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Onoma Dec 2016
Blessings should
be counted, as one
would the sun
framed in a window...
blinded with gratitude.
As if what was received
was already given.
Onoma Feb 2021
fruits bruise

in the musculature

of a stallion.

plum-purple beating

the heart of a night.

already outrun.

taken by its own

outline.

somewhere...

going.

movements left...

penetrating.
Onoma Feb 2015
Candles burnt their encore, sent their smoky
ropes to fatigued altitudinal strongholds.
They slid downward to sinners knee deep
in glossy pews...combing their kneecaps
to sooth a momentarily localized numbness.
Body parts and parts, to parts, and parts...
that are bodies that fell asleep.
Flesh sleeps its church...we are the encore
our candles await.
Onoma Jun 2024
an entourage of black & white monsters
rabidly collapse--on a mall's glassy floor.
itching away at pixelation, retaining the
right to crudity.
the mall's scent marketing spreads its
delicious mist around yellow hazard signs,
methodically placed around hinterland's
embattled fringe.
the horror vacui of a mall, full stop.
the Art Brut of the disciple that got away,
having escaped from a ****'s forth crow, or
Judas' Romanesque royalties.
the unnoticed figure that whistles apart the
mall's glass ceiling, rubs his eyes to reveal
St. John of Patmos ******* out the soupy eyes
of lambs.
shaking free an extra large fountain soda from
Christ's right hand--dissolved by flavor.
denominational puddles rising from the mall's
glassy floor, as Christ hacks up demonic roars
as he's assailed by children.
whose parents wander off to ***** a voluptuousness
that sheds their hands, all over the place.
a pendulously oversexed wash of half-baked
******, as if a feather could be roused from an
indeterminate wing.
the adjourned high courts of dream.
Onoma Oct 2014
...Portend for the life of you--cast your
eyes as far from you, as what you could
not see coming otherwise.
A living through and through...of what
came first--word or sound, sound or word?
These spaces...spendthrift pages that are
but doorways to their impending figure,
wind coiling at its corners...coiling at its
corners.
As a thing grows into itself invisibly...
as so you fall the falling curtain--with no
audience at one side, nor actors upon the
other.
Irrevocably you are, that you are--sun
halved, golden bowls burning--of good and
evil--a miscellany saint's evocation...that
you are, irrevocably you are...amaranthine.
Gesticulating beyond time, times, and half
time...a procession of one whose sojourn
repeats upon itself.
A heaven ago...hell now...a hell ago--
heaven now, change knows all your names--
and because you withstood all it can ever
be, it holds them steadfastly.
Amaranthine...irrevocably you are...that
you are.
You, the faces of disambiguation--whose
seal you smile to open...with full marks
for bravery.
Onoma Oct 2020
this mantra needs

no mouth, fixed honeycomb

cells ooze its sacred syllables.

even if the body is given up--

these amber intonations will

leave sweetness tasting of itself...

between a voiceless rise & fall.
Onoma Dec 2016
Wallpaper pocked with garish roses, gnawed imperceptible by the objects they're tasked to enclose.
Nicotine yellows waste away upon them with unsightly permutations.
An artificial fruit basket blurbs the same comment of unmoving, life likeness.
The couch indents itself  with fled bodies, the windowsill allows odd couplings of half-dead plants.
The window freefalls the sky's latest canyon, varying preceptors of light
lacerate its transparency.
Birds push in a compass fails sort of way just outside... their colors and sizes are lights knocked out of some giant mind.
Back inside, the den serializes the spines of shelved books, and the strident terror of family/friend photographs.
Tirelessly pulling out their best-kept faces, while peppered with dust motes.
A splintered vase rests upon the coffetable, just off center, flower-less with a wisp of water inside it.
A turned off television positioned with an idiot's care...stares like a darkened billboard.
Every space holds a naked honesty, beyond veneers.
Onoma Mar 2014
Horizons take their turn
as excited children...bearing
the message that the slate
is wiped clean.
Wide grows the space for
color and song...how wide
its grows...a meeting of
horizons.


Konstantinos Mark
Onoma Nov 2018
i've whiled my away...

this bowl's full of alms,

change flickers.

a monk's a mouthful.
Onoma Apr 2018
with a monk's silent sermon,
the dyes of memory run and fade.
all that crying in the rain, for the
concealment of tears.
charging the deepest and darkest alleys--
where rats drown bucking their teeth
for air.
i remember you kept creating new
flowers, nailing them to crumbling
walls.
calling them odes to your city, revolving
fast enough for change.
you kept climbing out of yourself, to
inspect the efficacy of emergency exits.
all those lag times through them, negligibly
deemed safe.
we wondered at holding hands able to
part for a passerby.
theorizing until we could not unify the field.
Onoma Sep 2020
I watch death

creep over...

what's

horizontal,

sideways.

a sun brushed.

