I feel my soul peeking out of its hiding place, for the first time in a long time.
Bathe in the chill that circles, and massages my feet, welcoming me home to a hearth filled with smoke. A detached, reposed heart that chides like a lover, hushed voice, to the molecule ****** of stillness around me--
Irememberyou.
Youcamebackforme.
The cold clamps down, an outstretched hand viced into a grip
Yes, you--
I call out
Where Orion always is,
Pleates, Signus, Cassiopeia
How many sudden kisses happened under this sky? How many warm ****** touches exuded from the Earth, into my shedding layers of skin?
How many times did I mistake enrapture for love,
Heartache for lack of fireplace...
I've loved so many under this set of stars that the solar system is lapsing in on itself
Creating a distant dark void
out of me

We are blending
And melting
Into harmony
For the first time in
three years.
There's a springboard
In my heart
Save me
Forever

In the cattle field,
Millions of fuzzy racemes
Are dying.
The mullein and goldenrod,
Rusty heads of petal
Shoot up towards the heavens
In immutable cries,
Brandished swords quivering
Against the onslaught
Of changing seasons.
The tide of fall creeps upon
Summer's shores,
Slow, sad rhythms
Weeds of changing patterns.
A clammy chill rises up
from the womb of the earth
****** organs regress and exchange the flitting energy of evolution
For foundation
Thick, coarse roots burrow deeper and tremble.
We're all afraid of something
bigger than us
For even the trees shake in anticipation
For a growing colder
Darker night
That lay in wait
Just beyond the senses.

There are few things I hate more than watercolor,
I muse to myself
As I sit watching
A rigid man
With the perfect posture, really,
Casually watercolor the coffee shop around him

As if we all are just the backdrop
To a life of routine normality
Succumbing to the occasional confrontation
With hot beats of caffeine--

A subject to be posthumously entombed
Executed marginally
Flattened and kept in a sketchbook
That will,
Most likely,
Be a dust collector given one year's breadth.

The cynic in me
Hopes he mistakes the water cup
For his coffee cup
In his feverish efforts,
Sitting slack and unaware
Right next door.

But unintentionally,
It's the bias
Creeping in.
Secretly,
I've never really been
That *good
at watercolor.

I hold the soles of my feet
Wondering if there's solace at the bottom of me
Even the part that touches earth,
Filth &
Mud

It all feels like a crackling can
Left over effervescent
Growing stale
When I rattle myself
There's the sound of rock hitting glass
Coins on sheet metal
And not much else

The face feels heavy after
A long day of lying
To myself
Through my teeth,
Even bypassing that soft
Gellatinous puddy
Wadded up in my core

I'm sure it use to be larger.

Maybe it came from the sky

Or the place juxtaposed
In an immediate instance
One gulp of fresh air
Below my curved,
Bow-line feet.

I want to be the rare sunshine
Through a summer rainstorm
Bioluminescence
Columns of delicate light
Peering over the ocean
A beam
A tinkling
Anything

I don't want to be
my past

Anymore.

In the moon,
I pulled the grass over my head
The fragrant musk heaving
Bespoke the circle of beginnings
The circle of infinity
Carefully, gently threaded
A single translucent silk
Deliberately stitching the pieces
All of the broken parts
Back
Into whole.