White hot Flash
Drums of Vibrato
Echo down the Spine
Cold and Sticky
In the Chest
Pulling an Aching
Mind down to
Recollections of Oleander
And Saltwater-
Bloodshot belladonna Eyes
Poppy seed Vision
A loose-lipped Smile
Blurred hands
Violet fingertips
Pale white Translucent
Blue veins dark Stained
Iced concrete and Jasmine
Be still my Soul
Long enough
To Comprehend
The Nymphet Tragedy
Of timid Thorns
And soft strums on Steel Strings
Written longways
Read sideways
Neglected underneath
Rocky steps
Buried deep
In the salted Soil
And mossy Tress

We rescue heartless wolves
Then fear the crime of saving them

And once upon a time we were both the sunrise and sunset
But the land that we believed was mythical ended up being real

I am made of playful creatures and constantly swirling sand
You are made of delicate glass and tangled hair that slips through my fingers

But together we do not belong
Because the flowers we grew are making a pathway

To carry our imminent death
Closer

Put 'Goodness' of a good man on test.
In moderate clime it might appear best.

Examine the 'Goodness' in extremes.
It will be different from what it seems.

Leave 'Goodness' under the desert sun.
To help 'Goodness' there should be none.

With magnifying glass check its sphere.
Cracks and fissures are sure to appear.

Now place 'Goodness' on mountaintop.
Keep it in position with the help of prop.

Leave it in Bone-chilling cold and depart.
Within days it will crumble and fall apart.

it’s the sensations
that are most satisfying
an almost painful pressurized dance
between throat and chest
the way the process is felt
in the finite muscles and glands
that take their own actions
about the mouth and
interplay between the desmosome & basal
layers just beneath the eyes
yet the single most intriguing
part of the process
is the temperature of the fluid
and how it caresses each topical segment
of derma on it’s own path to the earth

You couldn't believe
so quiet could be the croc
its eyes a wise sage
scales rigid rock

lay frozen on the mud
no flies could stir
stubbornly in trance
mind elsewhere

sixteen feet in size
dumb cool in creek
in the hermit's guise
lamblike tender meek

pounce it does when needs
not preys on what eats not
the human hunter feeds
on hatred and whole lot.

This brilliant morning
anything is possible

we are limited only
by rigid minds
whose fragile confines

can be vaporized
by choice alone.

I think your legs
are the hundred miles I’d walk
alone
to a cold bed in a little hostel just outside of Denver

Your skin
is the cream-white silk
we’d pretend the sheets were made of until the too-soon
light of dawn ran us out of town like outlaws

Your hips
are the gentle rolling walk though which
glances and red lips and half-smiles
I’d want you

Your *******
are lying on a Pennsylvania hilltop
whispers sinking into downy grass
at sunset

The smell of you
is a tangle of thorn-bushes a single
split raspberry leaking fragrance
that tickles at the scratches on my skin

Your hair
is night in San Antonio
shimmering in a faint breeze off the river
my body thrums for me to dive

Your lips
are coming home