I will walk across threshholds long forgot
armed with the conviction, that kindness is not lost
I will stand tall against those who wish my fall
wielding a magic tucked inside my chest wall

I will not surrender, I will not bleed
once overcome a dark relenting need

I will cross thresholds never broke
I will shout the words no one ever spoke
rumbling low, a vibrating scream
echoing wide inside my dreams

Have you ever reached
beneath the underneath
of a desk or table?
as you reached,
underneath
the lush wooden maple

Find no treat you'd like to keep
Nor gift you'd want to have
Nothing good,
I wouldn't encourage
one reach or grab.

Gum is there to meet your thumb
soaked in germs and goo
residue left mocking you
smells of grandpa's chew

May my learning be your warning
not to reach nor grab
beneath the underneaths
of a gummy trap

The storm flashes white strobe lights
illuminating the soppy landscape
Thunder rolls the hills
crying in loneliness

Alone tucked under the constant strumming of grandfather clock
I am burdened
Weighted down by tornado thoughts
swirling twisters in and out

There is a haunting silence that slices,
in between the booms of night's tantrum
a silence so thin,
the cracks in the hardwood whisper low
They speak of chilling steps lead by ghosts
of wandering hopes, gypsy breaths and thoughts untold

The fire shrinks, flames frightened by the storm
the lights flicker, electrical surges spark
skin crawling fear inches closer
wrapping it's claw up my back

Panic comes with each heave of air,
the silence hovers like spirits crossed over
my eyes wander the four walls, pained in glass
anticipating the boom
The sudden strike that fills empty room
lighting shattered

To catch a piece of the sea
is to watch it slip away
like a liquid moment

The feeling of floating
carried gently by the churing blues
is to feel your first kiss
wet and fleeting
or the first snowfall
cold and haunting

The cool greens brush the skin
in elegant dowsing
as the waters push passed
in hurried rushing

The liquid fingers wrestle with your bobbing frame
touching and washing
Underwater, sounds disappear
the waves a thick elixir
rhythmically soothing

There is a peaceful calm,
the tides a natural balm
like a holy water baptizing
cleansing the past mistakes
in salty droplets

I could drift, like seaweed
dipping and diving
sailing the water's surface
washing up on shores unknown
I could stay in this pool,
this endless puddle
feeling the waters
suspended reflections
in liquid moment

My words are like liquid,
spilling over the ledge of my mind.
A mountain range of phrases, separated by time

My mother calls me "Lucky"
I'd call myself lonely,
lost in my longing for more.

Left handed and lippy, my Latin roots grab hold
short with little limbs, my bark is sharp
but my love soft.

Lumps lodged in my chest
loaded little rockets
launch when winter lands

Logic eludes my language
I speak, lucid lies loudly
laced with truths,
liquor tends to loosen, the lips

My Mother calls me "Lucky"
a shining lucky star,
I'd call myself Lady of the Lake
watery, and rippling

Her stoic stance, with muscles tight
conceals her meaning
her words a plight
majestic scene
flags flying
we fight a feeling
that words are words
Always varying
significant
but hide some meaning
Look wise and grunt
you furry thing
your words are meaningless
your features sing
gods gift to man
words can sting
keep them in thought
silence is king

We have discussed ****** many times.
The conversation is casual
there is no sincerity there.
We talked of stealing, cheating
blowing **** up
But really it's all just talk.
The real bad **** we keep in thought
the type of mental crap
I'd say to get locked up.

We want to ****, but without the mess.
We want everything without the bill.
I want cake for every meal.
It's mental
It's human
It's us
We're only slightly messed up.

A dragon came to my window on last night's silver winds.
Her rainbow wings set like sails, carrying scales and limbs.

Claws of tiny knives, perched the ledge without a sound.
Steamy breath escapes, shrouding her giant frame in clouds.

The beauty of the creature, no mortal could deny.
Hypnotized by the majesty, it's logic I deny.

I ponder her countenance, good or evil, friend or foe?
And without much debate, I find my feet have touched the floor.

To the window latch I stride, drunk with disillusion.
I lift the lock, then push a shove, force the frame to loosen.

The silver winds billow forth, crisp with scented magic.
The dragon calls out, her ancient voice, deep and warm with passion.

She promises no harm would fall me, that dragon's don't attack.
She invites me for a twilight ride, across the moon and back.

