I. the breathing of human nature
her poetry weaves a chimera
through ontario maples,
ghostlike songs intoned in late november breath:
*i don't really want to be a pretty girl... *
whispers of woodsmoke fall from sky
(sky, pink as cochineal, pink as avarice
sky, blue as bruises, as jazz, as tropical waters)
she steps from the fog and ash into the beckoning trees,
seduced by leaves,
an autumn saturnalia of honey, flame, amber,
nectar, pistil, anther.
she is cupola and chalice,
budding fuchsia and iron cherry--
but she writes and breathes
as if something more than a woman
who knows all the names for the ocean
stirs and struts inside her.
II. the statue and sobriquet
piano wires melt into statues,
heat steals rusty bottle caps
and bends them eerily into muses.
butterflies perch astutely on their shoulders,
violet, violent, a mosaic of shredded lilies and shellac,
paris in flames, flowering tea-houses,
the mariana trench, a thicket of morning glory.
nature sculpted this metaphysical tribute to her
for all that she has done, for all that her bent fingernails
and snow-covered lips have given
to inspire solstice and equinox--
in the night-songs of the crickets,
crystal bells and rustic chirps,
she was lauded.
she feels the songs in her eyelashes
and writes of wine and palest bone,
fragments of bashful moon,
roots her fingernails into the tarnished canadian willows
and finds her way through magnolia clouds and sea-spray sky;
after all, she can soar.
Somewhere along the line I broke my internal compass.
Already inhaled our poisoned water, fearful of not reaching the surface.
Never knowing the right direction, leaves me left alone.
Done so much to weather this body, not as clear cut as a broken bone.
I just feel I want to go that way.
Eye see what I want - stumble, blackout, and stray.
Script already written, but the characters are constant variables.
Knowing everything in our heads is all malleable
Reading in between the lines searching for guarantees,
Feelings come influx.. and then slowly flee
Anchor me down to anything.
Sinking into a black tar pit abyss, wondering when I'll leave.
But maybe my soul was always meant to roam foreign zones, alone, free.
It's in moments like these where to thoughts I feel shackled to, can't release.
It becomes a hassle to feel happy, struggling to properly breathe.
Maybe no world is the same as yours
Each path has perfectly placed locked doors,
That's as individual to you as what you soak into your pores.
Getting dirty, but we still want more.
It'll soon be time to graduate from our physical capabilities,
But man, how did I go so long without seeing the synchronicities?
I bleed red, I'm tired, but true.
I can't bridge past the fact that I don't know if this is for me or you.
My monster of malice,
Helps me hold high, the aluminum chalice.
Knowing these roads don't help feed my head,
Left Alice in bed for the next adequate depressant threshold
Draining my spirit and the malicious comes back-
Writing down symbols, using me as a vessel.
This dream of a life can be stressful
My walls I am enclosed in has become a mess hole.
Halls with trophies that look much like alcohol bottles.. oh wait.
Little victories! - I'm still here.
Make the liquid disappear so you can see the skewed you a little more clear.
I make the art of dying look so graceful,
Just hoping before the expiration date I left you with something tasteful.
My genes are tearing at the seams.
Glittered with fractured beams of half- hope
Slipped down the rope before I saw the light
Shining down on disappointment.
Been joyously walking to the liquor store for my alcoholic ointment.
Too much cancer, fresh internal scars, and airbrushed perspectives.
It's too bad we mostly only look at our exterior when being reflective.
Sex becomes a place where we can forget.
It happened for more than hormones, yet many tend to regret.
People can run off course and divorce themselves when intercourse leads to remorse
But the choice is yours.
Then we develop new feelings whether intended or not.
A home for new wounds, just waiting to clot.
We're simply riding through life chemically imbalanced,
Happiness turns to madness, sadness, numb.
Jumping from this feeling to that, this person to them.
Firing more into the overworked synapses that overreact through connection
When you clash with your mind, and embody all it's destructive four course meals
It eventually takes control over your entire life, robbed blind, an easy steal.
Peel away each sentence, and bask right now in the surreal,
Make a deal to be your divine self and let the soul show ya what's real.
In these very limited bodies, currently, time is currency. *
With your unlimited potential act purposefully-
Spend the ticks wisely to enrich your soul.
