Something viscous and of the Earth
rampant hydraulic and geometric
where...
ever the green neddles empire
cupped hand of salt and clay
where red is skin unwashed
where smoothed stones
come under scrutiny
of rainfall
burnished by atmos
tasting of remnant iron
back of the mouth adrenaline
fear where choking lives
beguiled feints of the (nearly)
..the almost
..the always
just out of reach
seductive...
by satiated tones hither
yet kissed to life abrupt
sputtered out from shoals
soft guarded places
padded in the low end
theory spun cobweb
tied by philosophy of moss
long stretched wisps of time
that curl as smoke meanders
to drink in the momentary
nooks where God is salve
woven to worship pause
tangled and braided just so…
to hug in the splendors
a ram with horns wide like horizons
and spirals under darkened eye
on recoil, on tiptoes
that beckon to ride without saddle
eating ego and back peddle
whole seasons by the mouthful
each blinked snug
and overshadowed by determination
dancing as singular sensations
serenity swimming river's bend
circles slipping outward
elliptic goldfish spinning
hypnosis beneath lotus
opposite ever ends of the prism
A coy wink of rhythm
sway and schism cast
flailing from a cyclical sun
suchness dissipating
with the touch of dusk
and surrendered to fog
unveiled de ja vu to wax
to fauna melting orange in the distance
beyond moon picturesque
as a resonant echo breathing
armored against the crow’s call
feather fall looming, changeling
Sisyphean song obelisk
songs and sirens that got away
at nineteen hertz and rising
from the bottom of the arched heart
leaves falling scattered, witnessed
to swaddle as hinges the seasons
as transcendence including
wreck's collection magic chasm
rising and riding a tidal twist
we are each and all the alchemists
that decide the sacred
feinting flourishes we entertain
where nostalgia shades it's crispness
where hope holds hands with memory
to sip the nectar from the nightly charades
in the details that kiss the bottom lips
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
tHEY WERE SOLEMN
they tossed in their sleep
They were the shadows cast against monoliths
when elbows and knees failed to crawl
hostile for the weight of gravity
annunciated through colors and their own speech
graphitized in the name pagan underground punctuation
under ***** nails!
they made routine
of always casting long spells
that dirtied and dripped
with
“oh my God”
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
It wasn’t a place
where I could look for different spellings
of the same sentiments
meant as alternative
ways to lay into sleep
fashioning new dreams…
even the Palmistry techniques
I learned
by experimentation
wouldn’t allow
the creases of my spread hands
to divulge the truth.
It was weather
like seasons attempting to sing
obscure language
shapeshifting unwanted punctuation
churning body of impulse
writhing against stains
and coils
that foyer crested and stared down
kaleidoscope sheets of milk
eating ankles and sweating
turning sunken into just a hallway
a corridor of only
as many sides
as were meant from inside
the head scratching
to be necessary to just breathe
to quake, to shiver
to remember training
ghosts
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
to the root I set my sight
to know the future
I must know the past
and of the earth is the origin
my first embrace must be the tree
where rugged bark shields softness
guarded from extremes
thrown by the world
just inside cambium hides delicate
whose cells are of two worlds
both bark and inner wood
both dark and ethereal at once
I must come to love the sapwood
nourishing the whole system
like ventricles offering out blood
here I come to know the heartwood
as the soul of the entity
although at it’s core
there is fabric death
this death is the strength
serendipity structure centered
a million fibers of cellulose
glued together
lignen bonding the wide
branches of the family
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Let me toil a moment longer
in the honesty of the woods
the humbleness of green
behind my small home
as clouds circle their wagons
sweet pungent zing in the air
a storm impending on the horizon
I ache with joy
as the backs of pines crack
in the sway above my heart
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 8:19 PM UTC
Today I place palms
in partnership
let the raised mazes
at my fingertips
interlock the hemispheres
of soul, of my body,
and of my metaphor
let the leash of time
slip to the floor
freeing my grasp
so my hands may be
liberated to face the sky
kiss goodbye
the culling clockwork
swim gradually outward
to thin the clutter
with silence
let sensations dance
percolate if they must
taste of them
with the tip of my tongue
allow the blossoms of thought
to heave
their tension my way
and just as quickly
watch them fall away
to evaporate from solid
to liquid
to vapor in my own lap
settled just beneath
the fuzz on my nose
feathers are
what become of me
my lungs waft
like cotton sings
whispering on breeze
my strictness
is weightless armature
is stillness
and momentum one
my posture is centered
above in-breath
my attitude finds
altitude of out-breath
I watch my own evacuation
lightness
spreading to stratos
gravity hugging
