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Desert pond,
       idle sun.

Salt, shadow,
       and the revealing light of midday.

She traipses from
the safety of the car
        to the danger at the water's edge.

One hand shielding her eyes,
the other,
        her over-exposures.

Discomfited by a lack
         of self-confidence.

Loving the water,
         hating her thighs.

Jun 23 · 800
Birds from Sad Films
Carlo C Gomez Jun 23
Apathetic city skyline
This must be Drum Street
There's critical thinking
Digital tendencies

Pigeons on the roof
Kids in the library
Hail and flashpoint
Their final resting place

Who of you misses the bleak missiles of youth?
And how they used to hit like needles?

I can count your sufferings on my fingers
See them hidden in the tall grass
They move in secret
With shadow blister
As much as the caterpillar:
Elusive and eruciform

Sixteen crane wives
Collect on the guide wire
Their weathered plumage
Strangely displayed

Airplane debris on an uncharted wild
Macabre flowers growing out of air masks, gone quiet
The magic word is drear
It's a sorrow-filled caw
As if feathers from the grave
Clothing our fears

I can count the flock on my fingers
See them separate in mid-flight
Each a solitary path
Fusing rage and grief
Each a solitary path
Fusing rage and grief

Carlo C Gomez Jun 18
When youth was moth, love flowed over us in prismatic waves—systems of romance.

Then came the phoenix of your heart, and everything was a ceiling. I moved clockwise past infinite shadow and onto your wall.

Sorry to wake you. [...] I forgot to tell you something. [...] I'm like the sun or perhaps the moon. And there are times when I know I'll make you sad.

Distant polyglot in its timbres, its psychological profile, and its pulse, it could not sound less like a soundtrack for a search. More like a Middle Eastern funeral.

Stemmed from a shared anxiety over self-definition in an indefinite world, and each of them has searched for answers in the amorphous space between where “you” end and “I” begin.

By turns, august and sweet—revealed a complex stillness, a set of detached passions attempting to rebuild themselves, a desensitized state searching for soul.

I have loved you into oblivion and now move into thin air. Please remember me as a time of day. As long as you can hold your breath, we'll always be together.
Jun 15 · 471
Carbon Dating
Carlo C Gomez Jun 15
I wonder how old your smile,

how far your hemisphere:

fringes of your admired shape,
traces of your desired smell.

Might they reveal what clouds know.

Perhaps measure a held glance,
the flowers in your hair.

Perhaps discover
a here without a where.
Jun 12 · 754
Jupiter's Wife
Carlo C Gomez Jun 12
A mix of
And Venus in furs

A minor astronomical event
Between luminous beings

Timean sparkles
Fast atoms escape

And in their wake
Baby satellites to bear

Jun 7 · 375
The Eyeshadow Café
Imagine a box
In shadow
Of utter regalia
Iris, dressed as a waterfall
She comes scattered

Imagine an eyelid illusionist
Praying for more palettes
Enters steelbook cathedrals
To a ministry of colour

For the street outside
Cannot offer as
Interesting a hue
As those fascinating within
The pigment of her imagination

It's compelling artistry
Like oil on canvas
A slight of hand
Smoke and mirrors

Her skilled fingers
Kohl mining
For soft medley
And the new liminality
Above the spectator's eye

For Mrs. Timetable
Jun 5 · 611
The Color of Humanity
color me
color you
a truly new human hue
like a bright star
crystal clear, drink
from its waking waters
grieve, keen
but re-believe
in our incorruptible
stellifying power
beginning with
a galaxy of hands
—interconnected hands—
that touch with the emitting
rays of compassion
Jun 2 · 948
The Awakening of Eve
Green reflections
Clouds of pollen
Butterfly mornings
Her face forms in summertime
She sells electric ego
And flowers of herself
Reaping the wild wind
From a haunted garden

Jun 1 · 1.9k
We Can Build You
The future is drawn and threading.

The future is sold and factory-sealed.

