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8h · 25
Now, we are here
In the place of bright dust
We ransack the sun
Back from her bed
We stretch high/baseball bat/wood
***** in earthen shower
You are there behind the fence
Holding the baby
On easter sunday
We walk in wedding circles
Discuss the tropics, somewhere
On your back I write
Sixteen dances/crickets in tall grass/waves melting shore rocks
I pour you coffee as you squeeze the yolk in deviled eggs
And I fumble with the crepes
Halfmoon/full/french peninsula/the photograph of your riding a merry-go-round
Full, wordless smile
I search for the soothing leak that
Sleeps with frankincense
First, nameless day/nameless, silent bowl
You place the fruit in stained glass
Watch the skins reflect blurred jet-plane/kind sky
What’s left is my burning muscles
Aching for you in tiny flint
Your lips
Your thing that bleeps with breath
With the empty canteen
I leave it in the car
Reset
Cigarette kiss to your bird,
My best friend
Cuddled in croissant
You  make rain a baker’s dozen
Awake
The body inhales
Mar 9 · 147
little healer
King Panda Mar 9
I write you to sleep
in the other room
the leaves and fire of
your dream wisdom,
a dosha to create
each particular function
wrought in sweet, bitter, uncanny can-can
last night I saw you
in the rain with my
jean jacket
you asked about your face
and read me
catholic gospel/the body’s innate wisdom
free of threadworms, windup toys,
each nasty gut of wind
when I love you
I always see you in white
(this is all the time)
and you clear the toxins
from my accounts,
hold up my husband by
his flags,
tell him to
woosh
woosh
woosh

there is a pearl at
the bottom of us
and we touch it with
un-bitten fingers
this essential does not
go unnoticed in
our hearts but
ties our mouths so
we cannot speak—
a grammar lesson on love
and checkmate of birdwings
you awaken
come out for your phone
tell you to go back to sleep
you smile

I have so much to love god for
Feb 18 · 107
big crunch
King Panda Feb 18
I shaped you like a door handle,
washed you out with cerulean trees,
I took the clippers to my head
to make myself clean

I stared in your sigh as I
I grabbed your waist and swung you in
rope coo-coo,
eyes you described as muddy pools
turned lime-green cats in bathroom light
there,

you had blond hair,
barely-visible eyelashes,
tall, norwegian beauty,
outer-universe olympian

I was not right within and
you saw, unphased moon again
for the billionth time,
you rolled at my tiny bubbles
and I
waited, baitable breath

every clock was digital 80’s
and you, polite queen,
were tired of holding your spoon—
candy bride

with this candy man,
little bride, little
my worms festered
as I pulled the hair from your neck
and saw my own eye on your spine’s skin—
frail, too deep, and shy/additives to pain

I heard the big crunch
in that mental hospital bathroom,
my universe went back to no-space,
so far from you as we danced
and you looked somewhere else—
much

smaller than an atom’s nucleus
we were everything
but neither of us knew
the gift of dying
to be born again—
Jan 4 · 184
Untitled
King Panda Jan 4
you dream
one-thousand pounds
heavier than me—
a weaved, night sky
complete with brass buttons
and the bobby pin you forgot to take out
this

tessellation of Sunday letter
haunts me with your

lace and peach
as my fingers conduct

the bundle of flowers
to smoke
Oct 2018 · 394
dead prayer
King Panda Oct 2018
I dig into my pockets and find
lint
gum wrappers
the invisible switchblade
of mirror ride and wind’s roll—

the KABOOM!
of diluted catastrophe
or how your mother screams in her sleep

now I understand how seasons
faint from peppered emotion—
strong enough for teeth
to bite and rip the leather
or at least scratch patterns into
that old belt

smooth breeze down the throat
tastes as September dies down
at the alley cat’s feet—
dead prayer
and the leaves swoon to
twitching whiskers
Sep 2018 · 1.2k
the dropped seed
King Panda Sep 2018
I am born again
this September morning as
each thorn on the rosebush
breaks pink with the sun

