Geraniums wilt into the bedrock
behind a treehouse the canyon knew.
The lanterns have extinguished.
Crow in the murder overhead sifts
downward. Below the trundled dune,
poppy after poppy -- hidden in mantling dust --
deafens in its own rustle. Where
is the moon today? Where
does the sky end and wrap
inside its craters?
A caw splits the wind in a palm,
drives it through a lantern's smoke.

We used to watch the lanterns wane
before calling it a night.

We used to put bees in jars
before pulling our blankets up.

We used to sing old gospel songs
before getting out of bed.

I feel older than an ancient discipline,
I swear I was like this before I was born,
I'm trying to discredit my happiness,
but I'm as aimless as ever...

Soon our grinning skeletons will come all unhinged and slide out of our feet as the casual chunks of so much worthless debris. Contagious laughter can be rather gruesome. Blocks upon blocks of television viewing containers echo entire cans of it into increasingly apathetic orbs. Growing loud without purpose, it deafens all who will listen. There is, to date, no cure for this cancer. We don't even really know what we're dealing with here. It is recommended that all civilians tie their shoes tightly, with double-knots if possible.

The mask is slipping
Glass eyes see everything
Dagger cuts deep
Rope binds tight

Silence deafens
Drowning loneliness
Kill what's inside
Poison on a supermarket shelf

Death was on sale today

If actions speak louder than words,
Then the quieter I get
the louder I become.

Soon I'll be screaming

At the bottom of my lungs.

Until even my whisper deafens.

With the wave of my hand,
I'll be louder than a freight train.

Every step I take,
Will sound like a stampede.

The further I go,
The closer it will seem.

Maybe then,
When each step shakes the pictures from your walls,
Every look left and then right rips the door from the frame you're standing under,
And my deepest breath blows the whole house down

You'll hear me.

I am alone with you.
A fire burns in the distance,
It lights our faces
As before in the empty cinema,
Where we arrived, at some beginning,
To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,
In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,  
What words could never speak,
The tips of seats, rows of air
And the moony screen,
A tableau of feathers and cloud,
Two of us, alone, as one,
Rapt in the spread of wings.

Later, alone we dine in the Café  
Campagne. Our conversation  
Deafens a burgeoning crowd,
Coffee was nectar, our words  
Were whispering petals.
Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest  
Sorrow on your face, the green ocean
In your eyes, I was cleansed  
By your tears.  I have always
Known you.

Across the border on the far island,
You stepped into the waters with me
And when you disrobed you lit the stars
And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,
Your slender legs, columns, tilting
Toward heaven, in the age of Helen,
Touched the water and the sky,
I saw the milky way that night.

Síneánn, I am your Pablo,
We are two white birds sailing
Over the foam of the sea.
Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge
To my casement world.  Rain petal
Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,
I am lost in your Sargasso eyes,
I hold your skin, my Selkie,
Sweet Niamh, I have lived  
One hundred years this week.

It is warm in the distance,
In the country of the sun,
We end at the house in Umbria,
In the autumn, there is no word
Siberia, my light Rosaleen.
Now is harvest time.  
At the great table we feast  
With family and friends  
And I am not alone with you.

I carry monsters some monsters with me; they lived in the dark place that I’m from
They’ve dropped masses to their knees, and their footsteps sound like drums.
But I never heard them coming, despite the fact that they were running
For the worst one of them all, was the one I was becoming

They carry a silence so loud, it rattles the heavens --
Inaudible to the crowd, but my ears it deafens
I feared one day they’d take me over --
Surely, no one could handle this exposure
But their past victims ran… instead, I pulled them closer.

It’s the demons of my past that help me make this moment last,
They brought me to the point where she was just within my grasp.
So I stopped there in that moment, and took a second just to hold it
Paid no mind to the darkness, or the clay from which I’m molded.
And she paid it no mind either; so I pray the monsters don’t deceive her
She’s from the light I’ve never seen, and she’s made me a believer.

These monsters made me blind – taught me to doubt the things I’ve learned
They broke the gears inside, but it was she who made them turn.
The fire had been extinguished, but I swear she made it burn.
And she made that flame burn bright, to be my guide throughout the night
She and I both saw the sparks, but knew not fire they’d ignite.
If this is wrong, I can’t be right; she’s my lantern in the night.
And I may be from the darkness, but one needs dark to see the light.

A fool sits alone.  
Not dumb but naïve
drinking ideals that were both sweet
and biting on the uvula of his thoughts-
thoughts that once resonated
from truth no longer ring true.

This terminus of sentiments that started veritable journeys
in the muck of questionable sources
housed his hopes
while he dared to dream of a day these hopes may be fulfilled.

But over hills and plains filled with grating winds
of inquiring eyes looking for lies so intently
while false truth slips through their gates,
these hopes gained grit.

Grit built in truth,
and to hazier eyes,
grit grained with wisdom.  

So our fool finds himself at a
beginning wrought from this inverted journey,
He’s discovered his truths to be soggy
with the living mire of human deception.

No longer does he sit
with starry eyes
hoping for truth,
he has found it by traveling backwards
through experience until he stands upright
amongst the crawling with lies filling his head.

It is in this moment when all he sees is deceit,
that he knows he has found the truth.
No longer does he believe in it,
he understands how ill-fitting that word has come to be.  

In the grand cacophony of the human experience,
the sterling ring of truth deafens.

It takes a qualified lie to reach our hearts.

Like acid falling through my skin, I feel the flicker of the dark

Welcomed by whispers wound up in wargs' cries

I reject the tangible and fading beauty as flowers wilt upon my head

I burrow in my arms with no one else to hold

The silence aims to crucify me

Unwanted this existence deafens me, unraveling my innards

I welcome the parasites to feast, yet they reject me

To feel is all I want, to cry for someone other than myself

I long to hear the symphony of my soul, but all it does is shrill

night flight



the last time i flew

it was daylight

i didn’t look out the window.



now

i look outside and see

a thousand lights;

and each light is

a thousand souls

burning against

the

gaslamp yellow nightscape.



there is space here

and silence

and the silence deafens

and beneath the silence there is noise

and-

once in tokyo i had the perfect drink

like electric moonbeams

violets

and secrets soaked in gin.



i taste it here

in the recycled air above the nightscape

while viewing the souls

that may or may not be

the remnants of fevered dreams

while hearing the silence

that is not silence

it is breathing, it is a pulse–



listen with me

if we’re very quiet, we can hear

the faint strains of

tokyo jazz

filtering through the soft thrum

of wheels and

motorized air

and a crying baby that’s never tasted

the smoky sweet burn of gin and juniper.



(Original version: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/night-flight-4/)

Music came singing to the sky
It seemed none could sing or fly so high
maybe some birds
like children's laughter
a forgotten eternal spring,
a happiness
that comes and goes 
forever calling
one home

As if out from a tunnel
the first light deafens silence
wings unfold the soul - whispering
Plain truth in words unspoken
so precious the moments
of being unbroken

So soon the rains come
wet, washing
another path  
home