Just cold enough to be artificial, just feeling enough to be alive.
May 30 · 396
Lost in Parenthesis
Carlo C Gomez May 30
Fading chorus
to a sing-along rapture
a laugh of clarification
a hasty placement of hands
and knees, dovetailed
yes, those eyes
~ still lit and power-surged
but give her a moment
for all the sudden
it tickles
Carlo C Gomez May 25
find your torch
light me up

brittle and cracked
I like feeling this incomplete

I hope the nightmares don't start
without me

but if they do
let them stir
as the crow flies away
on dangerous days

with a host of stars
fiery god-smacked
in the vast well of night

where I could play king
for an hour
to a wounded land

and a pair of queens
kept in high dudgeon
lest they sing

their burning song
in rich hues
and deep tones
painted on the warm
analog tableau
on my skin

happiest when sad

with time and space, some
of the intricacies
can be airbrushed out

but I don’t think
imperfect love
can take too many fires
like that, because then
a renaissance heart
would certainly go black

May 16 · 802
Deaths and Entrances
Carlo C Gomez May 16
gone to earth

left for dead

everything is tickety-boo

forget your iron-on measures

and scuttled installation

your life is a bakery

that cake is like your head


and full of regret

what am I reading these days?

a book across the stars

where dreams in the throes

of giddy aerosol cans

**** the passersby

and sleep against

the exit sign

May 9 · 502
She cannot feel the full passion of this peak because it is not her passion: It is seen at a distance, as a phenomenon, like the weather, or the plague of grasshoppers that signals the beginning of the end.
May 7 · 575
Rest Stop Houdini
cracked compass
burning atlas
no sense of direction
on a drive about
the silent forests of the heart
egressing from the shadows
that hunt for us

foot caught on the accelerator
passing escapism's plateau
like a dissolving shelf of flashbacks
kept in a glass jar
it's normal to tire out
wondering who will it be
looking in the window?

the people at the wheel
are not on the payroll
they're pierced and sheer
on the surface
but their deepest parts
still inhabit bone
and slave for mere feldspar
once again human thoughts
turn to crystalline
and still they shine for us

signs are posted:
"a time for vanishing, lay it to rest"
until the unfamiliar sound
of the walls of Jericho
breaks the momentum
quiets the traffic

we entered a promise land
on cruise control
with too many exits
and not enough things to see
we did not end up
where we thought we'd be
those eyes at dusk
in the rearview mirror
they hunt for us
they wait for sleep

Humanity is swiftly disappearing from the map.
May 2 · 776
sordid scripture,
warring woman,
both menace and coquettish innocence

and restraining orders,
filling the garden:
decorations of
sunlight on a clock,
and a view into tomorrow,

revealing the "texture" of her skin
within the realm of her navel,
as soft as lace,
as smooth as
the surface of a pond.

before diving in
gives an otherworldly radiance,
her shape and smile
compared to everyday realities
are solemn in the extreme,  
the dawn threatens
to break in the east.

her voice,
(a lungfully deep, sensuous purr),
is so distinctive,
come what may,
this could be happiness:

sullen, waylaid and capricious,
her urban sexuality hidden
in the attic of revolution,
suffused with the dreamlike, hazy glow
of colored lights and tinsel.

desire is like Christmas
—it always promises
more than it delivers.
Carlo C Gomez Apr 25
I see starfish from
my false bottom

stretching the wave,
a shimmer to the sound
—slow, fast, wide, and narrow,

then gray over blue
in the empty mirth.

I see trouble and strife,
a beacon of
trembling consistently
on each note as if
she had the permanent fever.

I see death and transfiguration,
(equal bedfellows),
out of the ground
as glorious

there's ether on hand
and a lot of bridge work
to cross the vocal span of our
vibrato wars.