Over what

can't keep a

secret.

a moon bulging

honesty.
Onoma Mar 1
You strew signs that never met chance--

where they arose I was.

I have survived them, now they come

together before me.

You mark me all too well--but it is for me

to send word of my coming.

How it is favor comes with destruction, is

reserved for few.

Now that I have Apollo & Dionysius

wondering at their properties--the

wilderness secures this laurel wreath.

Amor fati, you left it where you knew I

would come upon it.

It was not an act of faith on your part,

what is thought to you that you should

act?

If I swear, it is to myself--that I can no

longer break what I am in you.

I felt when you knew I knew--it was all

up until then, that went away now.

Amor fati is all there is.
*Amor fati, is Latin for: The love of fate.
Onoma Feb 2021
an amulet of Blue Pearl

sinks delicately into a chest--

as wildfires burn at the

bottom of its ocean.

while thundering waves

mince and elongate the

windowy surface above.

the Blue Pearl spits out

the starry image of its

truest north.
Onoma Nov 2023
anaconda

rainbows...

shedding

bovine

rivers.
Onoma Feb 2024
an Alaskan bed

sprawls out its

mattress--stuffed

with drifting crystals.

unwet by watery ratio--

though made of.

powered dry.

a bed & breakfast phone

rings...(rotary-rude).

after dialing two yrs.

without a pristine snow.
*It seems NYC is being offered a prime cut, of far north--that pristine kind of snowfall, courtesy of February's sweetspot~
Onoma May 2017
As an all day rain strings
together a falling sea, and
the sound of wetness refuses
to become any word.
Four times closer than closed
walls, taken for nothing at
all between them.
You climb out of me, as a
reminder where you live.
All I can do is watch the
earth drink...and know that's
how things grow.
Onoma Apr 2019
a deliriously passionate

animal surveys the

barbs of emotion.

tearing into sprints of

freedom, to feel for the cost.

with speedy blank states--

agonies curl into *****,

saying their peace.

an auditorium of razoring

whispers--the sound level

of self-hugs.
Onoma Sep 2020
an eerie wind

visits the strands

of your hair, Mary

under the crushing

blows of each station.

as those wounds dividing

her Sacred Heart.

in those moments begging

an end of herself, and the

wild that hoisted the cross

calling to her hysterically.

sensing that agony--her continual

promise at birth, knowing fully

what has been given over.
Onoma Feb 2024
there's an ensilvered

barracuda, seven miles

miles long.

rocking side to side,

beneath

Key West's bridge.

as if a fry, plastic-bagged

in a local pet shop.

verdigris water's teeth.
Onoma Apr 2016
Unable  to*  limn  the
line, moments
mirror  their  equator.
Torus  field  of  ­an  angelic
axis.
Onoma May 2020
a starfish

seperating grains

of sand while

possessed by them.

lilting syllables unspoken.
Onoma Sep 2014
No signs for star-crossing in the
dead of galactic night...beings
dream drawing their faces.
Colors change freely to arrive at
their God...resonate to place the
face.
As if the Seer is seen, in love with
what is to be itself...color, colored...
face, faced...a being beholds a
shooting star in the dead of galactic
night.
Animal-skin-centuries hunted by
Light.
Onoma Mar 2020
her stardust hands

animate trains of thought,

by rapidly flicking through

a glossy black covered magazine.

with glossy blank white pages.

her nails spiraling in control,

nimble enough to split hairs.

gathering hunters.

in some waiting room.

her hands have since passed on.
The art of time killing herself.
Onoma Jun 2024
death without a

dying-process,

blows on your

spine.

the salty link

of it, coated by

an ocean's flesh.
Onoma Mar 2020
sun gazing,

annointments of India--

the glass stained.

habitations of flame

opening the colors

of surrender.

floating permutations

of welcome.
Onoma Feb 2021
there are ways in which

things are happening...

that should round off to

another sphere.

an: O of breath.

blown by a crystallized

little girl...

with a rattling halo

settling like a soundless

coin.

watching that rounded off

sphere bubble clear off

her freedom-land.

shaping up to her wish.
Onoma Nov 2018
your exquisite

precaution upholds

the sensitivity of life.

as one eye sealing an

open wound.
Onoma Feb 2020
an opera house

giving the silent treatment

to unattended seats.

