from the top
of your head to the tips of your hairy toes,
you exude an unquestionable
brilliance

the theories
streaming forth from your noggin
leave a trail of droplets wherever you wander, and i,
skedaddling behind
you,
wait for the remnants
to fade into me

i yearn for your beautiful mind to be infused into my own,
to see what you see
to ponder your thoughts,
vanishing away from what had been
and pursue the absoluteness
of a sitting duck

It is not drishti;
It is my ignorant staring
that draws me into you

Neither eyes, head
nor heart softens
straining to meet your gaze

Yearning, longing
unspoken earnest
an ensnared frenzy

The alien depths of
complicated blues
dismember me

The tales and odes
craft and song;
mimic sweet melodies

Basking in warmth
tracing footsteps;
following blindly

But this is fleeting faith
euphoric delusions
****** girlish fantasies

you leave me
again;
naked, empty

Repeated assessments in
blood-red marks;
*** laude in foolery

Yet I rise once more
reassemble the remnants
move forward

For that is all I know,
and I fear;
all I will ever know

The sweet exhalations of my Caroline girl
fog the windows of our wood-lined station wagon
moving down US 20.
Her doughball palms and fudgy fingers pressed against the thick glass,
her bright pink hat nods as the
snowglobe snowflakes flurry to the ground.
Strapped into her car seat, her plump legs kick forth
left - right
left - right
left - right;
a staccato rhythm forming from a pair of Barbie light-up snowboots
that beat the back of my driver's seat.
We are shooting forward,
straight into the horizon. Into the unknown and away from what was.
The blush sunset and amber clouds foretell
the future.

And yes I lover her,
young passenger.
Contagious resolve spills over
every side of her baby face.
She walks alongside ghosts,
marveling the air's open wounds
and smelling the mystery
behind the songs the wind plays.
The way she moves
is like knives and sugar
freckled with fumbles
and quick as stallions.
My heart silken
and she
the theme of my mega-mix.

Fuchsia butterflies dancing south
of opulent skies
signify yet another year
has come and passed;

There is nothing left for no one
but a crystal kiss upon these rolling hills;

The colors on the horizon
drained of flesh,
the bourbon in this stained mug
licked away,
and the messy red curls
atop my head
lay in piles
on the floor.

Ringing static
undisturbed,
an ocular void
resides in the mirror

Long, long ago, my heart was penned inside a leather book. An ornate pattern was etched upon the cover, accompanied by heavenly hues. Crisp, ivory pages and ink as black as a raven's wing showed evidence of joy, pain, sorrow, and truth.

I would study the book for hours, fascinated by its complexities. I liked tracing my fingers over the fine details, my eyes danced over the calligraphy. And then I began to wonder if anyone else wanted to read my book. So I sought to find out.

I embarked on journeys and took nothing but my beautiful book. Every traveler I met was invited to read it, and I would sit quietly next to them as they leafed through the pages. I would administer the addition of their letters and lessons, hoping to personify their most admirable traits. My eyes widened in horror as they defaced its elegance. But I was confused and saddened when someone chose to rip out any pages and chapters to keep for themselves, leaving asymmetrical gashes in my most prized possession.

As a young girl, the travelers were gentle with my beautiful book. They treated it with great care and smiled at me with warm eyes. As I grew older, far more people began to treat the book with less respect. Sure, most wanted to read it, but some read only the parts that they deemed worthy. Others read with greed to exploit the deep secrets within. And others completely disregarded the book all together.

Now, the bindings are worn down and dangerously thin. The pages are feeble, threatening to tear from the softest contact. I dare not travel with it any longer, let alone even touch it for fear that it will fall apart in my own hands. It sits on a bookstand, accumulating dust.

I long to open the book once more, but I know that I must wait for the most avid Reader to be gentle with its contents. It is tenderness that will bring the most beautiful parts of the book to life. The Reader will restore its fragile state and add the knowledge and clarity that no other person could have taught. And as the new and improved project is completed, the purest form of love will stem forth.

Until then, my beautiful book will rest easy.

Sitting here with you tonight
has given me
the clarity I desperately needed.

That the ride of life
will carry on
regardless of if I am
strapped into my seat or not.

That I am
directionless
for the first time
and I have no idea why or how
I am to carry on.

That despite your warm body
nestled closely into mine,
you really don't give a **** about me.
We may be talking intimately
like friends do,
but this relationship we share
is nothing close to friendship.