I've only got time
for the business at hand,
these cobwebs in the corner
(of history) can linger,
or die like

on the Queen of Compromise,
who never was,
who might have been,
who will always be.

am I cantillating
or have I ventured into
false memory syndrome

Carlo C Gomez Apr 18
It's 'pay up' time

But under my pillow
The next morning
A clipping of
Lillian Brown's household hints?

Apparently this guy pays
A whole lot more
For a perfect tooth
Than one in remarkable decay
Apr 14 · 737
The Boat House
Carlo C Gomez Apr 14
With all too
familiar moorings,

holding fast the chain
of sons and daughters,

this hiding place
isn't watertight,

life trickles in everywhere,
hopeful to the bitter end.

Apr 11 · 604
Open Stratosphere
Carlo C Gomez Apr 11
The sky is an artistic graveyard.

Many a hero and many a fool have come to their fate in its wave-driven clutches.

The number of syllables required to storybook danger is as dense as ozone.

The orange layer—a warning sign, posted by the forebears of fun, who were categorically undone by the very forces they worshipped.

Birds no better than to fly at such temperamental altitudes.

But the dream will die if we don't try.

And so we hoist our ambition like a kite, hoping to stay aloft long enough to discover something more about ourselves.
What comes after 'Z'
cannot be expressed
by letters or words.
I'm afraid, it's a bit of

For they have their say
in our struggles and fears,
in our laughter and tears,
in our sighs and moans,
to deep within our bones.

They're in our very own
heartbeats, great and small,
in that place within us
where some rain must inevitably fall.

Where they came from is no mystery,
but we each tend to use them
in the secret hours
of our private history,

like a trail of breadcrumbs,
like a bridge we jump from,
never mindful,
never loyal,
always on the tip of our tongue,
and there it toils...
Apr 3 · 570
Alkaline Mountain
Corrosive elevation
Metabolic creation
At the mouth of cough drop falls
Trails of caustic, nomadic influence:
Coffee lips
Decaffeinated tongue
Resealable groove
Reusable embryo
White hunter
Melt snow
Hang fire
Black crow

Mechanical peak
Summit on a stick
Chiseled grey
The smoke ascending
They call "day"
Lovely shade of sadness, this
Wandering endocarp
Hidden in caves, hollows, crags, cellars, and cisterns
It came naked
From out of the acrid woods
And said

"The locust are upon us..."
Mar 25 · 559
Timber Wolf
Carlo C Gomez Mar 25
seduction of fascism in mind,
like tumbling autumn leaves
ever and always
on the steps of a country house.
always and ever
just outside the aix-les-bains dance hall.
his blousy new bride
and her old lover
aware of his sympathies and
  the danger he presents to them.

seduction of fascism in mind,
ever and always
on a deserted alpine road.
always and ever
one trail of blood,
remnant of the preyed upon.
she screams against the glass,
quiet devil in the backseat
haunted by the disorder
  of his own mind.

eyes opened to
his own mutability.
alienation is immanent,
bred in the bone.
a desperate need for gravitas,
built upon vaporous credulity.
and she is pursued through the woods
ever and always,
through iridescent fields
always and ever,
until finally in his crosshairs
  she falls.

those like him have not suddenly
vanished from the earth, but
  are merely lying in wait.
Mar 17 · 717
Carlo C Gomez Mar 17
A room lives in Zoria
And also the trees
At a critical distance
She seeks their shelter
An abiding solace
To wash free
To swim sea
Who can blame
The suffering of her stream
Whether it be
A time for hanging on
Or a time for passing
Let the waters come
And overtake her
Flooding her with
Safeguarding arms

For those suffering in Ukraine
Mar 7 · 935
Dreams of Ice Cream
a taste of frozen snow
how about pistachio
chocolate fountain
or vanilla chateau
could be strawberry fields
maybe mixed
with honey and wine
or collected from
the lower slopes of
confection perfection

call it what you like:
Cornets with Cream,
perhaps like Agnes,
Queen of Ices,
wading deeper
into blissful sugar,
back and forth
in endless
flavored dreams
I wonder how many calories are in this poem?
Weddings and honeycombs.
Why do they give us the hives?
The keeper knows.