the hummingbird buzzes by,
echoes and springs in
the mist of chamomile flower—
a yellow-bodied bloom and
liquid-sugar disco running over
conscious body,
conscious mind

a chord is struck and
pecks the roof twice—
tap…
tap…

and I see god for what she is—
suddenly and always present as
two birds dance their wings
over a cradle of planted flowers
Aug 2018 · 288
scout
King Panda Aug 2018
here I find you
my little wildflower
unable to catch
the powder-blue butterfly

the breeze—something sweet
to wet the clouds
while mountain’s edge bites
horizon’s crushed and swollen lip

you blend in—a pile of jade
something blue to budding wheat
but no fear found
by a little scout
holding the spider with caged palms

how easy it’s been to love you
leather hat in tow
as you make your way to
snowed lake’s basin
now melted, shone, and gleaming

my love for you is planted—a babbled sunflower
leaning over the sidewalk
as you return home
skipping over cracks—
child’s play to the mountain, ocean, forest

you are the universe’s first creation
blooming out its chest—
there is no room for anything but you
as the pollen of night sprinkles down,
spirit o’ spirit
and sprite of loving girl
wrapped in candy wind
now asleep and closed petals
to grace
from grace
and the life in between
Aug 2018 · 302
broken glass
King Panda Aug 2018
sheen spreads from
light blue paranoia—a rainbow,
tough magical, slippery, and krilled

to enter all but my mouth would seem ungrateful

rain, lighthouse, big money,
and the shade of fish approaching

the rope
now shredded, wet braids
to loosen and snap swatched opal
peeping, peering, ripping larger
with the rifted water

and so goes slicing red
Jul 2018 · 250
a cape of birth
King Panda Jul 2018
quartered darkness drapes
and so the blue painters cry to
fainted and promised ****—

the belly of beast
cut and bled the breast,
coined the moon—
so said its rusty peaks
as they were sticks for legs
and grains of sand

**** held a note
**** hold me close
****—the breeze
sufficed in c-note string,
the blood dripped and cooled
with pin-tipped vibrato
and so you would
sleep too—

dear one
and progression of static
where the real and unreal
meet
Jul 2018 · 170
resurrection
King Panda Jul 2018
thirsty soil,
hungry sky,
I rent the earth and swing over
curled in a heap of buddhist death—
a mischief light breaking a paralytic sun
so taught in no-thingness,
so creaked and crafted
as I sit at the bar—the last foam of
night popping on the bottom
of my glass.

whose to say life shouldn’t be this way—
a tempest strong and virile
as she lies clutched by the moon—
the nightest of night
blocked by resurrection
of a half-dead sun—
hungry and dear life of lost faith
Jun 2018 · 186
loss of meaning
King Panda Jun 2018
my laughing river
banks the shivering pebbles
into silence—a hot, holy
moon that splits and crumbles,
rushes and spills into
a space vacu-ata and serene
loss of meaning

I never thought I’d miss you this much—
red, toiled, and soaked to the bone,
letters and numbers jumbled to bake
in hot mouths, hot atmosphere  

a shimmer
a shimmy
a bottle
and nurse a wound burnt with
a hair straightener ten years ago
dear friend,

I wear you on my shoulders everyday
and you are heavy,
sore to the touch,
cradled and band aid-ed cross
until
there you are
dreaming like you always did
in the back of my mind
Jun 2018 · 154
black dress on wet sand
King Panda Jun 2018
I try to
loose the knot
tied to the dark

canvas of sky’s skin.
I confide to the rain
my wet lies of

noose,
trigger,
falling gun

taught against each bat
that swings and flutters.

what can I do but stand in the rain
and feel the hail melt in my hand?


