot let go
That’s why we have wars’, hate crimes’, divorces’, poverty, religion, etc etc etc.

The benefits of failure;
Are seen as you are, standing there at the threshold of life~

( Jumping headfirst in,
Not feet first- if you are infact alive)

This social slope where fear has always ruled,
as a determinant of existence,

As a parenthesis of the base of creation of ancient religion-
and of all that we’ve ever know~

And of what we weigh our value against in this plain, popularity, the source is fear-
I find it is often paradoxical of the equitoxic.

Though I would like to make it clear in parenthesis-
That I do not blame the world for its point of view.

For seeing our dizzying flaws-

As diamonds in the buff-

If we could only we as a species be so subjective, so broad-
To see this universal view too.

-See that indulging fear is only a slow death
from birth (if we allow it).

And in death

our greatest fears we always
felt-

Aren’t met anyways~

New Found Order

New Found Order


Could this just be a dream
Of shattered ornament-

This beautiful thing-
That you are,

Once- oppressive mind
Escaping confines~

To view the terrain of new-found glory.
Of enlightened living.

You 're a poet-
Poet-laureate

Worthy of the praise of a thousand sunsets- and sun
Rises,

This subjugated plain, has come to meet-

The you that I have come to find,
In this ecstatic living,

We all meet, and shake hands, kiss the sands’ of soul;
the stones of heart and so on and so on.

Among these broken ornaments.
We sit, you and I-

Impeccably flawed-

painfully- in bliss

Gluing beauty.

Volcano

Volcano


Taffy red,
Hot molten candy-

Like gum chewed,
overchurned-

you snake through the cavities.

Idle below,
then rise above like orgasm

Inside out of others swallowed whole,
Trees, town and foil

Mineral makers, ancient life creators’,
Wombs of mother earth.

Slow but sure you creep-
To those doors,

Then lick the steps, the walls and albums,
Clear off their slanted stoop~

When you come,
We feel your pain; yes we feel your pain-

This gift of feeling felt.
We learn.

We remember-
What was forgotten.

What we've never known, never thought,
we watch

it blossom into new knowledge-

I want you now
I hate you more,

You will never know how much I envy you~
How much I adore-

Your power of presence,
In taffy

candy

Pools of ruby

No soul
can

ignore.

Over and Over again

Over and Over again.


Your words air,
like lightened fear,

like the eyes of the gazelle
being hunted

by the lion of me.

Fear is a complication,
of a term served on this earth~

After shying from anguish, a product sold,
after being scorched by the evil devoids'.

Fear is simply learnt-
from the hand of the feeder,

that hits us low-
we are taught.

But this was the choice.

Dear shams,

I may be a lion,
but so are you,

yes,
so are you-

we are a pride ,
we are intuitives you and I-

you and I can consume one another,
over and over again,

sip soul light, eat fear, drink laughter,
and steam tears over rice.

trade spaces for days-

Lion and gazelle are the same,
we're only mere shape shifters'

from mirroring galaxies away~

you may try to slake me away with you words of great fear-
that do mine too- overlay?-

But your words of fear-
are hallowed,

for they are shallowed in the waters that my feet tempt to bay~
Dear "shams",

I give you me,
the gazelle,

you

the lion.

This day.

Methuselah

Methuselah

My eyes are wide open,
yes

I said that they were wide shut,
these ivory airs are opening-

to accommodate this acrid poetic musk-
that feels around like blindness-

Only to slam me to the floor of gravity.
petrichor of words

that we eagerly implore-
with gaping mouths of orchid,

through milky brume,
comes virgin fingertips to line in rows upon a board,
keys fumble to the floor-

perfumed paper dream;
guised as screens-

tempestuous chords,
so fetching!

like nervous lovers fumble to front doors.
I am here,

I want to run,
I want you to come,
No,
maybe I should go?

Or stay and endeavor-

into the heart of a soul
this depth,

I close my eyes tight,
and hold onto my breath,

and walk to your foreign front step-
where your darkened shape awaits
me~

I always wished you'd come,
to find me here a-hiding

in plain sight,

on the precipice of poems,

this ledge of no turning back,
and of no climbing up-
of down,

we met this day of plundering,
sunk into the mud,

the clays of the love,
we found gems and virgs encrusting roots,

That towered high-
to the shoots

of-

Methuselah.

