Came, by the sundown mist of Lion’s skies,
Or the rare instance of walking Butterflies.
There, Wind-Quails escort the candle sun.
Then I, once gone, in quest for that old sort
Of divinity, a nose between the keen bouquets,
Too tumultuous to breathe and as lovely as love.
As I, a known Nightingale, nibbled an early bread
Before your visitors, bowing us all a good sense
Of loveliness and thankfulness. And goodness!
Ah…I’ve rehearsed this nod as a crumb climb
Down my wanton cheeks, that stretched to a time
Too tumultuous to wait and as lovely as love.
What is transcendence, but the second floor.
I climb the stairs like herons on shallow lakes.
Was that old divinity torn before it was made?
The church bell tolls and calls to sit us back,
And wait, till flocks of sweat rain in my sleeves,
Too tumultuous to storm and as lovely as love.
And the piano man’s finger hops a tenfold dance,
As your swan-brilliant eyes, and countenance
Had leveled pews; whose prayer taught the same
Nimble knees, to land where their faiths deserve.
So what is the verb of a stone? Is it my name?
To be born out of your call, and die the same.
Till Archangels fell! Along by the aerial deeps.
That heaven-paste on your skin from within,
So God and Man’s awe may meet; your opulent
Pinch bled joy, that melted laugh’s a tempest
Ride to a fantail’s winning ears. The sighs repeat
To a saying: Only a two-faced man is complete:
Hear me, O, but hear me, Maiden Everlovely!
I sing for every syllable of steps your legs carry.
So do not walk, for all’s contour frame goodnight—
Yet what presence! What melody essence bride;
In a fashion I so speak, as all gentlemen alike,
Too tumultuous to slip and as lovely as love—
A wedding’s an Au Revoir for a sure ‘Yes, I do.’
The veil’s an open locket for life’s container.
So may a smile be read and a kiss be said, and I,
May cheer for a cheer, to you! To that old divinity.
And my, to such a throw! Aren't you such a Dove?
Too tumultuous to spread and as lovely as love.
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 6:19 AM UTC
By the order of a query and an answer,
Collides the oval sound and the hearer.
Like, O, its crystal peak rips a halo wearer:
A mortal genesis, up a nightmare twilight.
White, as white! Travels a gorged-belly overnight.
In a rice field’s sight, orbs the creviced sea.
Upon its weight the cobalt forest hunch,
Blowing sprees of shards within a tidepool fall.
//Lo perdido para siempre es inmortal.//
The old star’s drool doubled its fresh aspects.
Beneath the waning tail lapping bent down.
By the order of a beauty that once did drown.
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 1:53 PM UTC
I'm haunted by bullet-shaped hearts,
With sparks-tinted pearls n’ quartz,
Of styles slanted by bonbon tarts.
I was the sash-links of velveted stuffy arts,
Meaning my love has even counterparts,
Of yours and I and yours and I.
Why, You remind me of liberty
And my likings of poetry.
And when the lead—O! When the lead fired
A slow, in my easy trench coat cold n’ tired
Mistletoes of Narra leaves…n’ oh my heart.
I have been humbled deep. In a heap of a palm
Holding the universe in a gaze calm
N’ repose; of your works in beautiful prose.
And from my eyes, I'm bleeding,
Not unto blindness, but unto seeing.
You,
The blood,
and nothing.
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 8:54 AM UTC
What have I done?
Passing a proper life rather than to flee.
I would sob of it, in ink.
But I left my pen in my study.
And pencils do not sink
as dark as any charcoal does.
It is a mark, I suppose.
But a mark grey and half uncertain.
Easier to erase than to oppose.
Then again,
I have written some, bygones ago.
We have time, yes? This goes first I ashow:
Bold wrinkles and scary parts—oh my heart…
Then once again,
You're beside me in my anecdotes.
A diary, rather than a biography:
Words that which assembled ashame of me,
Assembled a wishful child’s ideal playtime.
And I’m contempt from all my discontent.
Who could judge with an eye to justify? How so?
Do any deity know me? A shy and an afraid thing.
No longer now, a dignity to be reattained.
For God’s favor is entertained, not pertained.
That is if fortitude arches from solitude.
But I'm more of a scoundrel than a rude,
Because I make the most of all.
There is only two roads but I see fifty more.
I took none for they all have traces.
And there's no going back,
Only unkindness, has its forward paces.
And I too! Possess this vices,
But I won't make the most of all.
For I am not from solitude,
but a crowd of proud men of fortitude.
And when my rendition ends, I'm back in circles.