I am of little
faith no longer than
a fingernail and proof
of OG goodness
this night of

re- and un-
tying ribbons
Jun 2018 · 393
in full body
King Panda Jun 2018
my complex jupiter pops
full body into
infectious night—mouth
bursting and bang
taught curtains
so the light can shine through
every cherry blossom
I

never asked
what I meant to you
before
you

pink in my watching

slip into
the miniature composition
of splotched blue—

and I know everything
in space
is finished
May 2018 · 287
incoherent speech
King Panda May 2018
all my goodness has flown—
from the wildflower’s wrath to
my fingers

pressing invisible buttons on
grassy dew.
I

should know this season by now—
dry of meaning and bent metal
into the frozen river.

the note I wrote you was short—
spoke of moons we cannot see
and my rushing ego
drowning mountains
on tiny blue-green surface—
a million

bleached bones
are wrapped in their tired stripes—
now crushed,
miniature,
and multiplied—
many of the many

and the red feathers that float

away.
May 2018 · 335
human and divine
King Panda May 2018
milk warm and
child rotates backwards in ****

clouds become the drums

angels in the front row cheer
as men fight over screaming throat

woman smokes with dragon—
never before corked *****
and the ash that settled over

this is my innermost truth:
a dwell of birds inside my body

and I think so little of myself
May 2018 · 508
the taste of honey
King Panda May 2018
I shred you as cedar
to eat your smell—
a crick of words to ultra face-off
between bone-splitter and bliss
I

am your writer
and my heart’s cavalry
pounds your lips
with sweetness
the

submission of sugar
the

taste of honey
the

number of times
I’ve

had you in comb
buzzing your fuzz-ectomy
into a new mind of flower
to be pollinated
with the lilac breeze
of my going
King Panda May 2018
high-noon sun waits for
ground to catch her beaming child
dresses the hat and feather
canonizes the dead worms
imprisoned in their hardened skins
these

shards of you
sit on my front porch
wide
wide
and I open my arms
to their concrete daughter
now full-grown
and working the night shift
like every bird that flies

into my glass dream
King Panda May 2018
I forgive my dreams cut
in the maritime gloom of your blue eyes—
a rehearsal and hush of dead shells beating in the water

I never knew the binds of you would cuff me for this long—
your ***** ocean now overgrown with a different plaque
and somehow more beautiful, younger, and vulnerable

I am the queen of shock and shiver,
proclaims my wondrous mind
I forgive my dreams of loving the invisible
and the seagulls fly
one by
one by
Apr 2018 · 773
I love you
King Panda Apr 2018
I still skip stones
across your ocean—your foaming white
cut from the butterfly vine
flips the beached fish
into the definition of liveliness
takes to the sun—a pearled pantina of ocean rain
connecting my nose and mouth
into the rainbow vision
of your thin lips mending the
the maimed crab’s claw

this is how I will always think of you
my wishing well babe
neck-deep in sand
the butterfly vine entering your mouth
pulling your tongue to say
those three words aloud
finally, like you mean it
like I want it, the ocean tide
bathing my ankles
Apr 2018 · 281
I’m crossing you over
King Panda Apr 2018
I’ll chase you over
backwards and sideways

cover you in chocolate,
peel off your shell,
fill you with another body

I’ll eat you a rainbow
separate the opals,
moonstones,
malachite

love—little girl with scotch-brown hair
soft, eggshell yellow and
*****

oh god...

I'm sorry.
Mar 2018 · 731
a goodbye from taos
King Panda Mar 2018
there you stand
on the bridge above rio grande—
miles of rock hungry and unfulfilled,
the spring snow chasing your name
into my mouth,
the synth of sunrise tucked
behind moon-cut mountains.
I pull off on the side and see
this is how I will be without you,
my bright girl
Mar 2018 · 1.4k
monday
King Panda Mar 2018
spring’s breath hums on your face
sits upon a fencepost, hawk-like and stoic

its infant rays nuzzle, organized and coded
its beauty, slightly bothersome
to the man who mistook god’s warmth as permanent

all planets in space operate between two foci
and ted hughes wrote “crow” as a bedtime story
for the lovers he abandoned  