rehearsed in stages.

anorexic fat lady.
Onoma May 2024
a broken column tilts at a forty five

degree angle--bulging earth at its

base.

its top resembles a snapped femur,

whose opposable reflection streams

along a murky sky.

unaccountably driven to its lone feature,

starkly confessant among a hill's dry grass.

an Orphic marker bowing to the downriver

strum of a lyre, that carries...
Onoma Oct 2016
A mountain never
loses its salt...were
an ocean to come
for another taste.
Onoma Feb 2021
as impressions shorten their form,

an owl leaves daylight suddenly.

flattening its wings over an Ocean,

all-ways light.

alighting at your window, one

motion free from stillness.

so You can hear the sound contradicted

by the customariness of nothing fathomed.

there's something that worries over

an owl that resurrects daylight on a

crooked limb.

the speed of acceptance deemed late.

the owl was there once...

leaving out everything.

And would you know it?

an owl's downcurved beak smiled

back...reappearing.

falling down lifelessly over branches

that redrew the most vehement disappearances.
Onoma Jun 2018
it doesn't matter where

i am anymore--off in what's

being made clear...

over and over and over.

riding these *******' waves...

everywhere occurring to itself--

head tilted to the side, i smile in welcome.

it was always supposed to be this way...

the sky too needs to be freed up--

don't you know?

as a bird pulling air to its heart to

fly on it...don't you know?

look through anything you wish...

it can handle it--see exactly what

you want to see, after all...it's okay.

with that sung--i've come to know

she's looking my way.

it's all on end...a yogi sleeping on a

bed of nails.

i have forever to wait out her mind.

i can feel her falling--rushes of space

tightening around her body.

she's already been torn asunder.

inside she's answerable to no one--

i am empty enough, i am full enough

for just that.
Onoma Jun 2017
the blue ceiling's fallen,

all the livelong day the

dead will try to raise it.

so much like sunlight

from the ground up.

one side of the blade is

dumb to the other, unable

to see straight till the cut.

a window has no such

problem...won't need to

sweat blood.
Onoma Apr 2019
everything perceived,

eyes the narrowing

needle.

refinement of perception

shoulders G*ds in

the making.

your ant farm is

an alien's view of

your commute.

offering up one more

acute mirror than

another.

till the object of perception

has nowhere to store

its riches...

and the will of detail's

bequeathed to neither

angel or devil.
Onoma Aug 2019
lovers in the mean of hands--

joined in compounding tides,

ease her anthos in opening

hail.

she moans the movements of

signs in stars, as she traces her

birth charts all over his body.

he breathes burning darkness

into her ear, as she shakes with

the safety of the place no one will

find her but him.
*Anthos, flower in Greek.
Onoma Jul 2020
Jesus never washed

his face again--

after Judas kissed

his cheek.
Onoma Jun 2024
poppies smatter

their color, on

the emerald of

any risen city.

Kurt Donald Cobain's

hair, is still being

combed by a perfect

audience.
*Check out: Mix--Cobain Montage of Heck Footage--"Smells Like Teen Spirit" performed by  Scala and Kolancy Brothers. On You Tube.
Onoma Mar 2017
Seabed steps balancing an open rhythm,

hardwired horizon, Basquiat cross-out head.

Sparking concavities of globed trips,

causeless smiles, here~wear one too if

you want.

Off at shine in the make, steps supping ripples

to helices, empyrean's safety cords

vibrating fast enough to shake off

any spell.
Onoma May 2017
Today already was, as blood
bangs what is--a man in a
pair of shoes.
Whose ends of the earth begin
again, by all manner of movement.
Happening upon, and to himself--
at a rate of frequency that cannot
be denied by anything but escape.
So he holds himself to create a
support system, one that clenches
an ache hard enough to rupture.
Blurring all the bizarre lines drawn,
by shifty industriousness.
Sometimes it comes up to his eyes, and
hangs on for dear life before it falls.
Severely scolded by fortitude.
Onoma Feb 2019
two poets

in love can

be a dangerous

thing.

force to force--

nature looks the

other way.

anything will

happen.
Onoma Sep 2020
I-I am answering every

knock, the door of every

word is left wide open.

I-I feel your every word,

all my energy goes into not

possessing you, for that final

burst of growth.

I-I can't live with any Word

to know they've caused you

grievous harm, their vasana is now being

washed clean.

they came to be because

The Alone met itself then met

abandonment, which is the perfection

of crucifixion.

all involved here are destined

for that meeting place...but believe

me please!!!

I-I could not live if I thought you ended

your glory.