The night hovered darkly, under wide spread wings
I, the small explorer, grab hold of the dragon's scaly skin

Aloft the great beast, soaring high above those below
I am tickled with a simple feeling, ready and willing to explore

I turn and wave goodbye to my tiny window ledge
Swirled in magical feelings, my dragon soars the winds

I'm not sure I would recognize myself,
If I saw myself,
in reflection, or in frame.
It's so outside myself, another self
it's hardly really me.
A cage,
a shell of pinky meat.
The barrier, my jailer,
glaring stranger stares, naive.

The truest part, my savage self,
she hides beneath the dark.
She bleeds in lines if woven words,
a woman bent in curves.
Scandalous, yes,
her story told in verbs.
A ghost to the present,
biting at my nerves.

I could tell you,
I have dark eyes, olive skin,
in a photo my face might shine.
However, without the mask,
behind those lies,
exposed,
my soul is truly shy.

A clockwork night
Me and the gang out for the old drunkin howl,
The glory of violence oh brothers,
oh bliss.
The beautiful swell of bones breaking on cement
With idle hands the quiver comes quick.
What is a man to do when he craves the ultraviolance.
When the viddy no longer gives such desires with stark clarity.
The old vino runs red, true dear brothers,
but the reddest river streams hot from flesh.
The glory of stripping for the old in out,
then ripping above the screams,
Hear the music,
like the strings above the violin swell.
Sweet Ludwig knows the potency.
The fun my brothers, the thrill
On a night like this, oh bliss
Gitty we walk the edge.

The saxophone plays a somber song
the melody so blue
the harmony so strange
Her brass keys speak of withered wishes
dusted away

The sadness reminds me of a cottage
White trim, with shutters green
behind Huckleberry wood,
Hand made with a moss covered roof

I suppose the structure stands, aged and unkept
Dusty old remnants
much like our friendship

On plays the tune, sweet jazz
The beat keeps my memory
Sax of brass

Cottage all alone, beneath a willow tree
A cottage not a home
With shutters green
The sax plays
nostalgia sings

Ridges cut sliver thin
etched inner folds  
with iron flint.
A mold once smoldered,
crimson, no longer.
Cooled, bent to the hing

I could not tell you the truth, even if I wanted,
throat thick with lies.
No one knows the truth.
Truths are but angel sonnets, beckoned by divinity.
The truth is not the truth
it's an idea or a feeling.
My truth is painfully sad.
Compressed and bitter.
Inside I'm crumpled.
plagued with the horrors.
I can not smile from the inside out
I can only fake
There is no truth here
You alone make things worth the fight
Seconds of sunlight pillar on your face
Then comes night, all distinguished
And my truth is all around
You may not see it in my face
And no words can express,
but inside I'm broken
breaking every day.

The night fell swiftly, feeling heavy
darkly glowing, ghostly lit
The moon shone proudly, high and godly
bestowed with shine and silver tint

The Earth shifts coldly, colored boldly
across the world the seasons shift
The winds blow wild, their temper mild
as the last days, of November drift

There are tunnels to places with holes in the world.
The bottom is endless where darkness endures .
I can hear from the top, a voice pulling me down.
The twinkle captures my thoughts in a rhythm of sounds.

I've walked passed the rabbit hole too many times.
Choosing to remain unscathed by it's crimes.
And every day I wander back to its door.
Enraptured with the calling and dark of it's world.

Each morning I linger at the base of the hole.
Lulled by the melody, seeping below.
Time crashed to a halt standing perfectly still.
My head is a maze, completely robbed of my will.

I reach down with hands, both clean and warm,
to feel the dirt and cold pour out of her core.
I know that I shouldn't, I know that I might,
take a trip down the hole and be back before night.

Obsession grows, taking root in the mind.
Dragging me down, one day at a time.
As I sit by the hole contemplating my dive.
I slowly spiral down without ever knowing why.

There are tunnels to places with holes in the world.
There are those that will dive and those that will swirl.
There are those that will fall without knowing they have.
Fatality drowning in darkness stuck in a trap.

