He showed himself today;
A trespasser on the land where leaves reign.
The morning sun proved his Achilles heel,
In the space where my inner soul
And the outside world collide.
“I can see you.”
The words are a dance -
Hot chocolate and cotton-candy,
Swirling sluggishly together in sweet adoration;
He melts at the exposure.
And at the tip of her engine roaring lips
Heat divulged his truth, young and bare –
The David fighting the Goliath air.
Surrender your almond sun skin and
Forfeit the strawberries in your hair.
He feasts and diminishes,
With no appreciation for the warmth,
But coal coated shame burning into ash
As bloodied juices dangle in anguish.
The calendar vigorously holds deep, intrepid letters:
“Beyond the Autumn lines, Winter quivers with fear.”
Sealed lips savor their secret:
Winter just trespassed here.
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 11:57 AM UTC
From oil ridden eyes fall soft, polluted tears.
A small fawn weeps for a mother but Mother never hears.
The forest wilts and the core of the apple disintegrates,
Becoming a force hidden somewhere in the soil;
Lingering in desperation for a chance to one day
Transform into a flower worth picking.
But each time she starts to grow, her spider web heart
Tangles unseen threads of her truth and their illusion;
And in the confusion she becomes the sedated clam,
Imprisoning herself in a fortress hidden in the sand.
Eventually the clam knows not the difference between
The dark sway of the ocean and a life on stable land.
Pure pearls bleed into a sinful blackened gem;
Narcissus flowers bind the treasure and slay
All who dare divulge the secret to the stone:
“Sinister deception is all you have ever known,
But all your dark unspeakable sins, child,
Were never yours to own.”
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 11:56 AM UTC
Her hands are rusty as she grasps the sheet;
A forbidden silk engulfed in deepened red.
Too weak to scream but strong enough to
Prevail in her own demise.
She lifts and waves it across a luring eye,
Calling the beast to the feast that is her,
Offered up on a platter of cheap,
Used and battered silver.
His tide withdraws out for miles,
Revealing the secret caves and
The truths behind the closed shades
Of her twelve year old bedroom.
Polluted sands reign beneath the pure
Blue hue of her ocean eyes.
Collections of every small droplet of water
In the air of her past combine together
Into a perfidious blurred cloud of blackened oil,
Consuming her into a sick dishonest truth.
She only knows how to be charged by bulls,
In a ring where there is no audience,
But rather a sea of people with their backs turned.
Thumping, trotting, galloping feet on the ground,
The sound of horns penetrating into skin,
A small whisper of soft, unwarranted apologies,
Like a tree’s remorse for the man with the axe,
As he stabs the wise oak in the middle of the forest.
If every set of selfish eyes ignores her cries for help,
Is the horned villain even hurting her at all?
Her feet dig into the earth like a cemented foundation,
As she swears to rise with every fatal blow,
Until the day a head slowly turns,
And ends the torcherous show.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:44 AM UTC
At daybreak, the messenger was killed by my hand;
I grasped and cleaved the life where it once grew,
Claiming it selfishly for my own eyes to view.
Violet allured and the desire began to expand.
Each morning the secret scent of future days
Secretes whirlwinds of intoxicating haze.
A lustful hunger overtook what was planned.
Before snapping root to stem, a final call before the knell:
The delicate crocuses whispered, “Spring,” then softly fell.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 5:47 PM UTC
Close my eyes too tightly,
Like an
Overcautious man
Closes his new lipstick colored engine;
Kissing it twice to ensure divine safety.
Stained with love and yet it is merely a smudge;
A pool of berries off the bush,
Squished between webbings of the pale girl,
Giggling with her hair coiled tight in
Golden vines of eternity.
It is no sign of love,
Or depiction of passion,
But a shell to wash away with the tides that
Fly under the wings of the eagle,
A force coexistent with the wind,
Moving the sailboat
To the new world;
Round and not flat,
Unlike the amber horizon in its persuasive lie.
Yet in the old man’s alternate state of time,
Eyes veil themselves behind vibrant, intoxicating hues;
The illusion.
Through the charcoal and ash of painted blinds,
Stinging venom engulfs like the rip tide.
Which does pull me under to the inevitable death.
Can my anchored legs find the magic to
Escape the sadistic scorpion within my skull?
Or,
Should the emptying of sorrow in each elongated breath,
Explain perfectly,
In an eloquent dance of fairies and dust,
That an eye, at times,
Simply should not see.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 7:51 PM UTC