I feel so much more at home
when the Sun isn't shown;

Walking the streets at Night
while my side of the World sleeps.
Not for some sought after seclusion,
but rather because I just like it.

Billions of specks perforate the blackened sky
as billions of Neurons fire and forget.

Nighttime is mystical;
the inner self has more space to fill than in the daytime,
wherein the gaps are filled for us
by assholes in fancy offices we pay for
who weave tapestries of demagoguery
in front of nice cameras
and behind closed doors:

Clear as Day,
Clever as Night.

Though Day has it's place,
Night is it's balance.
Night is the supple ripeness of potential
where Day is the actualization of potential.

Nyx is the Goddess of the Night;
mother of Sleep, Dreams and Death.
A strange and shy Goddess of Occlusion,
Keeper of the darkened Gateways
of deeper and truer Understanding.

Night is a Dream;
a magical time of mythical atonement
for both Body and the Mind:
a time nearly separate from time,
a time of my own.

A seductress of my own.
Alas, daybreak is neigh.

I am a puppet, controlled by my strings
Made up of wood and material things.
My father has branches, my mother has wings.
I don't know how I came to be.

My father is stuck and gone is my mother,
I have not a home nor a friend nor a brother.
The days fly on past, each like the other,
I look but I no longer see.

Watch my feet tap to the beat of the song
That the puppeteers play as the show carries on
But I don't know the words and the rhythm is wrong
And I can't even shudder or plea.

The paint on my fixed wooden smile starts to crack
As I hang from my hook in the after-show black
Slowly I rot as they've broken my back
And my colours fade faithfully.

I vow I will cut off my strings one by one,
And then when I'm free I will finally run
And I'll bask in the sea and the sand and the sun
And in my last breath I'll be me.

I miss thee, I hath to admit
I want to witness again thy stunning smile so sweet
And how th' sun always kindly, and generously, touchest thy dark hair
Then shalt thou breakest into endless jokes and childish wit
'Fore rising a tender smile, as we greet each other by th' circular stairs.

I bet thou art still remarkable and stupendous as usual
Thou whom I'th known since last grey fall
By th' ponderous sleeping lake; in th' midst of a burly night;
Thou stared through me with a pair of unfathomable eyes;
as though thou couldst makest everything in my heart-better and right;
and yon, yon colourlessness of th' night, shinest so beautifully as butterflies.
Thou wert, indeedst, not th' paleness I had dreamed,
thou wert not bleak, thou wert not mean.
Thou still shined brightly though chilled and dimmed,
thou wert damp, but sunny-just like th' nearby shuffling trances
to which I had never been.
At times thou canst seem lazy, ah-but thou'rt indeedst not!
As just I do, thou liveth thy life from dot to dot,
thou leapest from time to time in my story,
thou, though far away, somehow always seem near,
and be sitting here idly with me and my poetry.
Thou might be close not to my ears,
but I canst listenest to thee; as thou eat and pray,
and as thou waketh, to every single inevitable day.
T'is life, which canst somehow be bitter,
shalt at times corruptest thy happiness and thy laughter;
wringing thee into false devotion and meanness,
but be sure, my love, t'at I shalt be thy cure;
I shalt be thy unhealed passion and all-new tenderness.
I shalt be thy first salvation, honesty and satiation;
I shalt be a scarf t'at giveth thee warmth, and thy hated mediation;
hated and dejected by t'is dreadful world, my love,
t'is world which knowest not t'at love is everything above.
And I shalt be thy heaven, and holiness,
and thy greenest grass when it is too dark,
as t'is world hurts and drivest away from frankness;
and within its grim sacrifice, lettest go of its single spark.
Ah, thee, thy innocence is just like my own soul,
but it is what makest thee divine as gold;
thou art ever pure, and incessantly pure,
and thy jokes and ventures and preachings flawless and true.
And in t'is weary life-which is sometimes faultless but unsure,
thou always makest me feel honoured;
makest me feel brand new.

Ah, Kozarev, thou art my immortal twin star,
and thy lips my sophisticated fragrant moon;
thou art my umbrella in yon idyllic heaven afar,
fade away not, but thou drifted away too soon!
My love, but sketchest again our undying night,
t'is time with a new bosom of light,
and giveth me comfort within which,
and flinch no more, for I shalt not flinch.
Thy genuinity is my nature,
thy childishness is my cure;
for t'ere are no more lips as naive as thine,
though t'ey oftentimes seemest spotless,
and t'eir toughness, seemest fine.

Ah, Kozzie, only fate t'at shalt makest out paths eventually align;
fate who hath sent me sweet prophecies, and a truthful bold sign.
Let me be thy grace, and thy sole, immortal lady;
let me be such craze, so t'at thou shalt always be with me.
I shalt be thy doll, and thy very own addict;
I shalt nursest, and cherishest thee every day of the week.
And joy, and its miraculous delight shalt be ours alone,
fallen fast asleep by night, and renewed by upcoming morns.
Together shalt we teasest every passing minute and hour;
and treatest all 'em nicely, just like how we deemeth t'at laugh, of ours.
And when nightfall greetest, sleep, my love, sleep;
thy red, innocent cheeks shalt I kiss; thy greatest dreams shalt I keep.

