Hi folks.
I'm revamping some work and moving any of my future work to https://aheartmovingoutwards1.wordpress.com/. Thanks for all the fun, HP.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 8:58 PM UTC
i'm absorbing the pain of your lacerations -
the tattoos of your mother's screams
etched in between your knuckles.
a canvass,
whitened and deeply dented,
takes the form of wordless, celestial aspiration -
the manifestation of release from an invisible prison.
your clanging tin cup on the bars asks for logic -
in response,
the uncompromising transmission sits in silence.
your mind does not deserve such a fate.
under opaque bedsheets,
a reversal in perspective unlocks the gate.
a house divided may only stand
if division negotiates with gravity
in blind faith.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
my conscious,
a spec on the corner of the Polaroid lens,
a heart lost in the reeds of dampened circumstance,
a hydrangea blooming in an untended field,
meditates upon itself
like a child lost
in a superstore.
--
an ocean wave mimics its predecessor
only to fall victim to aspiration.
what will crush upon my tired bones
as they chase sunsets
in a similar search
for meaning
?
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 10:53 PM UTC
sunlight,
sunlight,
sunlight.
beacon me home
like the smell of goodnight.
i'm always half-blind
& always in denial
that i'm half alive.
it wouldn't hurt
to trade the coffins in my mind
for memories of your blonde streaks
& white fists for black lives
in coffee shops
around the corner.
why am i buying all of this free art,
anyways?
your nose is in the books,
your heart
in the
right place.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
you're the design left on the windowsill
after a whimsical,
impulsive,
condensation-initiated
doodling session.
- - -
timeless,
preserved,
and
limitless
in your reach.
in fractions of rotations,
it is filled with sun;
it is shrouded by clouds.
it is fleeting from my fingertips
like my former layers
of skin.
it is the meeting of the lips.
it is measured by minutes
& diastolic response
in this life,
by the depth of irises
& ocean currents
in the next.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
a cracked slab of
concrete
knocked
on the front door.
"i ache of
tread and
winter
wind."
it shuttered,
turned a frigid purple
(by
winter
solstice),
and looked
at its watch.
(5:55 A.M.)
another repetition
of an engine revving.
another star
brilliantly,
silently,
waving
goodnight.
another coffee cup
becoming
hot
and then,
becoming
cold.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
her tongue danced like the swaying maple,
ideas transforming to light,
a monarch pushing its iridescent chest into
tomorrow.
it is enough to soften a man's heart.
the song,
unheard from time to time
(the dark clouds plugging my ears
as crows huddle on fraying, telephone wire),
echoed as the stone at the base of the waterfall does-
(she is untouched by water
or human intervention)
.
it is the warm recipe known by heart,
the compress for a broken foot,
the wind chime surrendering pre-determined agendas
to Spring's affirmative intuition.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
i got scared.
i burnt my tongue just to taste-
the hymn of an elixir with no destination,
a tear with a purposeful procreation and a
meaningless infatuation.
you were on my mind like a wired, chided alpine of lovesick honeybees,
and i've felt nothing but ancestral pain in this echoless house of mirrors.
i am a laundry basket hanging from translucent puppet strings.
this flora bellows,
so engulfed in Western culture that it forgot about sheltered lieutenants-
the deafening tenants singing of
"just one more,
just one more,
just
one
more
.
"
i am no more worthy of the stratosphere than my raven-shaped nightmares,
but i'm orchestrating a perpetual plea
for my fingers to bend
into a less misshapen crescent.
*
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
white coat covering solemn ground,
my palms are both cracking and mending,
my eyes both rapidly cycling and softly meditating,
my mythical equilibrium both scratching at the surface,
and tucking itself in for the night.
--
somewhere distant
but not far,
your lungs are the lantern in my attic-shaped heart,
maintaining a hushed illumination
and a delicate snowfall,
euphoniously humming a reliable tune,
foreshadowing cozier winters
of hope and comfort.
Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
often in days where the sun,
in its highest hierarchy,
still refuses to warm my feet
(stubborn
&
engulfed in charcoal
),
the colorless kaleidoscope behind my eyes will become a photo album of the purple-red hue of waterfront nimbocumulus,
jade scrubs not yet bloodied,
and the tea kettle sweetly whistling,
a collective hymn only conjured by your
ambitious,
bashful
cheekbones-
an antidote comprised of scarlet tablecloth and ballroom reverie within the smallest bones of my wrist.
in this auspicious daydream inexplicably affixed to reality,
i watched a cackling crown absorb the ultraviolet in a stale, forgotten parking lot
--
as rainbow plumage replaced black,
i thought of your modest palms on my vacant chest,
immersing the colorless into the radiance,
adrift
and unafraid.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 10:44 PM UTC