In real life you discover things in the oddest places
Perhaps you are sitting at a bar sipping a beer
Waiting
And you share a look with someone
A sudden thought is stirred
You're life clicks, the constant problems you've been calculating
Finally equate
And the world for a moment
Makes complete sense

It's the strangest feeling
Like a surge or a breath
God has taken his lips to yours and given you something to believe in

Tomorrow looks brighter on days like this
And the world makes sense

I see in perfect circles
rings darkening my eyes
I rest in perfect slumber
while beneath starry skies

I turn in perfect anguish
so perfect are my aches
I live in perfect numbness
feeling nothing but the breaks

I wish in perfect prayers
to each and all the gods
I wail in perfect outrage
while I'm up against the odds

I think in perfect madness
never feeling like I'm here
I smile in perfect detachment
hoping I might disappear

I'm feeling imperfect
perfectly stuck
knee deep in the mud
down in on my luck

I took the seeds from an unknown
to plant one day, near the lake
And now they sit in the darkness
of my jewelry box
worthy of more

I take the seeds and follow gravity's pull
to the shore
Birds and insects moan
as the sun sets into the acid black
Colors entwined with the moon
burn in pink fury

I wait twelve minutes for the sunlight to disappear
the curve of the moon's crescent glowing
Heavy perfumed winds tickle
my naked arms are prey to the icy spring chill

In the dark I bury my old dried seeds
deep in the soils of earth
I chant a timid song to the moon.
surrounded by magic patterns

I spell the seeds to mingle
root in oblivion, rolled in earth
I give them hope, a potent magic
and perhaps, they will grow
into something more.

She used to come to me in whispers, hushed under the calm of the early morning.
"Just like her, just like her, you know you are"
I ignored the noise for years.
I had almost forgot to listen, he made me forget.

A fairy tale prince, riding in on a steed to slay my whispered monster
It starts that way, like a story book or a poem.
the weight of words lift
kisses on my forehead
Whispers can't be heard over a heartbeat next to mine.

It starts that way, all beauty and shine
somewhere, at some point, things grey
Whispers return, a little different this time
"He'll see, just like her. You know he'll leave. Just you see"
They devour the peace.

I remember now, as the monster comes scratching, rapping
her tired song
I remember now the lyrics to her curse
the endlessness that gathers, pouring dirt and sand
burring me slowly under

Just like her

"What a day I had"
said the high heel to the boot.
"Up so many stairs, my heels are pooped!"

"You think that's rough, I have you beat.
Try treading mud, in the foulest feet!"

"It's rough out there, for shoes these days,
with all the gum, the mud and rain!"
The boot, nods back
The high heels right,
shoes should really be on strike!

"Let's quit, heel
take a trip
Finally we can truly live"

I simply want your embrace.
Your arms wrapped around my frame
the heat of your blood pumping
the soft texture of your skin
the musky smell of your neck
I do not need words
I do not need that look
just your embrace.

So often as the day grows
my resolve dies
situations frustrate the mind
hardships puncture the heart
and my mood fowls

It is then
I simply crave you
the balm for a wound
that has never healed
It is then
I simply need you
holding me together
Untill the end

The stars are but ghosts, hanging in the blackness of night.
Like phantoms of a life so far out of reach, they speckle our skies reminding us there is more.

In between the vibrancy that spills from the here and now,
memory tapers like ribbons

Your face is a noise,
grey and faded in my mind
like the static of a lost TV channel

It's a remembrance out of focus but never gone
The noise of it's crackling spins in the background

I ignore the pained feeling of your image disappearing
for your essence was never lost
It sparks like a static charge
electrify my skin
settling the spirit

Stone cold rocks inside my chest
Boulders that can't be moved
They grow heavy on solum days
Mornings of greys and blues

My heart begins to harden
Slowly it turns to stone
My lungs start icing
I freeze down to the bone

Weighted down by stone cold rocks
Rocks made of worry
Rocks made of pain
Rocks made so heavy
Rocks kept in vain

Sculpted to a statue
by thoughts in my head
Cold are the days
my chest weighs like led

What is it about that visceral sting?
A slap laced in venom
Oh, how it rips the skin
tearing our scars clean
Opened to the air,
the wounded will scream

A sophisticated song
Rupturing a forgotten well.
What is it about that sting?

Painful cuts bleed masterpieces
Our art is within
The viscous call it out
The hurt pours the shroud
What is it about that visceral sting?

The body snatcher crawls from the bowels of disaster.
With blunt claws and cracked nails,
he flays the space,
grabbing bodies for the capture.

His home but a place to rest, to close his mind
and slowly peel the layers of dress,
where scars of bodies, picked his flesh.
Attempts so desperate, to remain un-snatched.

The body snatcher dreams of meat.
Meat so rancid, meat so sweet.
Some he sells, some he eats.
He names it snatched cuisine.