what I’m trying to say is this:
spring will leave earth
like a two-faced lover
but never forget the monday you shared with her
as she breathed winter’s hangover
down your holy throat

for that is something memorable
Mar 2018 · 398
buck
King Panda Mar 2018
your fabric—torn and bent
into antlers as you
breathe in the chimed field
now, caught in fire
now, diseased
now, a hatchet peeling the rotting apple

this is the paradigm of my sadness
Mar 2018 · 365
at the café
King Panda Mar 2018
girl smudged with
full-zinc expression
and paper feathers—
I wonder what
you think about

your gaze
bathes hot in mind’s basin
as a pink rose skips
the wind across
your clothed table

the trees laurelled above—
so indistinct and stamped
with war-zone bleakness

so painful, your expression
as you take your cup and sip
the daytime-soothe

I look at you one last time—
squint my eyes
and put my thumb over your tiny face
to mark you as my own
Mar 2018 · 702
elemental music
King Panda Mar 2018
the muse of nature revels
in the cradle of a loved one’s whisper

the salsa of wind knifes off rock and
spreads melting sand into stained glass

a rainbow loops out the ears
and croons the rain into a gentle patter

the indefinite bruises the back of the throat
as half-notes are woven into air—

silence forever dreaming of music
Mar 2018 · 655
mind’s grave
King Panda Mar 2018
crew-cut,
winter’s rust,
my tongue smudged with coal,
snagged with the bug I rise,
crawl my stare across space to where you lie
perfect in ashes,
un-spread and boxed,
I plant a kiss on your screaming lily.
Feb 2018 · 217
broken song
King Panda Feb 2018
I ****** the blood
off your cranberry hide and
I wiped my mouth
with the wail
of passing stars—
"twang" (a broken guitar)…

you’ve been the prize all along.
Feb 2018 · 701
it’s okay, boy
King Panda Feb 2018
moonlight caught the top of the lighthouse
bounced of its silver mirror
its beaded tears filled my bottle
and I drank until I couldn’t stand any longer
it’s okay, boy
said the man selling fruit at 1 am
and I embraced his dead shadow
Feb 2018 · 2.1k
grace
King Panda Feb 2018
the shock
of bodies—
a sound
rippled in
cheetah lightening
to wings of blasted
flowers taught
red
yellow
lavender sky—

butterfly wound
festering pollened
breeze to
where your
mouth
is opened
breath
tongue
and twisted cord—

opaque bee
twirling with
opaque stamen
lit
in a wall of
rushing
waterfall—a
perfect contrast
of forgiveness
King Panda Jan 2018
gnaw red your bone
in the aliform of dream
this

allocation of my
guts spreads lips
onto stained paint buckets
I

never meant for
us to be beautiful
adding

music
to every line
that came out
your mouth—

a moth-springing
butterfly
its

wings no longer
dusted but

dried and wasteful.

it was the
paradox of doubt
and

I cried through
painkiller night
Jan 2018 · 1.1k
A wash of blue diamonds
King Panda Jan 2018
—helium
along the tracks
squished and turned copper
sounding space scratch—
a record when listened
through some great machine where
James Taylor always hits the
high notes and matter explodes
forming the heaviest gold—us always
singing pennies.
us, remnants
kissing the core
of aging stars.
Jan 2018 · 1.7k
Untitled
King Panda Jan 2018
the sun beats
loose fence stakes into
the ground
and I kiss each ray
as if it were
my own child

the sky rains down
a corpse of butterflied
snow

its wings—
a brace
to bend my
broken legs straight

my love
begins to crawl
setting the dry
snow aflame
burning patterns
in the mandala
snowfall

sun’s flame
whips its invisible
lion

snow lets the
growl pass through

and my bones
cackle
setting straight
the image of
sunny snowfall
this sunday
morning
Jan 2018 · 269
life within space
King Panda Jan 2018
you stand
and offer