So now I must make the decision:
to let the truth weigh me down
or allow it to carry me above the clouds
and start anew

It's 2:00 AM now...
I think I'll just go home

Good morning, Sun. It is good to see you

You wake me ever so gently
and call me to begin this new day

I like the night you see but something about morning
calls to me

Perhaps it is my love for this quiet valley
and the feeling that while everyone is still asleep,
I am sewing  intentions for an extraordinary day

And before your golden rays kiss the sky
I believe even
I
wake before you

Good morning, Sun. Let us begin

you need to be more like what's his name that guy sitting in the corner ask him a question and he knows the answer you need to take some grammar lessons this is the stuff that you need to know*                          
                                 ­                                                                 ­                       doer

soft dawn electrifying the stillness of night

heated humans reduced into one puddle

the sound of breath escaping slumber

silky fingers gingerly trailing muscle

a slice of toast swaddled in milk fat

this lazy morning is sweet like butter

Back-to-back with the driver,
I see a diminishing world.

A spaghetti road
twists and ascends
just to spit me back onto
cemented migrations
that everyone else is
calling their own.

Twin yellow lines
pacing even-steven
end in aggressive Morse codes
I cannot make out.

These panoramic cliff sides
and igneous intrusions are
miraculous,
magnanimous!
Yet, those too
begin to fade away.

Back-to-back with the driver,
my life moves forward
backwards,
blinded from the future
as the past shrivels
into nothing more
than blotted memories.

I'm embalmed in pine and simmering in luster
floating along a french toast breeze
as clear blue skies echo a songbird's warble.

Steam curls and twists into snake skins
as it unfurls from a cracked green mug,
steaming my neck and face.

A cool smile emanates certainty
and I resolve to the emotion,
my best self reflecting off onyx Ray Bans.

I am adoration and passion, filled to the brim;
clogged, quenched, settled;
completely fulfilled in a mountainous paradise.

do not read too much into it

this glowing neon door frame
mounted on this white wall
is not significant or special

it does not speak to social issues
or spur political discussions

it will not call upon you to reflect on your life,
your decisions, your mistakes

it is simply a vibrant structure
buzzing from high voltage currents

again, don't read into it

it's exactly what it appears to be

it's different.
not foreign, nor organic.
tongue flicking and suckling at her sweet spots,
she moans and whimpers in response to my touch.
she is a smooth, warm creature
wrapped in alabaster
the epitome of comfort.
i see the appeal.

Summertime is right around the corner
as on-again-off again beams
shoot forth from hypnotic clouds,
and tickle frosted mountains.
Their immensity booms from a substantial deck,
but their peaks still tremble
from forces under the threshold of awareness.
How grand you are;
to stand so strong
and anchor us to this beautiful land;
to sew dreams of hope deep into our souls;
to tattoo upon our hearts the concept of transience.
In admiration,
and apprehension,
we carry on with our lives with a single wish
to feel as relevant as you;
constantly mystified by your powers
that diminish us to mere specks on a landscape.
We are eternal wanderers,
mere travelers in your hands,
and wish only to be guided
by grace.

Sometimes I don't really remember people
by their specifics or
characteristics.
Their hair,
their eyes,
their body,
sometimes even minds and personalities
become a blur

cuz
I remember people
by the feelings that which they leave me.
I am painfully aware of their
swift entrances and
immediate exits,
leaving me bewildered
as to how and why they
came to be

But for some reason,
I can recall
(almost) every detail
about you.
I remember
gleaming azures
and head-topped sandy blonde.
I remember
macrame, leather jackets
a confident voice
and a six-string gizmo.
I remember
your body: long and lean
secure
Electric

But mostly,
I remember
the multitude of feelings that which you left me.
Curiosity.
Understanding.
Euphoria.
And finally, disappointment.
Not with you, though.
With my naivety.

My impressionable soul
clings to the people who
captivate me,
and you sir,
were riddle and enchantment.
The ideal.
And you still are
in the way that mysteries tend to be;
unforgettable stories
of pure bliss.

Wasting the day away
in four walls of eggshell
and sheep-skin blankets
and translucent light
Everything white to emit neutrality

Bathing in media forms obtained from the library
I am a sponge
soaking up these materials
to wring them out as
catharsis

Cognition wanders
to you and the smell of fresh-cut grass
but I cast them away,
turn up the music
and execute a two-step

When I close my eyes,
I see a serene aquatic view
and messages in bottles growing
smaller and smaller,
melting into the horizon.

I see the Sun
catching the glass' delicate curvatures
and casting amber sparkles
back to the shore where I
stand firmly
in the sand.