The sack he lumbers over shoulder,
resembles a black hole,
Those who enter, learn here after
that death lives stitched in wool,
Those once bagged, often gag
choking on the stench of others.

The body snatcher crawls from the bowels of disaster
A shadowy, feared, malicious captor

A strange creature stands guard.
His dark hood conceals a face beneath,
no features twitch
only death can speak.

A thin bone finger unfolds
from sleeves of black
pointing with a quiver
towards the crossing,
calling as he laughs.

Bent rotten wood and hanging limbs
create a canopy of haunting trim

My extremities shake violent,
fear suffocates the mind
A voice ever so silent
urges me across the line

Your skin is the dawn.
The lightness of the pale
white, like the morning sky.
The horizons of your curves,
glow and brighten,
awoken.
Your skin is the dawn

I think not of how hard I slap
how solid a fist feels.
I find contemplating pain, an eager passed time
something gutting.
Like fish hooked on skewers, vididly moving
scoping while the waters fade
breath by breath
choking

I think of crumbled letters
gracing the wooden floors
minor words wrapped in white
pages age
Like heartbreak and bourbon
potent

I think not of tomorrow,
undecided time, a ghost haunting the now
like a grudge, sewn to the flesh
groping nails cling, drawing
blood

I think of cellar doors, hinging on time
of choices that lead to dark realms
where demons whisper
of silver sanctums, wide
open

I ogle mirror glass, finding the ripples vain
I think not of who or how
I think only of a voice, strumming my death
lovingly

I have this affliction
you can call an addiction
no matter how innocent
no matter the situation
my limbs do this burning
my feet get to iching
the dreamer's disease
enemy of submission

I fear I'm twined
twisted, unhinged
rhyme after rhyme
binge after binge
potent this chemical
direct the syringe
injecting me drunk
electrifying the fringe

An addict of dreaming
fantasy's fan
reality bites
like a wasp in the hand
real as can be
this enamoring sea
washing me dry
coaxing a scream

I admit that I'm hooked
perhaps it's devotion
diving in deep
vast like the ocean
not a deathly affliction
just a fleeting emotion
I'm an addict of dreaming
reality stays broken

The edge of me has never rounded
it remains sharpened
razor cuts are dangerous
The muscles within choke
bent and barbed in wires

A fatal heart never takes a beat
sealed meat, so tender
A cage can snap closed like a vice
pounding at the cellar door
echoing through the halls

The hollow string, mellow hole
Vibrates a trickle mile
I took the turn of my lover's choice
Singing all the while

Her flat tune, was missing you
Her hair a nasty knot
I captured what I knew
and hailed the bitter tune
Missing
On the trickled front

With out the bass
No jug in hand
I long for vibrant stings
Blistered hands
And bitter things
Long forgotten
Come the spring

Frisk glasses pure of wine,
background noises remedy the rhyme
Calice fingers ***** the vines
Grapes bleed purple, roots entwined

Pause and bask in sweaty sun
The star of heat
A meadow overrun
All the while the vines grow
up the house on Willow Road

I have never stood accused of a sunny disposition
yellow doesn't linger in my eyes
see the starkness of the darkness
glare at the plastered happiness
smirking

What gives this paint such power?
What warmth is mixed among the chemical reaction?

With in my mind I feel daisy meadows
burning in yellow
petals of white caught in the breeze
shivering stems of green

Banana skin skies
haloed in sunshine kisses
brighten the world
with a joyless disposition

In my room, the walls bleed the same
yellowy and rusty
I'm mocked by an optimistic face
reflecting in the shadow
of my yellow walls

Will the irony fade?

In the beginning when Adam met Eve beneath the canopy of paradise
they agreed on most things.
They basked in the perfection of all that surround, laughing at each other's jokes.
One day Adam carved a gift for Eve.
Tirelessly wildling the branch of an oak tree.
"Tools", he boosted as she stroked the small utensils.
"I'll call them forks," said Eve happily setting the table.
What came next sparked an age old debate, as Eve grasped her fork in the left hand, Adam in his right.
"What are you doing?" he vexed, scratching his head.
"That hand is incorrect!"
"Tis not my sweet, it is the hand I use to eat, I am in my right mind my dear, you are the uncultured one here!"
And so it began, as they reproduced.
Cain was right handed as was Seth, but poor Able was born with his mother's fondness for left.

I watch the yellow grasslands growing slow,
safe inside my window frame where heartbreak can not reach.
I'll remain the captured queen silently content with my small space.
My conscious clean, no blood to stain.