darkness unconditional
eyes closed
I become the distance
reached for and embraced
in the grasp
of my own depth
I witness open flame
I peel the onion
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
I caught the kiss of the weekend
throwing my paper plane
into April’s surreal refuge
philosophizing from a tattered
hammock stitched of rainbow
legs let sway pendent
toes feather touch dusting
lapping as brush strokes
tickling blades of tender Fescue
where unruly plants
begin to heave
haloed vines at the Sun
tongue jutting from pucker
sprouting at lip’s edge
swift nimble fingers cavorting
under cumulonimbus explosions
origami romance slouched
geometric in the backyard
letting the symmetry of the mind
crease the leisure of the day
into colored paper
all of those delicate planes
all of my tiny moods
each an intelligence
spanning the spectrum
fashioned the moth to the flame
then unfurled came the Buzz
The Sprinter, The Stable
a Sea Glider in eight folds
the Hunting Flight of epic distance
then acrobatics of the Royal Wing
psychedelic parchment for The UFO
100% bond paper persisted
for the Eagle Eye and White Dove
enraptured in the moment
my mind came to insight
before the wind up and the pitch
before she can split the winds
I must know the sinews intimately
before she may bathe her
formation in the sky
spread wings and dance the distance
I must delve to atomic intricacies
search further like an arrow
to the soul of her dynamic
watch her parallels unfold
between Earth-measured aspects
and the indispensable
prism of her goddess shape
my hands began to weave
stories in foreign tongues
melodies I’ve never had the voice to sing
knuckles Mamboing sign language
in rhythms the Universe has yet to show
the dusk horizon eclipsed
by stars and a paper wish
blessed trajectory
through the tussled hush
that hugs the wilted pergola
a well-folded fantasy
hung up where the faded pinwheel
spins it’s humming silver
the season’s scents
standing in a prayer circle
amid ice cubes slumping
collapsing in mason jars
ales foaming in pint glasses
hugging the shifting night air
melting and mending with the metaphor
of God and the cacophony of frogs
these days finessed from fingertips
that lock hands with shapes
built by children
hideaways kissed with dreamers lips
folded secret love notes
tucked between privacy fences
there were said prayers
upon those movements
upon my lawn
unfolded suburban satori
hands bent to mudras
giving imagination’s cursive voice
and it went outward that day as such
a breath, a meditation, a spiritual gesture
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:33 PM UTC
Such a simple synonym of a great yellow house
swaddled in the shadows on a flat patch in the backyard
a refuge resting of bric-a-brac and ornamental knickknacks
with a paint chipped porch that beamed once a brilliant white
a birdhouse filled with straw the previous owners left behind
a plywood room banished with no insulation and one lonely window
something of substance, with grainy walls to hold me up
a quiet place to talk to myself when the sun goes to sleep
where the imagination springs open deliciously
behind that old closed door that creaks
a cube where prayers share the stale air with the stillness of time
improvised shelving of old milk crates battered as gypsies
like migrating baggage nomadic through the years
that rainbow hammock hanging loose from the rafters
a husk to lift a weary back, a sheath to house the soul
a shaky legged easel from my love, nested into its very own corner
reflecting outward like a mirror so I might better see myself
the plastic man of gold modestly retired above the window seal
the only trophy I ever felt I ever earned
an electric heater rattling its nonsense in the cold night air
amusing any shivering listener who cares to be warmed
A string of soft incandescent lights that dangle overhead
perfectly framing the faded native masks like vibrant yellow teeth
wilted candles scattered amongst the odds and ends
there wax bellies spattered on the floor to keep the paint drippings company
a mess of tousled brushes protruding from the dented silver can
wearing disheveled hairpieces to match their eccentric ways
the squatting antique box with its stitching and fat brass latches
enshrined as a tiny monument to the mantis and the moth
secrets scribbled on the dead parchment crammed into their tombs
journals that became maps on my journey to myself
icons harbored naive and coarse
to be plotted and stationed, rearranged and cherished
a cocoon that bursts from inside out
viscera stashed in a capsule to be kissed and romanced
the stacked canvases like a house of cards
leaning in tired on the supports of their brothers and sisters
the faces of reincarnation hanging on pushpins
those abstractions surreal in all their horrid geometry
the pirate ship, the aerosols
the old machine that holds the rotten gumballs
bolts and screws and arrowheads
a native tongue that enriches the enigma
not merely a physical escape of hoarded trinkets
fitted ad hoc with all the contrivances to tinker away the while
more abstractly a spiritual gathering of subdued memories
a space becoming itself a philosophy unraveling the details
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 7:28 PM UTC