God killed Summer.
But caught her mid-Fall,
And laid her in a goldenrod dress.
We held our breath-and wept
To see her more lovely in sleep:
Green eyes closed brown,
Crimson lips
Windswept hair
God cried hardest-
Saturated her bedside in rain.
We drank deep draughts of her vibrant complexion
Brandishing onto our gaze
Her rosy palms and frosting fingers.
God blanketed Summer.
With a sheet of fine lace,
And lowered her into the earth.
We trudged home in the snow.
Her warmth had left us cold,
But we carried God's promise burning our ears:
"Whatever entity I take,
With tenfold will I bring.
Our Summer's hardy, just you wait-
And from her grave she'll Spring!"
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
Kiss me.
Kiss me, soft, as I am… passing.
kiss me while my lips are burning, while I yet believe in romance
with soft blush face,
hammer heart,
sloppy eyelashes.
Lift me.
Lift me like a child on stilts, elevated above the feeble dreams of adults
with tendons taught,
fingers splayed,
playing my hair like seaweed
bless me.
bless me with your consciousness,
with your most pensive furrowed brows
with your aspirations
bless me with your future.
Feed me.
Feed me at my bedside—but not just tepid broth.
Feed me the window view
when my eyes forget to flash,
Feed me the sky
Free me.
from the IV,
the monitors,
the smell of chlorine
So that it may be you and the moon
that sing my last lullaby.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
I miss you all humdrum floppy eyed
like crinkle face spit flying mad people
I Miss You Cause You Are Crazy 2
you are petroleum seeping through my brain waves
and when i light the fuse
You'll just about blow the place sky High.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
You stepped inside a pinhole
and found yourself in water
you and your floatings, prayers, gloatings
dripped listlessly through
others’ problems, funerals, bad jokes-
every persons puddle music
in a torrent of watery grievance
Welcome to [Big City, Foreigner Country]—Traveler.
*This ocean smells awfully polluted
and not just the grey in the air
but the blood in the streets from the
succulent meats.
and the way that the people stare.*
but tread lightly, and don’t drown,
you fishes from other lands,
Chin up!
your gills open-- and you will find that you
swim as the culture demands.
bless you, watery wanderers,
with your blessings and cursings
and tears.
for this ocean of raging attitudes
is made human by all of your fears.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Move over incompetence-
That’s my seat.
We’ll have tea. The herbal variety.
And talk about my listless absence
over rosehips and peppermint.
It has been a long road trip
on awkward interstates,
since I have eaten poetry.
It tastes tangy on my tongue-
tahini and tap water,
like salad dressing gone south.
I went south, since last we spoke.
I cry still for the colors,
the blues and greens that burned my eyes
and transfigured my palette.
The mountains spoke foreign languages
but blessed me with new ears to hear,
but I did not record their tales.
I sit now trying to catch a shimmer of their dialect
but I am full of empty English.
I repent now,
of my caustic neglect,
to the nymphs of creative order—
and humbly bow myself to the sword of
articulated
chaos.
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
[allow] me to lick the Newness:
off your face,
away from the yapping white noise in the distance,
out of the infant smile you shed.
Lets dance the color of welded [souls]
all you who fracture under [the heavy mass
of] my emerging grin, cast the [humanity]
from your leaden chins
lets [radiate beyond our stiff] elderly shells-
stretch to the most intricate composition
of every genre of pebble [person]
Don’t stop there!
[pass] pockets of serendipity to the greyest nimbus,
the slightest twitch of grass,
the [breath] of soil.
why must we comfort Zones?
I will ****** your plush practiced demeanor
to [nurse] your pallid glimmers
of certified [You].
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
Tendonitis
is a small price to pay for euphoria.
he gasped at the brink of
success
mouth agape and strained
like pulled taffy
This project
embraced him entirely
consumed like a long lost relative
Sometimes we don’t climb.
we dance.
It was no longer clear
whether he climbed more than
the earth climbed him: she clambered inside,
ascending further into his psyche
with every
stretched, pulsing
muscle grasp
happiness bleeds into our
contorted
torso-Grace.
like water running the
pigment lines of
saturated paintings.
He cried out
impassioned,
shedding the skin of his palms
again-
upturned and reaching
like a caustic supplication
endowed with
vibrating desire,
quaking faith.
This time
he fell hard.
and again,
slap mat against the grain
of success
flung downward
like a thrice worn shirt
But wait-
and watch.
She calls him weeping-
a contrite lover
and he will return
to her brutality
nursed with humility-
intoxicated with exhilaration.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 4:07 AM UTC
Life is the prattle of an old lady.
She squawks either too loudly
or makes you crane to hear.
as she sits rocking,
her senile nonsense numbs your intelligence
until you sit bleary-
gaping at the air
like the fattest fish in the aquarium.
your every comment drowns
in the mush
of her tapioca voice.
you sit uncomfortably in her fishbowl world of
cottage cheese,
faded floral print- lace doilies
and contemplate your deft superiority
as her denture clicks gnaw on your sanity.
as soon as you think
a vague plotline surfaces in her mumbling
a new great aunt’s third cousin’s baby
weaves its way into the conversation,
and you are hopelessly thrown
like a reused dryer sheet
back into the colored load.
occasionally you attempt to establish a connection
between you and the venerable wrinkled smile
but she mishears and begins another
disconnected strain
featuring Bobby, the lad turned soldier.
but
just
as soon as you gain confidence
that you know how to handle this doddery senior-
she slams you with a small token
of sage advice
that shatters your naïve sphere
with its mind-wrenching validity.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
Cyan
has such a brackish mark
upon your passive visage-
it transfigures boldly, tempestuously
any average glance flung facetiously in my direction.
Dearest Rogue Element,
You invigorate all other
salient features.
Like the slip of a blunt knife,
you surge open your soul, compelling
any audacious personality to bleed through the wound of your
gaping irises.
You betroth yourself to
the Fascinating, the Creative,
and like the cascade of clearest french horn lamentation-
you stir my
emotions with a mournful compassionate caress.
And that’s the difference.
The mellow mahogany of my eyes
provides the most loving background for Light to
reflect her dancing valiance with reverent adoration.
But-
your Blue
will
forever
stride as the
arrogant foreground.
Commanding and eternally vexing, (captivating) me
with your gaudy juxtaposition
of angry intensity
and poignant serenity.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 4:11 AM UTC