Hi folks.

I'm revamping some work and moving any of my future work to https://aheartmovingoutwards1.wordpress.com/. Thanks for all the fun, HP.

i'm absorbing the pain of your lacerations -
the tattoos of your mother's screams
etched in between your knuckles.

a canvass,
whitened and deeply dented,
takes the form of wordless, celestial aspiration -
the manifestation of release from an invisible prison.

your clanging tin cup on the bars asks for logic -
in response,
the uncompromising transmission sits in silence.

your mind does not deserve such a fate.

under opaque bedsheets,
a reversal in perspective unlocks the gate.

a house divided may only stand
if division negotiates with gravity
in blind faith.

my conscious,
a spec on the corner of the Polaroid lens,
a heart lost in the reeds of dampened circumstance,
a hydrangea blooming in an untended field,
meditates upon itself
like a child lost
in a superstore.

--

an ocean wave mimics its predecessor
only to fall victim to aspiration.

what will crush upon my tired bones
as they chase sunsets
in a similar search
for meaning
?

sunlight,
sunlight,
sunlight.

beacon me home
like the smell of goodnight.

i'm always half-blind
& always in denial
that i'm half alive.

it wouldn't hurt
to trade the coffins in my mind
for memories of your blonde streaks
& white fists for black lives
in coffee shops
around the corner.

why am i buying all of this free art,
anyways?

your nose is in the books,
your heart
in the
right place.

you're the design left on the windowsill
after a whimsical,
impulsive,
condensation-initiated
doodling session.
- - -
timeless,
preserved,
and
limitless
in your reach.

in fractions of rotations,
it is filled with sun;
it is shrouded by clouds.

it is fleeting from my fingertips
like my former layers
of skin.

it is the meeting of the lips.

it is measured by minutes
& diastolic response
in this life,

by the depth of irises
& ocean currents
in the next.

a cracked slab of
concrete
knocked
on the front door.

"i ache of
tread and
winter
wind."

it shuttered,
turned a frigid purple
(by
winter
solstice),
and looked
at its watch.

(5:55 A.M.)

another repetition
of an engine revving.

another star
brilliantly,
silently,
waving
goodnight.

another coffee cup
becoming
hot
and then,
becoming
cold.

her tongue danced like the swaying maple,
ideas transforming to light,
a monarch pushing its iridescent chest into
tomorrow.

it is enough to soften a man's heart.

the song,
unheard from time to time
(the dark clouds plugging my ears
as crows huddle on fraying, telephone wire),
echoed as the stone at the base of the waterfall does-

(she is untouched by water
or human intervention)
.

it is the warm recipe known by heart,
the compress for a broken foot,
the wind chime surrendering pre-determined agendas
to Spring's affirmative intuition.