the sun
not yet risen

silver-tongued
you tilt words

into winter

you whittle
the wind

trick the sky
into death

pound my
love into stone

I scrape
my knee

and cry our
love open

to wound
and bleed

a dog attempts to
lick and heal


how could life
be this way?
Jan 2018 · 320
dreamsong #78
King Panda Jan 2018
you are called away
clear and cold

pummeled by the ice
that tears dove wings
into water

diseased blood is spread
in the snow
art in the clarity
of genius as

evil is cut
from your body

here there is
no winter

only a deep light
harbored within as
you sit on dream’s pier
with a worm in your mouth

you

alone

and nature
watching you cry

the furrow of
your brow grows deep
as a bear’s growl

your eyes split two
the bang of
red sweetness
the communion of sleep
never to wake
Inspired by John Berryman's 77 dream songs.
Jan 2018 · 1.0k
stream
King Panda Jan 2018
the wicked queen of morning
greets you with
clutching shore

little pebbles in the stream
rob red rubies
from dead fish bellies

on a rock
there are some feathers
a broken beak
crunched bones

your attention is cut
with the dead kiss
of a woodpecker

you are bound
to relive the death
of thousands of forests
bound to kiss
the stream’s mojo
laughter

listen—
the stream is still asleep
its floor is falling through
the weight of its slumber

nothing can contain it
Dec 2017 · 629
the vitality of water
King Panda Dec 2017
spark the flask—the vitality
of natured *****
and

tears (they fall again)

releasing the bloodied heron from
sleep—

yesterday,

I drew a lead around you
and harnessed your heart
like a dog and (for the first time)
you

were on your own,
schmaltzy from

daddy’s liquor.

this

blindfolded euphoria
creeping in channel 99’s

static—how

I’d drink you whole
until my toes swelled up

rough and one-rooted
King Panda Dec 2017
the sun prowls around
its rocky master

and you
a shadow in its breath

your eyes closed
your hair blowing
like a brushfire
bleeding oolong

the brazen claps of
sunlight thunder
down upon your shoulders

a freckle appears

then another

then another

your sea of blank skin
now crushed
tiny islands
cooling you in
sun-drenched picture
Dec 2017 · 291
12/3/17
King Panda Dec 2017
I still have
your taste

in my mouth:

the dregs
in your blood

your ghost of

disparate powders
and hair
your

red bone

daisy veins

body
sewn to

a butterfly

and the
rain falls in

twelve beasts
as I tell
the window

how I still
write you

when the thin rain
tents over

and patterns
your name

on my roof
Nov 2017 · 788
wednesday night
King Panda Nov 2017
my hand touches
yours

wild in wind

flesh and
insect

a plume of rapid
so pink and

gorgeous to the
biochemist

within my timbre

I sing your
praises to the moon

eighth note
yellow-tipped

flat-cupped
cord and

piano blooming
Nov 2017 · 2.7k
11/27/17
King Panda Nov 2017
I see a ****** of crows
parting the sky with
a ******* V

it hawks and blecks
down as if to say
good afternoon
to the child wheeling
across federal
on her
pink bicycle—

a travel
that rots and witches
the sweet, grey air
sailing into clouds
of pounding tide—

jewels

colorless
and divorced
drifting
across the
blue-domed
pearl of
missing you
Nov 2017 · 776
11/15/17
King Panda Nov 2017
my orchid now blooms
twelve to match
the bird pecking at
midnight

the yellow tongues
of blushed cheeks
become fans for
soft, white petals

inner honeycombs
turn red when
you say
(in perfect sobriety)
how beautiful I am

and for a moment
there are orchids blooming
in the diner
Nov 2017 · 637
10/30/17
King Panda Nov 2017
the race of the sun
pattered through

on angled feet,
the gypsy-psychic

moment stood

honeyed and crisp
ready to be bitten,

the breath told
a breeze away

from the weapon of
dusk soon approaching

come with me

said your eyes
as they picked blades

of grass and placed them
in a crown

and I took you by the teeth
and kissed you

the skyline watching
all the while
Nov 2017 · 2.3k
nighttime party girl
King Panda Nov 2017
starlight snaps your
cigarette awake. the imperfect
circles of earth’s motion orbit
around your breast. the moon
chimes
from your ears.
north and south run
the rivers of
smeared mascara,