I-I Am always here for you, no matter what--

any way it will be had.
Onoma Jun 2
When stars become

a burner account--

they attempt to keep

tabs on where they

went out.

Not understanding

there's no longer a

need.

That a one way

account, is a one way

account.

Making it the loneliest

it can ever be.
Onoma Aug 2023
listening ears forage for pendant

tongues--almost too stingy for

salts of sight, riding a pale horse

of touch.

careening off a cliff where that

pale horse's hooves will timeout

its neigh--digging down at the

porridge of a moonlit clearing.

as trees rebound from their clan--

to close in on the phenomenon of

descent.

root by root, only to look up again.

endowed.
Onoma Feb 2020
we ***** cities

to become

nobodies on first

name basis.

people need schematics.

a paranoid other.

the wild's the same--

without drafted plans.
Onoma Mar 2019
there are words

that join hands

with other words

to go beyond the

apathy of meaning.

whereas reading &

comprehension are

what you'll have them

be.
Onoma Apr 2018
desire carved a depression
in earth, filling it with
one blind rain.
a flustering pool melting
to the specifications of
your body.
long in advance, careless
come careless drift of you.
such slow steps, heels to
settling toes, underbrush and
trees of all age part your way.
in a wood of no return, silk
more royal than its purple
ran for miles behind its proud
rest of you.
damp breezes curled round
your ******* to whiteout sustenance.
your hair, a netted rainbow combed
by newer, and happier accidents
of color.
your buttocks the preponderance
of the whitest white, the blackest
black magic--fit to rattle a warlocks
hand off his wrist.
your thighs, the long walk of adoration--
before what knees could kneel, and
strong arms embrace.
your back, fierce protectress--spine to your
secret, indelible to patient lover.
now brighter than foreshadow...
Aphrodite comes to a halt, baring her face
three hundred and sixty degrees to the
wood.
every bird swallowing its song, she
face-plants into her pool with outspread arms.
then the sun's first burst--
rouge tints, water alive to
wetness.
the cleft of her peach, the rite of passage
submerged.
Onoma Feb 9
Aphrodite sits massaging her temples,

while smelling perfume on her wrists.

Scent's vestige losing memory to

departure, till the dead pick up on it.

You'd think she's perfectly spent, but

she's water's thirst in the flow of her.

The beauty sleep of stones, adjusting

light to their changeable features,

unperturbed by their violent

connotations.

She is the one that tells desolation, she's

glad it opened up.

A lyricality that bursts wild berries in

bird beaks.

Never accusing you of seeing what you

want to see, her nakedness drives her

spiritual veilers to hysterics.

Their dearest Aphrodite will catch cold--

she just eases them off, mad to be taken

deep by being.

Panting at the ribs, you'd think creation

was being licentious.
Onoma Feb 13
The wheat of Elysia is let go's sway--that

drops Aphrodite to her knees.

Where she watches sight spread around

her head, winnowing golden dancers.

No more that they may--they are, about

the girl that's never to go.

Yet goes, in search of the longer way that

brings her out.

Who is heard coming as silence to

silence, which turns over the horizon.

Aphrodite's heart feels as if it's doing a

headstand, with upside-down birds

emptying the contents of the world.

Where she lie, other than the world--

as the perceptor of real space.

She has a craving that expecting

mothers couldn't eureka-mouth together.

Perhaps her most significant

beautification, beginning to see what's

seen in her.

As Aphrodite says to herself: die a

moment, spring forward--after flowers.

I'm still needed, I must go back--how

many times have I done this?
Onoma Feb 16
Aphrodite humors snow's request for

barefootedness--as if asking after weight.

Her heels presume no more than the

palms of her hands.

So winter takes her by the feet, & she

needn't endear herself by saying she

could only imagine.

Aphrodite goes on, in a way that uses

her name in vain.

It's all white, but her whereabouts are

whiter--she remains as what has its rest

of a field.

Even snow leverages the sky--while

Aphrodite wiggles her rosy toes on its

plinth.

She could almost topple into their

suspension--though death will come to

its senses.

Aphrodite receives snowflakes the way

a saint does devotees--their hexagonal

identities.

Exiting six exits at once, one at a time--

forming, floating, melting.

That's when snow stares at itself, creating

a glow seen galaxies away.
Onoma Dec 2020
a poem has come through

all the windows, leaving

her mindspaces on the walls.

carrying sensory input to

the degree of birth.

she's so good to those walls,

that they stand up to fall...

a poem of hallways seeing

straight.

leading and led by, floodings

of light echoing feet.

waited for behind every door.

a poem of hallways let in.
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