Circles
There are degrees of nearness
the sun no nearer to you
than I
or to them,
only the few feel the equatorial belt snap lashing;
their dry drought mouths, felt life more true than you- maybe,
because death was alway knocking on their door sardonically-
we only implore it's light to rinse upon us, lathe us-
This discomfort we feel, this is truth, no one said it was all pleasantries-
we take it into our souls, as captured illumination
star pendant chest
while the others shudder to think-
and hide in cool blue tourmaline waters pooling-
we are more creative and inventive than they-
we use it's heat like warming stones for our breaking backs, we believe-
drink in its fire as sustenance; to water down fear.
Bring to our cheeks-
and citrine rings into our blue eyes-
eat the peach fruits of it's labours-
the delicate wombs of earth
where you and I
are nothing less
than egging notions
of rebirth
processional, acrid, saffron tulip face-
bows to it's end, with one last sun dance, one last show-
as it's scent memory lifts to trade form, with another life, called death;
under the moons'
and suns'
constant
Continuum
of escape and chase.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Cold Coagulation
Cold Coagulation
These veins
extend far beyond body-
they're road maps,
blood driven away-
intersection
fourways
meets organ
then drives away-
red poppy field- on either side,
full of fiery expression,
flutters up
starburst of yolky red life-
spark cast off the egg-
true pain, true glory-
created new scarlet webs,
reaching with a separate rhythmic beat.
Rhythmic intent.
Palpitation is it's farewell ode-
lead to where the road is an intangibly long
and straight vessel
braving the cold coagulations in time to come,
reaching to world end to taste absolutions fruit punch-
to pass through a time change;
a border end,
currency exchange-
sheafed off stratum,
a date stamped booklet, passport of sorts,
driving off
to map another land
within it's fast dying
ruby arterial sojourn~
we could fill the sea
with the
spilled blood
of man and animal.
These veins
extend far beyond body-
they're road maps,
blood driven away-
intersection
fourways
meets organ
then drives away-
red poppy field- on either side,
full of fiery expression,
flutters up
starburst of yolky red life-
spark cast off the egg-
true pain, true glory-
created new scarlet webs,
reaching with a separate rhythmic beat.
Rhythmic intent.
Palpitation is it's farewell ode-
lead to where the road is an intangibly long
and straight vessel
braving the cold coagulations in time to come,
reaching to world end to taste absolutions fruit punch-
to pass through a time change;
a border end,
currency exchange-
sheafed off stratum,
a date stamped booklet, passport of sorts,
driving off
to map another land
within it's fast dying
ruby arterial sojourn~
we could fill the sea
with the
spilled blood
of man and animal.
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