Mind plays tricks from time to time, never let it have control
Open your third eye and dare to be bold
Strengthen vibrations with intent to share the love
and you'll be riddled with appreciation without deviation,
From the heaven within us all, to the heavens above~
But I trust our spirits know our way around the blueprint.
Despite the many unseen forces, forever at play.
Look deeper into the depths like an enthusiastic student
Reality is just a matter of what you believe; namaste~*
I know for sure by chalice and blade
Our magick tonight will be peacefully made
With moon so high
And circle round
Foot chakras pounding in dances on her ground
The goddess watching from the skies
The look of pride in her earthly eyes
I know tonight by chalice and blade
The marriage, rebirth so thoughtfully remade
To remember each year with the cycle it goes
From the spring and the summer
To the time of the snow.
the master of absolute complete nothing
these quatrains tell the tale
of a pretender who is suffering
whose life is worn and stale
reach up and raise your chalice
these tainted words used as a phallus
some intentions of twisted mental malice
lying naked in his ivory palace
is this the fade from faded glory
a very sad and ancient story
of repeating repeat offenders
these single-minded polymath pretenders
Gomer LePoet ....
Today i give thanks, unmindful of
calendars i did not create,
mixing rare potions to elixir,
grinding clock hands and
covering eyes, a shield from the
flash of excellence, filling my cup
from the wellspring eternal.
Come, drink from the chalice with me,
it is not hemlock, it brings union
and transmutation, our lead into
Digest this tonic and abandon
resolve, i will take unto me this
poison from the Earth, take you
as well the fruits of our evil deeds
to be no more.
Pay this homage with me, to us.
his body is bread,
made of dough kneaded
he sensed her cannibalistic urge,
even before, from her irregular breath,
now, under her garter belt half untied
he knew she was
the exquisite red wine
matured in the
wooden barrels in darkness of time,
found only on the table
her blood red
intoxicates even from a distance,
he desired the sweet and sour
of her tender flesh,
goosebumps infest like pox
when he closes his eyes
licking clean the chalice
filled with her.
The jealous moon
looking down at them,
from her high perch whisper:
"You are made for each other
Please, my love
Let me be your chalice
Your Grail of Dreams
Your body is
A sign of your grace
And a mirror
Where only I
The secret world
Of your soul
Never to be caged
Brilliant and fluent
Full of Light
You and I
Dance a sacred dance
Closing the space
I will take you in
Eat the Eucharist
That is your body
Draw from you
Your Holy Wine
Wrapped in Rapture
Writhing in Ecstacy
The secret Garden
Where Devils play
And Angels sing
In a holy Communion
Anywhere, or everywhere
I am home
In the Universe
I am plagued with an unfortunate vice
It is worse than the alcoholic's dependency
Or the drug addict's fix
Those eyes stopped the steady rhythm that was my heartbeat
Those lips caught my attention with painful force
But most of all
Dark like the liquid in Romeo's cup
Poisonous yet alluring
So I bring that cold chalice to my lips
And smile my last smile
Still praying I'll see you on the other side
only the good die rough
homies in the hood have tough ties
wrists cuffed in gold lacking its prismatic appeal
fashion how to ride the wave without an ocean
slaves to the potion addicted to it’s drips
fill my veins with conspirators
I have lies inside of me
but I will die an angel
cause when the reigns change hands
the beast dies first
never cursed to the verses of your past lives
there is no drug more pure than clarity
when right and wrong was a double entendre
communicated a dissonance to duality
sly peasants moan to support their guilty habits
an empty chalice grasped by calloused hands
cancer ridden epiphanies that maybe
this really isn’t your fault
the vault has been empty for too long
don’t take advice from any more fortune cookies
Thine acts are of no worth
and in thy Eye is death
Mock the traveler on the road
that does struggle to take a breath
Thoughts are scattered on the wind
and forever cast with doubt
Alas, the wind sighs back again
to bring thine own disaster about
To take apart a simple verse
is to pick upon the bleeding carcass
that has shed it's skin, simple carrion
to feed the masses as is asked of us
The quill that has governed experience
has been sharpened upon the rusty knife
Forsaken in the course of revelry and
taken to the very edge of a lonely life
Cast a jagged eye to an empty corpse
and spill platitudes that crawl with malice
Seek the macabre as noble warriors of yore
there will nay be drinking from the mystical chalice