There's a buzz in the air.
It belongs to
the rudimentary happinesses:
The minor miracle of father's smile,
a morning breath of honey,
painting toy lips with
blood from mother's finger.

Deathless protagonists,
Mom and Dad,
our propolis.
They love us from afar.
They love us with what they are.

There's a buzz in the air.
There must bee!
They can't help loving
us little monsters,
who sting
and then say goodbye,
sting and say goodbye.

A linn begins to form
in the corner of their eye,
as wheat fields sway in the wind.

The innocent
and the beautiful
have no enemy, but time.

Feb 25 · 968
This is Water
Carlo C Gomez Feb 25
In the days of seafaring yore, in a candied littoral time, my parents shared a love for wingsails; propelling their craft on the surface of gentle waters.

It was here my father navigated me into existence, by taking my mother for a long enchanted boat ride.

And like a hook and eye, they so clasped and rowed into the boundless deep. The tender rhythm of their waves stirring a rivulet that would come to be called me.

Floating in this colostrum bed underneath the heart's thicket, I settled to sleep; dreaming of cradle song and breastmilk.

My unborn hands and feet routinely practiced swimming toward the open shore; until that day when a familial voice called.

And there in the dilation of a growing current, I sprang forth; thirsting for their love from my very first cry.
Feb 21 · 571
Bonnie and Clyde
Carlo C Gomez Feb 21
Tommy guns for insurance
And wads of sweaty cash
To build new empires with

But there are no guarantees
Crime, you see, doesn't pay
You can bank on it

So we already know how it ends:
They canceled his policy
And Dunaway with her
Carlo C Gomez Feb 16
Dear Mr. P - [stop] -
I was your knife in the water, a credit card kept exclusively for killing - [stop] -
I was a gingersnap on your sugar train, a flower-filled glory box to swallow your whole wide world - [stop] -
I was night, night of the electric insects, praying mantis and ladybug — nervous animals, lotus eaters, enjoying a ceremonial after meal
- [stop] -
I was slivers of pseudoscience poisoned by man-made seasons — a new and beautiful and interesting disease - [stop] -
You and me, we are now the same — snapshots in sheared time, before the closedown of our impossibly ****** impulses - [stop] -
Best wishes, V
Feb 14 · 480
Under the Apricot Tree
Carlo C Gomez Feb 14
Prune away the rumors
Run all those 'little whiles' together
But you won't get forever
Dream of obituaries
Under the apricot tree
Because those who built
This future are dead
Feb 10 · 1.8k
Creux du Van
Carlo C Gomez Feb 10

time free
to sight see


in a garden
of angels
with pine cones
at the border of
void and Vaud

of meltwater cirque
les petites Fauconnières
the inner basin
of my outer reaches

I am
I am

for snow
and polar cap
where things
are still run by the natural elements
instrumental dreamer
not by algorithms
not by advancement
Another green world
reels them in


they yearn
to be hydro-electric

cascading over
emerald and stone

floating along
with the water hyacinth

where they evaporate
but do not falter

in the naked spring
of continuously November

jumping off
a bridge above ecosystem

a new frontier
under their nose

as souvenir:
pioneers to the fall

and yet all they really
need to remember is

this is where they
first made love

Feb 1 · 877
Remain in Absolution
I'm in a room without recovery area:
a room of intermission, a room
of collapse. Where are
the convenient little windows
to release a wicked bird of thought?
The quiet there is monk-like,
rogue, and slightly unpleasant, guilty
of moments spent with shadow.