Kozarev, and fliest me again to th' melancholy Sofia,
wherein our peace shalt dwellest, and be cheered and alive.
But let me first fetch my old, talkative umbrella;
for Sofia shalt be full of rain; but one t'at makest it safe, and thrive.
Ah, Sofia, our little haven like yon nearby oak chatroom,
old as it is, but still-tenderer t'an t'is ever lonely gloom;
I bet Sofia is still warmer t'an t'is fraudulent war of my heart,
though it is, of now, far and sat by a land wholly apart.
Oh, Sofia, in which our love shalt be adequate, but still-inadequate,
for our love is more benign, ye' at times-more capricious t'an fate.
And it is raw, but ripe, like a mature cherry;
it hath neither tears, nor hate, nor brave worry!
Ah, my love; but again fly me, fly me, t'ere-
for cannot I waitest to live my life with thee;
and so promise t'at I shalt not bend, nor go else anywhere,
so long as thou shalt stayest, and liveth thy future years with me.

Oh, and I shalt forsaketh thee no more;
and disdaineth thee no more-thou art my sonata!
My delight liest in hearing thy sonnets be told;
thou sitting by me 'fore moonlight, down on th' starlit piazza!
Ah, Kozarev, please no longer makest my heart sore-
I am sick to death, I detestest t'is grief to th' core;
Burnest my heart's cries, and indulgest me in thy arms,
I shalt brimmest in thy glory; and gratefully lost, in thy charms.

As th' world turnest so weak and rough,
we shalt be th' sole ones to fall in love;
but our idyll is one t'is envious world cannot gather;
as it growest bleaker, as it turnest worse.
But Kozarev, having thee by my side shalt be enough;
and my days shalt be no more sad, nor tough;
Thou art th' candle, t'at lightest up th' life within me,
thou art th' candy, t'at livenest up all my poetry.

It's been a while since we drank wine,
On the borderline somewhere between love and great desire,
I was a miser, a pauper in the ways of romance,
With space in his heart for two but a want for one.

You were the elegant lotus flower,
Unfurling each delicate petal of venomous beauty,
I was taken aback with what I may never know,
Your eyes like none I'd ever seen before,
Possessing all the wisdom I need in this lifetime,
I stood shaken, a stray dog in the rain.

You beckoned to me to dance across celestial Babylon,
But in my haste and in my darkest hour to date,
Left to fate, that glorious morning sun returned,
Ripping down each pathetic colour from the rainbow,
Until all the world fell grey and limp,
And silence dawned upon my heart and I was then,
As I am now, alone, and so forever I shall stay,
'Til death do us part, my heart and I.

I wonder, have you noticed yet,
That when we look into our friends’ eyes,
They refuse to meet our gazes
Lest we see the pity that therein lies.

I try to question them why it’s so,
But they deflect with waving hands
Saying, “Enjoy the summer sun,
The beach, the waves, the sands.

“Cast your minds upon happy things.
Don’t think about what lies ahead.
Remember picnics and smiles and laughter
And warm nights of cuddling on his bed.

“The summer will give you life;
Its multitude of golden rays
Will support and nurture your love,
And provide memories of pleasant days.

“For you’ll soon have to face the truth:
When the autumn strikes
There’ll be no more days of tanning
Or cooking or kissing or riding bikes.”

They told us to enjoy the here and now
Because reality would set in soon.
When they told us, I came to you crying,
And you held me under the mid-summer moon.

Everyone was talking in our ears.
We could try to make it through the fall,
But when frost touched the ground,
No doubt, we couldn’t hang onto it all

But, darling, I’ll tell you a secret,
Something that they don’t know:
You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And as far as seasons go,

We cannot be constrained by time.
Distance does not matter to me.
Despite everything that they will say,
We can beat the odds and break free.

I wrote a vision called Heaven's garden for Seung.
She put me to task one day to write about nature
I found the words but the feelings came later.

Now that garden is a real place and she haunts my desires
something fell from the shelf from a hidden place.I don't know where it
belongs so I can't return it.

I am mostly brown or black or reddish
An amalgamation
So when the May- sun magnifies off my sweat-beaded skin
It just makes my cheek- bones a bit pink

There are only so many ways one can be reminded they are still living
There are only so many phrases to let the audience (reader) know that I am wilting

To look to the future is more than just waiting on something speculative
If it is not a wasteland it is something so vague and sleek and mod that a person like me falls right off
Drifting between the fruitless present

And you walking down Nassau Street. The trees were blooming. I followed and snapped pictures with a camera.
Your hair was long and you were taller than most everyone else.

1.
white chapel on a hill

sheep dot rugged, earthy slopes

ruminate on warm, sun-kissed dale

endless lines and lines of verdant tones

late afternoon sun slanting

behold, jaune compassion

alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind

distance of silence yearns on

afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales

powder-blue ranges in 3D tiers

shadowy rifts, like a painting out of heaven

lone tree not alone, reaches up

blinding turns and rust-coloured bends, twisty trails

two on horseback, apples for sale

reservoir as a hold all for all

brown mud is where redemption lies.


2.
sun dips away, out of reach

beyond the eye's catch

step out car

feel the ping of silence, deeply-alive zing

crowd in and then,

into the slot of torched horizon

the orange world slips . . .




S T, 19 May 2013

i'm trying so hard
but you're better
smarter
thinner
more athletic
less clingy
and you can sing
and dance
and write
(writing was supposed to be my thing)
and my nothing cannot compare to your everything
because your beauty shines through
a ray of sun in the fog that is me
pulling him away
and he goes
happily