The golden beast of the sahara soaks in the open fields.
Afraid of no one and nothing but hunger.
Crowned long ago, his reign will outlast the wars, the floods, the drought.
Hands enormous enough to ****, gentle enough to love.

I remain, eyes fixed on the beast as he belts a roar.
The sound vibrates my glassy outlook, coaxing a scream of my own.
Salty tears and shuddered cries, break the crusted lips.
Pain erupts, long lodged deep in the gut.
The broken wail of majesty, shakes lose the inner me.

If I could hold the moon in my hand,
would it be cold or turn to sand?
Would it be heavy there in my hand?
A small mystery to understand.

The nightcap wears off.
My faded world comes in clear.
Pressed fingers tight to my temple,
help to steady the shipwrecked thoughts.
I see black spots, like blackened pieces of a once finely stitched tapestry.

Unsteady limbs claw at the heavy stench,
tipping then spilling a cup once full.

Behind stormy eyelids, lighting cracks through.
Maddening thoughts spawn, slimming the mind.
Mutant feelings bubble, distilled
ready to bottle.

If this scene had a soundtrack, the chords would howl.
The melodious truth could liquefy our yesterday smiles.
Sudden smacks from the bass come to rustle my withered petals.
Tragedy comes in many pauses.
Reach for your collar, and choke the nonsense.
Don't forget to kick the footstool,
hang the little man, guess the right letter
...it's a vowel.

The smog of the gin, has long passed.
What is left, a hammering build.

The cup once full was my solace.
Solace smells a lot like *****.
From the bottom, I smile upward
To the new day, I flip the *******
and linger back to black.

The stranger
with the face of my mother
begs for love
abandoned by the door
She's lonely and lovely
I want to help, but she is no one
I can't give her anymore

She looks hurt I don't know her
She looks to the left
her cheeks wet
I feel a tiny stab
Something so familer in her face
But I don't know her
I can't give her anymore

She turns to go, head bowed low
I step forward with regret
Can she be her, mother?
How does one know?

I had a parent once
Someone was there
now there's a stranger
with the face of my mother
crying at my door

I sit with my pain, thinking of you
Nestled between heartache and joy
I find my memory, fades
Your face just a blur
Your voice like the tide

I sit with my pen, thinking of you
with thoughts, but no words
Grief chokes the mind
Your face just a dream
Your voice like a drum

I sit with my pride, thinking of you
In another space and time
When my mind was new
Your face just a place
Your voice like a song

I sit with my plight, thinking of you
forgiveness is hard to give
letting go takes it's toll
Your face just a reminder
Your voice like a scar

Let's say you're mad
a science nerd
Let's say you build a contraption
a time warp
It's main function
to bend and twist
control time on a whim
then suddenly
time becomes a living thing
The nerd becomes unsure
time has teeth and claws
a crushing weight
that you must endure
Your advise?
I need a clue
my Frankenstein devise
has gone askew
should I pull the plug,
cut the wires?
perhaps time will then
quit and tire
A silly notion
to think I had power
over timeless time
I'm feeling sour!

Two kinds of pain
One sears the skin, crawls to the bone
Another is a slow burning, melting the soul

When you feel the first, it shocks
Yanking at the mind
Learning fast, you avoid repeating a second time

The other pain you feel like a steadfast blow
Its harsh and gripping and your life tends to slow

If given the choice, I would ask
could you break all my bones,
tear out my eyes
or pelt me with stone
For the pain may be terrible,
but nothing compared
To the tear of the heart
or the weight of the world.

My dearest violet, my tempered thorn
With every word dropped like water to a petal
your vibrant exlicer powders my heart with bruises.

Yet I return each day, bowed before your feet
hands begging for more violence.
I'll take your cold throws
fully addicted to your touch.

The afternoon heat hung like a rising fever.
The old iron gates of the school yard wait to swing.
My feet planted near the outskirts.
Sweeping the sticky hair from my face,
alone I wait.

Chocolate melted in my pocket.
Minutes turn to hours.
A gallery of photographs has passed me by.
Panic snickers, searching for your face.
The waiting, the patience,
feeling more like a punch, than a verb.

The chocolate now a sticky ink, staining my pants.
I feel a voyager aboard a lost ship, floating,
hoping for shore.

Sudden without warning,
you grace my sight,
slow motion, near the gate door.
In one swing, you're here.
The wait long forgot,
hung on your beautiful stare.