I want to build a clock
that ticks once a year
—more dark than shark,

my confessional capacity
like the heavy intoxicated *******
of the witching hour. And I'll
make soup from the leftover prayers
of the day before, all in hopes
the rooms of me, then so clear,
will one day be faraway suns
in the temple of heaven.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 29
Long live the king!
That is until—zooks!—a correspondence
from one indiscreet mistress
falls into the wrong hands
and passes before
the queen's eyes
it then becomes time
for a little Shakespearean tragedy

Jan 24 · 1.2k
Near the Island
Carlo C Gomez Jan 24
The bright morning sun comes out to play,
considerable yawns
and we are all awake,
anchored in the reef,
ready for its mischief

The children excitedly point starboard
to a school of dolphins
leaping for joy as they go by,
little hands wave hello and goodbye,
'thank you' in their eyes,
etched now in their little minds
as a timeless memory

Everyone is napping,
except my significant other,
she slips off her clothes
and enters the afternoon water
for a bit of meditative bathing,
the shimmer of light
reflecting off her beauty
as a siren of Anthemoessa,
I cannot help but somnolently observe
do I dream this belief?
or do I believe this dream?

The boat rocks gently to
the rhythms of the sea,
the stars overhead form
a celestial blanket,
sheltering, enveloping,
their far off twinkles
telling us a story
—a time for spindrifting
—a time for bed

Inspired by the instrumental song "Near the Island" by U2.
Jan 20 · 523
Kathy's Arcminute
Carlo C Gomez Jan 20
Young spark

Slipping on the shoes
Of a thespian,

A walk about

Yet, in a fog
You lost your father
On final approach,

The twinkle
Of your light went out,

In quiet step,

One degree
Too far,

And lost you were
Upon a London flat.

Birthday girl,

It's not your fault.
For Katherine Walsh (1947 -1970)
Jan 19 · 836
The Way They Were
Carlo C Gomez Jan 19
Light the corners of my mind
Misty watercolor memories
Of the way they were

Scattered pictures
Of the ***** we left behind
More bounce to the ounce
In the way they were

If we had the chance to do it all again
Tell me, would we?
Could we?
God-given vs. Store bought?
I'll take the Lord's work
Every time

Jan 12 · 739
Death of the Matador
Carlo C Gomez Jan 12
Poor deluded brute
he waves his sword
in orchestration
to a ruthless symphony
played for miserable centuries:
the running of the bulls
"sketches of pain"
some monsters come
decked out in hat and cape
inside the arena of his pride
where he hears the chant
within the arts of
cowardice and cruelty
where he envisions
the feathered crown

Gala! Gala!
"how to see the toreador"
lost as San Fermín
pricked by hairpin
pierced by ragged horn
suerte de la muerte (luck of death)
foreshadowing Hemingway
turns into the troubled sun
and underneath his muleta
a deep red
blood alchemy
his fame spilling out
in drips and drabs
as the crowd sings
'Pobre de Mí (Poor Me)'
to the mystic stab of church bells

Jan 8 · 711
Airport Terminal 1
Strange how
my feet won't touch
the ground.
Strange how
my bags are packed
with sadness.

Plight is
my fellow passenger
to Osaka sun,
or Artic chill,
or some volcanic
love nest.

Strange how
my jet-setting eyes,
they see paradise only
on satellite tv,
yet they see the once
beautiful people
and all their utter dismay,
as they pass through
the metal detectors.

So strange
that I can hear
their strife
their suffering
well above
the engine's roar.

Jan 3 · 1.8k
Once at the guillotine

Now an out-of-focus angel

"Crime is shame, not the scaffold!"

She's got a '45 strapped

To each of her thighs

Speaks French with a Martian accent

Wishes she was a siren

When bathed in happy thoughts

Wishes she was the ladybird

When her wings

Confuse amuse transfuse

Into dreams of blood

Lukewarm prisoner

Detained for seven years

Now lies beside her

Asking for a helping hand

She loosens her corset

But tightens her grip
Dec 2021 · 3.0k
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
A no-man's land,
ablaze in scarlet

A no-man's land,
the blood and the bones of men

The more who died,
the more they thrived

A no-man's land,
flowered along the banks
from which the dead drank,
to forget their former existence,
when they were singing
in the lulls

A no-man's land,
offering a touch
of Heaven in Hell

Dec 2021 · 1.4k
The New Romantics
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
Holding court at the Zanzibar,
they looked on good nights
like Egyptian Queens, like Ancient Babylonians.

