He probably deserves
to be accidentally thrown
into a garbage truck
some cold Monday morning,

but I don't think it's his fault.
I love him.
I don't know and probably won't
until we're ash.

❦

hate born of love
like Poison leaking through
the petaled veil

❦

Light flutters,
Butterflies escape,
A blind tongue
Babbles wisdom.

The affirmation of which
Came from lost souls
At the crossroads
Of beauty and treason.

Flowers flourish trying
To poke their  
Budding brains
Through the clouds,

Yet none reach so far
As to make a memory,
Or to make a memory fade,
To guide anew the light.

Wise was the caterpillar,
He who had not seen
Perpetual pain
Through the porous sky.

Vision flooding her words.
Hate born of love like
Poison leaking through
The petaled veil.

Hope can be elusive,
Fleeting as a butterfly,
Or a flower that never
Had the chance to bloom.

❦

Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and
choose the sign of your day
The day’s divinity
First thing you see.
A vast radiant beach
in a cool jeweled moon
Couples naked race down by it’s quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Smug in the woolly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us.
Choose, they croon, the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon,
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake
Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances.

A child screamed
for his mother
to come rescue him
from the torments
of a caterpillar.

A lawyer ached
at the loss
of his beloved,
his beautiful
Tiger lillies.

A father struggled
to convince
his son against
stealing the wrong
girl's heart.

A businessman sold
out of the life
he built
and slaved over
for a rush.

A husband looked
at his wife
and smiled
at her cheeks
and the bruises
he put on them.

A drug addict attacked
and begged
his parents
for something
to eat.

The other day
I saw an old man
no longer crying
over bugs
or caring much
for flowers.

The other day
someone traded
their love
and their blood
for a needle
and a spoon.

The other day
I buried
my father
and cursed
his name.
My name.

❦

Luminescent is the way.
Where there were voices
that spoke in riddles.
Where there were mountains
who watched your cold shoulder.
Where there was life
and death was innate,
but patient.

You used to love the way she drove
you into the ground.
None the wiser to the inadequacy  
of sleeping through.
She spoke to you,
her breath on your neck.
How many sheep must you count,
before the Shepard loses,
Loses patience.

Where there are voices,
There is spit,
Where there is life,
There are lungs.
Where you are,
is never the culmination,
You can never seek ******.
For the moment you reach,
and finally take hold,
Whats to come will be for naught.

She is your goddess,
Let the ashes of dream
guide anew the light.
Take her block by block,
Or fly like humans can,
watch her whole, watch her becoming.

Burning shall be your dreams of fire.
Soot can be cleaned.
But a rag to reveal
That your city stands tall,
The peak grew and the skyline
represents the wind’s metaphoric lust.
She holds forever your patience,
why not, if only for laughs,
see if the wait is worth it.

❦