I saw you that day when
the end of you was the only thing in your way.
Your undulating wrinkles softened the rocks, and I caught sight
(maybe just a glimpse) of music gingerly stroking your neck,
and you were beautiful.

On the Cliffs of Moher you stood two feet calm
atop a fire you had built as a pedestal for yourself
and all your wantings.
The time was droll, playing ribbons up the backs of your knees
and as I watched you ( me, wide eyed and heart so full of wonder it hushed itself to cease to beat)
I cried.

Your stories of arms threw hyacinths to the ebbing tide,
and the breathing of the earth was left impatient.

For a moment you took to dreaming,
and your eyes filled with alabaster love.
You remembered your brother, a radiating mass of
muscle and joy; how you once vowed
to save the world together. You remembered her, your pearl,
your human nightingale with wings in her mind, how she used to steal the wind
and hold its sweet smell hostage to sing your baby lullabys.

I saw you that day.
I Saw you that day.
I saw You that day.
In your face there was a secret and I knew it to be remarkable.

The Hum of your pumping lungs set my fingertips dancing from
the Drum of your aching prayer.
The Hum of your smiling skin left me breathless and heaving through un-clenched teeth to the beat of
the Drum to your star fixed gaze.
The Hum of your words reeling through the cracks in the sky to tune the wind with
the Drum of your hands on your chest.

And in this song you moved. A manmountain in the shape of pieces.
The world lept from its axis and ran to your side. "Oh! " you cried.
"Oh, for just a lapse in the root of time. I don't care for the meaning
of it all, I only want back my rhyme!"

I was still as you dripped into the cliff. You fell
knee, knee, hands to your head and head to your feet.
In this moment you were incompletely complete.
And I saw you,
and you were beautiful.

If a moment can be captured and placed in a frame,
is it a moment lost, or a moment gained?

Are the possibilities for your life
only as endless as the amount of
filters you can place on your reality?

Is your transparency equivalent
to a smokescreen? And is your esteem held in
number of accomplishments or
accountability?

Are you silent in the face of adversity?
Monochromatic in a grey society?

Are you a stagnant tide, or a current, making waves?

Is your peripheral vision blurred to incapacity; The auto-focus lens,
the beholder of all you see?
Thinkthis.
Don’tquestion.
Don’tblink.
It fears you might escape if you stop looking and
See.

You are not a one-size-fits-all in a manufactured wasteland.

So, burn.
Burn yourself to the ground
and in the ashes, ***** a shrine, for those who
are gone to you, to remember you by.

And, move on.

Resuscitate.
Resurrect.
Reinvent.

Love without limitation and show kindness with no expectation.
Question authority. Doubt society.
In all things, live your life with uncertainty, because
there is no beauty
in knowing everything.

Teeter
Totter.
Give me all your
wasted years.

The epitome of a life
-unwanted-
I’ve never known so clear.

And you plow
into me. Your daughter,
your adversary.

I am nothing to you

but hate
breeding rapidly
in the heat of your teeth.

And all there is…?
Is all there is.
A mark.
An asphyxiated sigh.

Inhale
Inhale
Inhale


And I implode.

Can it hurt
anymore?
These angry fists
all full of lungs
drummed out a beat---

breath
squeeze
breath
squeeze---

a tug of war with
wills and will nots

A poison mouth
to bite from the inside
out

and all that was heard
teeth ripping
from this skull
tearing out this
heart.

Blanketed half-life limbs
melt one into
another. The birds are long gone
by now. Sodden cracked out floors

are all that's left. A God

that ran away from me-
holding out toes
hips
and chestful of lies-
And now I
lay

forgotten.
This collapsing throat.
A sight to
leave children
wringing their hands.


The walls are tired
of me
lately.

kneading at a soft belly
warm and fragrant straight
out of the shower
like bread from an oven

they would have me eat
from my own side
before I could be deemed
acceptable for purchase

i curiously inform them
that i am no longer for sale
and drift into peaceful sleep
to the song of the wringing in their hands

I fear what is not this time. This time that is not what was
nor what will be. I fear
you.

You, the melody. You, the music.
And no matter what, your show must always,
irrevocably, go on.

And, it weighs on me; You, as the symphony.

You grip onto me, searching
for something to take you home...

but this house has been empty for years.