On not so good nights,
they resembled Brassaï's Moma Bijou -
"fugitives from Baudelaire's bad dreams",
and even then they looked magnificent.

Identity wasn't something you nailed
yourself into in late adolescence.
It was a trick of the light,
and if you were to avoid
burning yourself out,
then you simply let the flames
lick over you
and turned the ashes into kohl.

Dec 2021 · 1.2k
Utterly Fragmenting
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
Pieces of this and that

From remember when

It used to be a flowershop

She used to smell of roses

Panting church candles

Now and again

From the quiet corner of absolution

Eyes closed to the dusk of sensualité

In search of lost time

"yearning for a song of reply"

Closing line borrowed from Melanii's poem "lullaby (the nightingale)"
Dec 2021 · 1.7k
River Tam
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
No power in the 'verse
can stop her,
her name is a channel
in all directions,
it's just an object,
it doesn't mean what you think.

"Two-by-two, hands of blue."

Simon says safe passage
is such a slender thread,
a watered-down exchange,
it streams into
the substance of things:
objects in space.

"Two-by-two, hands of blue."

A life of Serenity,
it’s not applicable…
cold and naked,
dipping her feet
into a pond of impossibilities
—what she sees is seldom what she gets.

"Two-by-two, hands of blue."
Dec 2021 · 5.1k
Circuit Breakers
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
A fire built within

We come together
we break apart

A wind that blows past
and does not return

Carnival of light
moving colors
in the overcurrent

Where is heaven above?

You'll only hear
the hummingbird
skyward bound

Before finally combusting
somewhere in
the upper atmosphere

The resulting cloud
is probably still up there
— more proof that it pays
to shoot for the stars

Dec 2021 · 1.4k
Ice Age
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
Cold cold heart
Frozen plumage
Like a peacock
Her ladyship
In the campfire light
Skating about the pond
Of her own vanity

Dec 2021 · 969
Beyond the Black Rainbow
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
She is a fallen woman
from the Holy Sea,
a broken sample
from the Fairlight,
dressed in whispers and vines.

The wretched wind
says many things to her:
"lament no more over
your emptied ******...
follow the glum west end sky
to the treasures of America."

Her intangible items
go first: two figurines,
two tin daughters
travelling with the wild dogs,
asleep in the backseat,
kept as contraband
until she pays with
coral, jade and pearls.

But ******'s
in her veins, telling her
the kids will keep,
as she slips beyond
the black rainbow
and into 'paradise'.
Dec 2021 · 846
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
taking sides
picking flowers
dead and buried
on the surface line

counting hostages
trading stamps
extended infinitely
at right angles

cozy spaces
married couples
legs and mingled stria
one over the other

It's all conjugated
a tourist trap
with zero interest
for a year

Dec 2021 · 744
Once Upon a Tagline
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
A diamond is forever.
Don't leave home without it.

The complete man
Melts in your mouth, not in your hand.

Snap, crackle, pop.
Pleasure you want. Protection you trust.

As fresh as an autumn breeze.
Maybe she's born with it.

Think different.
Make. Believe.
Have a happy period.

Dec 2021 · 1.6k
Counting Back From Zero
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2021
Amaryllis in the Spring
because it's a pure & innocent thing

before a summer of rockets,
debris of hope—

              the Age of Discovery,
              the Punishment of Lust

an intravenous poison of decline forms
the new math: eye value minus itself

in waltz-time the body is radio-active,
there is no such thing as labor saving machinery

ask Garbo or Monroe, very happy one moment,
the next there was nothing left

their machines did the heavy lifting,
but one was not the loneliest number
Nov 2021 · 1.4k
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2021
Blue and red make purple
Red and green make yellow
What a bride hides
Makes one strange bedfellow

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