This morning is a poem-
In between the drifting clouds
Amidst the silent trees
Plays
The eternal song
Of the ephemeral.

An impossible world
is a world that can be-
free of deadlines or limits
or lies mortals see.

A planet collides
with a dragonfly’s wings
while roses run laps,
and a daffodil sings.

To share a new language
one first ought to teach
the correct way to listen,
then, maybe, some speech.

Peel open an apple
to get to its core,
and reread the pages
you’ve not seen before.

From the depths of the mountains
and heights of the sea,
if it is written,
thus shall it be.

Each step I take,
Makes me a little bit closer.
Each breath I breathe,
Makes my sanity return.
My every action,
Is fueled by the motive.
To be as happy,
As I once was.

I feel as though finally,
I'm catching up.
The world cannot,
Pass me by.
I am pounding my feet,
******* the pavement.
Spreading my wings,
Ready to take flight.

My life is getting,
Into the rhythm.
A rhythm that once,
I knew so well.
No more sadness,
Depression no pain.
And my life is now,
Falling into place.

I will carve your lies
Out of my spine,
Wipe it clean, 
And discover the bone.

I will choke you down,
Pry open your jaw,
And pick my flesh 
Out of your teeth.

You don't deserve
Any part of me

A tantalized spirit
Delves into my spine
It dictates my breathing,
It quickens my saunter
I see filth in my mind,
In my decaying lungs,
On the palms of my hands
Muck where virtue once resided
Virtue untainted by original sin
“O’ God free me”
No reply
The spirit seizes each prayer
If the spirit within should perish
Or plague babes hereafter
It is negligible
For every breast carries putrid milk
Every infant grows
And matures into a gruesome sight
Every wave peaks
And culminates
Every day passes
Every harmonious sound shall cease

My eyes changed color since you saw me last
I can tell because I see different
My skin is softer since you touched me last
I can tell because I feel different

My prints are still the same though.

Little girl in that
wonderful glass world
she tells me
                                                                ­                         How
wonderful her world is.
and how I                                      
                         ­                                                                Could
live there with her. All
                                                             ­                            I
would have to do, is
**** her, and
                                                                ­                         Hate
everyone in the world
i already lived in, then
i could live there too.
but i told              
                                              ­                                            Her
how there was so many
                                                            ­                              That
i loved. she told me
how i didnt have
                                                                ­                          Much
to live for.

*

Anyways; i broke open her glass world.
She painted my hands red.

The flowerlike
animal perfume
in the god’s curly
hair —

don’t assume
that like a flower
his attributes
are there to tempt

you or
direct the moth’s
hunger —
simply he is
the temple of himself,

hair and hide
a sacrifice of blood and flowers
on his altar

if any worshipper
kneel or not.