you stop. listen to

the man
playing fiddle with
half-hearted
bar light.
Nov 2017 · 1.3k
I hear a wisp of rapture
King Panda Nov 2017
tenderness leaves
my eyes in capillary ribbons.
your diamond lips are chalked,
released from rock.
your head, a knot of angel pine—
a dark-brown blooming
sticky and lucked to the back
of my throat.
it is in this moment that
I hear a wisp of rapture
blowing through the oak overhead.
my heart’s motor cranked
like October’s last churning
bumble bee.
pollination
susurration
be gone…

you kept looking past me,
your hand on my shoulder.
the precious gauze of your profile
mixed porcelain doll and found a
chisel to perfect your nose.
I feel the love of everything and
you—so unaware of your
beautiful.
Oct 2017 · 1.7k
the sun bares its fangs
King Panda Oct 2017
The birth of our sun wrote megalithic,
two-word bursts of observable heat to life.

It pounded the density of a billion
squealing animals and thought itself
star—a pencil

being lifted by an oven-mitted hand
somehow deft, fortune-telling
witch.

sun—which will, in time,
bow out to a goodnight city
where every light is eaten

by dark-spelled window—no reflection
of flame,
no kiss of magnet—no

just cold death to
the bones—a molded meatball
dancing in a spiral once believed

to be beautiful.
Oct 2017 · 356
one thousand melancholia
King Panda Oct 2017
strong is the still that
reverberates
over old space,
the cold
drought of petal dreams
I chalked
on the garden hose
nozzle,
the mask
just one string
away
away…

the night we touched
was like

                
*    

                   *
  *   *
*
      
*

*
*
(stars)

those daddy-rolled feelings
on my back as
you licked
my spine.
Oct 2017 · 703
and once more I have cried
King Panda Oct 2017
I hear your name through the pistons
the howl of ruined trees
the dust of colored healing
now dark
circled on the center of my pillow
tail curled under the body
a camel-**** rise and fall of breath
barren as an un-sprouted cherry pit
and my scream was far away
when I heard about you
*dead
Oct 2017 · 442
a coming and passing
King Panda Oct 2017
fall hoppers kick to grass
as I walk down
sun-bleach lane

the anhedonia I felt yesterday
is pelted by the wind
away
away
to the breeze beyond
trash-bin creek

I walk past
a meddled roadside lover
kissing her own bloodied hand

must have been
bitten by the white-thing
panting at her feet

the image comes
and passes
with the balanced
autumn sunshine

I touch the twist of barbed wire
that guards a
re-habitated pond

a drop of blood
wells and surfaces
a moon-blazed penny

the dulled copper sting
of flesh and money
merges in the glory
of shortened days

all is accorded to the fleeting
nature of my heartbeat

that which comes and passes
Sep 2017 · 855
love chameleon
King Panda Sep 2017
I kiss secrets to your fate

a forest tree of lights amongst

velvet curtains

I don’t think about

your consciousness

when you are kissing me

but imagine your

tattersall expression

resting on my flannel

you

perfect love chameleon

you

queen of extremely small kisses

I catch you looking with

a sideways eye

always twisted in my memory

a corkscrew willow

a head of tangled roots

pulled from the moist soil

I lean in to blend

kiss?

why not.
Sep 2017 · 898
lady lady
King Panda Sep 2017
I pluck you a crocus
and all life becomes
a legend of the body

a torch-whipped storm
pastel in its fire
buries me in you

when I hand you the stem
a shake
and the yellow stamen

loses its dust

lady lady
forgets its bug
when I place the flower

in your vase

spots wiped black-less
insect no more
lady lady

the inspection of autumn
bulb-less growth
and a string of red

***** and betting its stripes

a tiny mound of dirt
obscured by rotting leaves

the last of you reaching for my hand
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