For two hundred and forty six sunrises,
the hungry tides
swallowed and buried my feet over and over again
as they cast themselves upon me.
I remained
unmoved
as twilight waxed and waned.
When soft pinks, oranges, and yellows were weakened
with the onset of a deep indigo,
a longing for night
festered
and ****** me into its mesmerizing abyss.
When a single gull's call pierced the sky
his lonely cry called me
to find solace in isolation.
And as the ocean oohed and awed over a cool breeze,
I let it run through me
and did not shudder
from its ghost-like impulse.

I feel the waves grabbing at me to pull me in,
and
I want to give in to their force.
I want them to carry me away.
I want to feel their shifts in energy, and
I want to float atop them
as the Sun shines upon me and warms my face.
I'm longing to be carried to lands not quite breached
on any wave
that would be willing
to take me...

Anywhere.

But I am still
motionless.
Cemented
in ever moving grains.
Forever sinking down into the sand
unable to attain the fluidity
that is
the Sea.

This is an eastward trek on repeat.

                                             A tape cloaked in static,
    clicking and turning over itself.

A departed decade's daydream
                                     whirling towards Lands of Plenty.

                                                         With nebulas dot dot dashing into Eternity,
eyes are locked on the horizon as plasmic ghouls
             gravitate and spindle from a restless breeze.

                                                                     Why probe
                                                                     another world;
                                 Let the space jazz
                                 lose your mind;
Slide down the
Wormhole
as asteroids
light the Moon?

In the zone, everything begins to shine.
                                                                          Feel goods
                                                                 engrained
                                                         in verbal tides.
                                                        A tale
                                     abundant
in
sweet illumination.

roaring river

deep inside

rush forth

flow fiercely

radiate strength

~

hooked in a riptide

direct me
to

a new adventure

another challenge

a second chance

~

buoyant

immobilized

i surrender
to you

to ultimately determine

the destination

I was lured to the diversions of paradise
by the lethal gleam in your eye

Swaying to rhythms of the wild isle
I lost myself in your embrace,
seduced by freedom and simple desires

I cried out for you in pleasure
as your tongue caressed my inner thighs,
completely disarmed
by the ****** unraveling

And I enjoyed every ******* moment.

If it not for reality,
we would fly among the stars

Don't you ever
lose
your ability to dream
and
never stop searching
for the light
that lives within you

Even if it is
at the bottom of the barrel,
among the residue
of trial and error

The lotus grows in murky waters
With roots strong in the silt,
its beauty culminates
as it springs forth
from the dark lagoon

Promise
you will never stop
That you will self-actualize, hope,
aspire to be

Practicality kills the soul,
the possibility
of a glimmering tomorrow
is the fuel
for life's journey

Maybe it's your hair thrashing
or the guitar in your hand
or the duck walk you have perfected.
Howling with laughter,
I try to catch my breath
and piece together words unspoken:
I want to see more of what you are doing
                                                           ­              right now

You are young and wild.
Eager and restless.
"Emotionally imbalanced",
sporadic
"unstable"
Yet you have mastered this fine dance, and
will continue to find the footing
because a new beginning will dawn
and tonight is all you have.
Yes, you are far from where you are going.
But you are in the eye of a fine tempest.
Isn't the loss of vision perfection?

a water droplet
plummeting
towards a marble bath tub
screams eerie echoes
into emptiness

an hourglass
vomits a thick,
square stream of
a million grains of sand
right back into it's own belly

a dryer machine
bullies and beats
white cotton through
turbulent cycles
of hot air

a spiritless woman
vigilant of repetition
and forgotten items
to occupy
her idle mind

She is soft buttery goodness

Her golden curls embalm her in Heavenly light

She slathers on her goodness and brightens the darkness

Her sticky drawl is a hymn

She is a warm, familiar sweetness

She is home

Need him
right now right now

Want him
right now right now

It turns into many hims
right now right now

But there is only
one
him

I have all of him

it's 1 am and I am wide awake

missing, yearning for you

missing the way you laid your head on my chest
as I held you in my arms

Relishing our hearts pressed together
beating side by side
beating in tandem
drumming into lovers oblivion

I miss those deep brown eyes
Your plush lips
The way you smell and taste
I got high off you

I dare even mention that

I love you

and will continue to love you
from afar

I've always heard when you love someone
Let them go

and how this keeps me up at night

Wild ice eyes see into me
Feeling, longing
No.

disposable contacts
flat-faced to night stands
rims upturned on the bathroom counter
crumbled in my jean pockets
the evidence is clear
your mark is forever left on me

I got drunk on you
without
tasting your lips.
Breathless
with
a passing glance,
your words
frozen icicles
piercing my heart.
Cementing our
forever
with nothing.
I free fall
once
again
forever expecting
a heart
to catch me.

all I ever wanted

was someone to
help
me

make the bed