Where the heart rushes to the brim of the sink,
And alost its face about the mirror,
Wishes I had been an angel and say:
Heaven is a place on earth,
As long you stood all you understood,
and life ends with every tick you ponder.
And there is always time, only time; and
Think nothing of it, when you pause a little more.
For it makes a man odd,
missing his blood.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 4:40 AM UTC
Seasons if not the weather blew a petalfalls.
If what should sink drains, what whispers drop?
If waterfalls bring a river, petalfalls cradle deep
a billow north. And frank wisdom is its blessing,
If leaves can ponder. So butterflies should only
Wander; So far as the petalfall’s whisper drops.
Till’ I'm away down south, with my friends balmed to the clouds, cradled to a thousandfold.
Feb 3, 2025
Feb 3, 2025 at 4:28 AM UTC
Aim high wont you? These arms followed an angle close to you, than right. That diamond eyes, peered once, before the setter of our struggle.
The karmas misled the merits,
And the merits with decisions.
A tension teasing, ********** questions,
Sowed beneath burnt-up fields beside a road.
The smoke’s precision upon its smudging air,
That tears it open, that leads across unwoven.
And our eternity shreds a speck of little dignity.
My dignity that shared a speck upon our eternity.
A steam kissed and ate the air-flux. A rough chill!
Singeing our eyes to let free—Yet we hugged
the same pillow in the fire; And diamond shards fell beneath your cheek, peering at the setter.
Do not cry, beloved. I will save your life:
Impairing the merits that misled us,
The decisions that misled us.
Jan 27, 2025
Jan 27, 2025 at 8:36 AM UTC
Prayers are no meditations for your begging.
Pretending you're embedded in God’s will,
Aside salvation: The eternal momentum to
Chant a meaning; his second-hand revelations!
To bear witness the next three digited centuries.
And what if the burst of colors was in my head,
From the crowns walked a plank to confess
A halfpiece of bread, and a wine-full of blood
In your heart. What knees pristine, uncalloused!
As if uncrucifixed to the privilege of delusions.
A heathen! Me?
You're mistaken, my brother.
He is definitive in my eyes! And upon my words,
Our Father sees me as he sees you.
But I see you not as Our Father does.
For when you're lost then, do you seize deceit?
Because the latter excuses were amiss
of validations from other Holy spirits?
Or is it, you're paltrier of a servant unrequited
By God’s manifestation of an ant,
Born inside an indecisive man: crying—begging.
Fate and God and spirits and fortunes,
Whatever fits your pocket, fits with lies.
Lies that begged to know a little paradise.
It's all abstract! A profound persuasion within.
Numbers ruined the origins of your skin?
You don't know? Where's your resolution then?
If one beseechs one more trivial permission,
When does the life of purity begin?
And if one doubts his God,
Is he not permitted to sin?
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 7:32 AM UTC
By the everyday bench, he—above all, is sinister.
Look yonder, at his warped entry hole,
aloft his ghoul-like chin.
Mercy! The bread cried.
That sad naked eyes gazing upon his feast,
Until the dry surface denied
his tongue, gliding through utmost dexterity,
And eventually died.
The blood is butter,
The tongue is hell.
And the crust could only tell
What is beyond nothing before reverie.
The mush, the crush, a touch of reverie.
He's but a entitlement of his attonements.
He’s the lyrical empirical, reaper of meals,
That is only eaten by men,
by women, by child.
Upon fixation, he's near but a separation
of humanity and **********
An offspring of all vices,
A reaper of reverie.
What need of you to ponder
more in the face of a Monster?
Jan 13, 2025
Jan 13, 2025 at 8:47 AM UTC
When the wind takes over—me and you.
I’d plunge a tonic to drag its destruction.
Till’ your kiss hits the cloud banks to insue,
violence of graven red by my cheeks into
a vast depression of lonesome hermits—
While I’m still in need of your urgency,
The bubbles spills upon your dress.
And now, the world is a mess.
The world with pretty closed eyes.
I lifted from room to room on her thighs,
And drew to plunge our destruction to synchronize.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 6:47 AM UTC
The great pessimist of the century,
wins over fate by the order of all-
Knights in blue in matters of righteously
Collapsing on its knees named ‘fairness’ wons
A century of dismissals of cries,
Descending again rewinding demise.
The image of its state in perfect shapes,
Formed outside prevalent ties, with craniums,
with faces non-eccentric intentions,
sovereign definitions winding up
And down and undermines your ambitions.
New and old and inventive thoughts…Process.
Simple as just. Simple as in breathing,
In and out your end—from the beginning.
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 4:42 AM UTC