Poises

Poiesis


Rain spray
Like;

Ghost tales
Slither along the street

Behind cars the essence of the gone fasten their
Lacey brume veils

Drug from town to town-
“Hitch hikers”-

They are the bereft
That cannot claim defeat;

(They've unfinished business you know?)

That is why they are cycled,

from loam, to sky to loam to mouth, to loam to sky
Over and over again.

Saving Crow's Feet

Saving crow’s feet



This is the wrong time
And the wrong place

To save crow’s feet

The ground quakes with rushed tires,
the sky breaks

I am not okay

With the world shifting around a broken life
Headlights bead the road- my hazards flash “alarming” in desperation-

Into the street I crouch to my knees-
To save crows feet

My father’s voice, whisper’s in my mind-

Which used to nurture the light, of helpless life,
softer than any other

His accent was lost over the airs of a decade-

It is as if you wince your soul like eyes

to try and see a dead face,
You once mapped so well

Now is impressionist~
Mostly gone,

a negative,
not exposed.

And I wrapped him,
the crow-

Drove not knowing how to save

Crows feet

And walked into the door of an animal clinic –
Where a box

With a towel softly bandaging the bottom
Was waiting for him

And he crouched, this pinioned friend,
Like a scared hurt child in the corner,

beak arched down.

As I walked away,

Meet you on that hallowed eve

Meet you on that hallowed eve.

You're all that I've consumed in days-
the rest of this world hallows me-

when I am filled with their matter.
Your words were what I ate drank and breathed-

you're everything
everywhere
now-

you're in those leaves
that

stumble fumbled
to the sienna floor-

you're the ebony crow
I can't ignore~

with lifted wings asoar

Virgo

Virgo


Spica,
Virginis,

Come on in,
Bring your platinum friends-

You’re the ones I’ve been waiting for,

beyond this plain,
there is a fountain,

where you and I met-

under that black seedy sky-
over cracked concrete-

and towers that scrape atmosphere-

I have to put all that I’ve learned to this day-
and have held to the test of truth-
Down.

And start over,

You’re the reason my words have froze-

The sky is mirror,
I am glacial artwork novocaine cold,

time has paused indefinitely-
We are infinity now-

And my glassen eyes only mirrors yours,

The eve is forever ours, no one can take our stars- they are ours!
I have given heart away frivolously,

but never soul-

Virgo,
My soul knew you right away-
Even before I.

You found me there on that ledge,
stark white flower for brain,

And you came perched beside me-

And the skins of clarity-


Gilded my favourite- gold
How could I deny?-

Your beautiful mind.

Creation Sanbox

Creation Sandbox

I sat at the beach last night
after leaving the cafe when it closed...

It was a long windy dark road,
like a narrow corridor,

I clumsily slid through,
over an arched wooden bridge...

to the wide open expanse,
of tart purple skies,

Industrial, shipyards, and lighthouse gleaming~
like colourful gems

over the ebbing waves scouring the grey sands
I sat on

the winds were comforting,
blowing from far away over to the shore-
to be carried out,

I didn't want to leave,
I didn't want to go to the house where he is.

I wished I could stay for just a while more
though time is always tugging in my mind~

I left,

but dreamed for hours of that beach-
hoping to be the leaves flurrying,

soaring so free
to be swept through the sea,

to another world.

What This is

What this is


Bereavement shaping whole skies

parted into fractures-



dawn, dusk,

somewhere in between,


we have seen hundreds of these as families-

time shifting sheets of time-



papers for days being bound by the universe-
books we don't know,



or haven't read,



don't care to read-

written about us.


Written about strangers we'll brush up against on subway trains-

eyes locking-



leaving time stamps in our pillowed enclaves,

the clouds storming-

we call brains'


That will flash like a slide show the moment before we expire.
Linguistics twisting around whole centuries,



we are the joke my friend-
No-one takes us seriously,

we are nude art,



stripped down raw to the veins, to be mulled over in some other era.
our words are ever fading and reappearing,



we are infinity against the sky and sea,

words over vellum paper-



burned to ash,
scorned language,



my lips forever tongue.
words written on stone and gold,



like brail for the soul.
These trees hiss and whisper in the black and white snap shots of time,



autumn bleeds the blood of great poets,

that were, or



that will never be.