His eyes
were the kind
you saw your
death in.
Lips of
oleander
laced in
nectar
to disguise
the devil’s
kiss.
To hell with
consequence.
I am your adventurer,
eager to explore
the hot springs,
cool creeks, and
windswept fields
of your skin.
Dips and ridges
of your ribs
become my guide;
peaks and valleys
of your spine—
my wilderness.
At the pools
of your lips,
I am nourished
and refreshed.
I am your adventurer
shaped to mark
causes and
their affects.
With my head
on your heartbeat
and my fingers
along your neck,
I trace a path, and
see to my work.
We are
walking wounds,
seeping sores of
loss and
lamentation.
A swollen
sickly people
plowing into
one another
tearing at
the soil,
uprooting,
spreading seed,
for a slippery
second,
a breath…
of relief.
We bury
turmoil
in bodies.
Perpetually
planting
an incessant
harvest of
loneliness…
that madness,
of the sad.
We are
walking wounds
covered
crown to boot
in battle armor.
Fighting for life—
to the death.
A warring tribe
clashing bodies, yet
terrified
to touch
a soul.
Diving deep
into hyperbole,
mouths
string words
into phrases,
tongues
embellish
with emphasis
and pause.
We call this
connection.
Diving deep
into beds;
flesh upon flesh,
muscles flex
and stretch
into motion.
We call this
connection.
We are out of—
and so far from—
depth.
These are
the shallows;
the tip
of ego,
the surface
of lies.
Scratch as we try,
our nails only go
skin
deep.
This is not
connection.
He’s a cold front darling,
storming in from the east
and he’ll find you,
shaking every leaf.
A reckless, wild wind
lifting feather-lite hems,
flinging petals,
uprooting stems,
swaying hearts, and
rattling bones.
A man in motion
emerges in a fury
and just as swiftly
blows. on. through.
Thus,
from the wind shaped cypress
I take my cue.
A persistent little tree
who’s lovely lithe limbs
stretch out to meet the breeze.
A base of strength
that turns
and gracefully twists
in all directions
the wind. may. shift.
There’s a cold front coming
blowing in from the east;
when he comes for you darling,
show him every leaf.
I am the stone—
rock steady.
You are the current—
perpetually in motion.
I am the shore,
folding and flexing
beneath your weight.
You are the swells,
rip tides and
rogue waves.
I am the earth
you shape and
carve away.
You are the tide
leaving with the promise
to return.
I am the land
you crash upon.
You are the breeze
that takes me away.
At first taste he
slips down easy;
subtle sweetness,
flash of flavor,
warm buttery finish.
each drop thereafter
a touch more
of the dragon.
flash of teeth,
tongue of fire.
hot flames creep
from the belly
to the cheeks;
flash of fury,
burning char.
He’s all devil now;
seven heads,
seven crowns,
a drunkard…
and my love.
memory
intertwined
with fantasy,
so
entirely,
so
intricately,
that lines
blurred,
and colors
bled.
out of this
tangled
tapestry
men
were lost
and
gods
emerged.
Perhaps we recoil
at the sight of the serpent
not because he is so foreign,
on the contrary,
because we are so familiar.
Life ages and cracks
from the mundane;
we wilt under its exposure
into dry, flesh constraining
sacs of dead cells.
The binds of which
we shall revolt,
struggle…stretch…
and wriggle free;
leaving behind withered artifacts,
empty shells of what
(or shall I say whom)
we once were.
Like the snake
we shed ourselves
and slide reinvented
towards the sun.
She left a bitter taste;
a tongue stained
in disappointment.
Now he only dines
at the buffet;
filling his plate
with hot flesh,
meaty cuts,
lean legs,
oiled skin.
Spoonfuls of red,
or brunette,
on the side.
Dips his fingers
into chocolate,
white cakes,
strawberry pie.
Thickens his heart,
feeds his eyes, yet
disregards the hunger.
For nothing here fills.
Nothing sustains.
He only exists
beneath the plane
of her fingertips,
below the trail
of her parted lips.
All else is vapor.
All else is mist.
the walls you build
fail to conceal
the sweetness of your soul.
A sideways spirit
with haunted eyes
besieged by Almost Forevers
and Firelight Lovers.
Strings of paper doll darlings
one size fits all
won’t pale the horrors
fill the hunger
or patch together
your shattered heart
winter was fierce
so lets spend summer
patiently picking through
the scattered colors
starting at the corners
tracing the borders
piecing together
our puzzled hearts.
You’ll know her by
her wild heart;
Hair
Tangled as the land;
Lips
Ripen pink
with the prickly pear;
Curves
Rock
like an upright bass.
Her sun-baked skin
painted
with desert dust;
Brown
For those long passed;
Red
For bloody heartbreak;
White
A warriors perseverance.
You’ll know her by
her insatiable thirst;
Eyes
Pierce the cactus;
Hands
Calloused by the climb;
Feet
Blistered by the journey;
A wild heart
ba-bum
who
beats
ba-bum
with the desert.
“Keep your feet on the ground my child”
“Impossible”, I say. “I live in the stars.”
Midnight dips in the milky way
bathing in ancient light.
I’ve felt Draco’s fire,
I’ve loosened Orion’s belt.
I can’t know its significance,
its measure or its weight.
Yet atoms split
particles crash and a
universe expands nonetheless.
“Be cautious with your heart my child”
“impossible”, I say. “I wear them on my sleeve.”
A believer. A mystic -
in the oldest form of alchemy.
Rudimentary chemistry and
paradigm shift.
I can’t know its significance,
its measure or its weight
yet electrons vibrate,
elements attract, and
matter is shaped.
“Keep yourself guarded my child.”
“impossible”, I say, “to ever be prepared.”
A moment is upon us
then gone in a breath.
That ephemeral embrace
leaves its mark, nonetheless.
I can’t know its significance
its measure or its weight
Call it chance, or call it fate
either way -
I stretch to brush the skirts of grace.
[...]
Did Christ climb
upon his cross
to spare us
death’s claws
or to model
all the courage
needed for the fall?
Is immortality, truly,
the maker’s intent?
Or does this teaching
reveal man’s greater sin:
the absolute inability
to see a reality
in which around him
all does not revolve.
‘oh brothers’
let go of your tails
come out from your place
of delirium and denial
you call faith;
for you will need the courage
of the lamb—and the lion—
to look at death
in the face.
read more…