patterns on her buttoned blouse
as to gemstones on his crown
glistening gold intrinsic
as to such history profound

he walks through crowds on narrow red
her days spent on narrow trains
libraries full of lessons
her journals filled with tattered pain.

stands on her doorstep moments many
his key stored still beneath the jade
while her footsteps echo corridors
and his love is truly trade

their bedsheets made of cotton too
moon full through window glass
held within the arms of others
two ghosts of someday's past

To **** a butterfly is
To see something so small
So small like us in a world where
i
Is a place where love blooms
Like a flower in a dark room
He asks us,
Would we trust it?

To paint a butterfly is
To be made of music colors
lyrics in a song where
i
Is the writer
Of a love letter
i
standing for
Idiosyncrasy

Caterpillar crawls
To cross the line-living life in the margin
No more
Love is not just a verb
i find a cocoon
still
Silent in seclusion
still
Until the release

To watch a butterfly is
To be in a moment...in time
Where the world synchronizes
To the flutter of imagination
And poetic justice
Saves the soul

The museum captures
still life
sculpted with slender ideology
masked by the movement of diamonds
neither the sun nor moon could shield her
from the nature of desire.
she moves in her                             own way.

Art eclectic like that of floating stairs...
b
  u
     o
        u
           a
              n
                 c
                    y
like her very own becoming
and circular patterns mimic
constant contemplation
of undoings.

She takes steps toward
a painting of her own.
An almost perfect frame, she sits
under the tree
to pray.
Sinking into a state of multitudes,
she buries her very own diamonds
in the heart
of the earth forever.

Outside she began to think...
Slowly consumed with a vivid wonder illuminating the depths within the soul
So came to be the external world-
The multitude of notions
And so it was unique in such a sense as to fear from the very reality of imagination.
Thinking to turn back to the place of where had figured she belonged. So came the path-
Present there before her.
So came the way of the less traveled. So came the road taken by the music maker .
And there she walked,
Acoustically chanted by beauty's own
Mystery.
Enigmatic.
And there she went
Feeling everything but lost.
She wandered.
Knowing nothing but knowing
It all.
For the mind leads her on a journey.
Where will it take her?
Outside we begin to think...

there's this feeling that i have
tangled to explain
deep but not in depth enough
to be hidden
and so it keeps me up
eyes open and awake
in day

but in night
the feeling is more awake
like the stars
consume my mind
my wonder
why
must the feeling be
so real
and awake
Heaven let me sleep
let the feeling doze i beg!

and when it starts to rain
i can not help but feel the rain
for the tears
are all the words i can not say
in a letter nor a song
because i'd only play it over and over
and over in my head
for you
and here i lay awake.

until the clocks
the hands do take me
into a rest
and so i pray for the silence
of my thoughts
and dreams to soothe the feeling

so i close my eyes
to dream
i'm saved ! i'm saved !
goodbye my love
for i am saved !
until the feeling
shakes me in abrupt
i keep my eyes closed
so tight
for i fear the sight of fire
that ignites the feeling
let it sleep !
please God let it sleep !
I tremble
with chills for the dream is spiked with poison
the curse of emotion
it wakes me up

and now it's day

lost

he left her heart
on the train
underneath the newspaper
he never thought to read
busy thinking about
the vagabond life
questioning the theory
of love
how and why
where and when

and so he got off that train
without that newspaper
left it where he left it
and took a train to Boston
27 hours away from mile high
the cold heart he left
underneath that newspaper
in window seat
of the 15th row
on the train

3 years later he got on a train
looking for her heart
gone
without it
where would he find it, that he
once lost
only hope resides
on the train he now would take
28 hours
1 past mile high
to the house he knew that heart would be

where do lost things go?
not back from whence they came-
of course-
to where they belong

so he got on the train back to Boston
and there it was
the heart
of the woman he lost
found reading the paper he had never thought to read
sitting in the window seat
of the 15th row
on the train

found

two drifters

lost in current
the push and pull of present
entanglements constant
at a time of darkness
can not drive out darkness.
if only light can do that,
why does this flame lack liberation
in dire straits?
blinded by no light-
the logic of this
eluded them both
into oblivion

hours pass with counting waves
songs no longer songs
as for the lyrics-faded just like the moon
clouded with a chorus  
repeated melancholy
becomes a dream adrift
dreamt by both

until the rising sun
paints the world melodious
and the drifters
do awake
with eyes of blue
no longer closed
they find a world so green

two drifters

float on
through the hills
they are the music makers

off to see the world

when u go to take a picture
you're truly taking it away
the meaning
the being
the matter and the mind
what you think you're taking now
is what you lose within

so use your eyes as lenses
the dimensions seem to focus
as you observe the beauty
of the real
avoid the false enjoyment
the madness of imagery

He took her hand
Grasped it firmly
The sun
She waved goodbye
As we danced among the stars
I often wondered why.

Why must I never know
The reasons to where and when
The answers to my questions,
Must they never end?

The moon he looked at me
Yet did not need to speak a word
The stars?
Oh they sang beautifully
Wanderlust
The only noises heard.

I could not bare to leave
A place that I had dreamed to know
The moon could sense my grief
And so he whispered soft and slow,

"My love,
The night is forever
It is now,
it is then
It is the time eternal,
it is the time transcend,
And this he told me so.
There is no real end."

"Quoting Tennyson?"
She asked.
The After-Thought.
The first time she had ever spoken to me
Other than the imaginary conversations we had all put aside in a file titled HER in the back of my mind.
I knew I loved her when my eyes caught hers, a first glance, like one of those slow motion hallway scenes in an 80s movie. That was it.
So here it is.
This is the story of a girl who broke my heart.

The
Secrets of her soul
Her heart told them to her mind
Her mind told them to her voice
As she whispered to the wind

The
Wind listened carefully
It heard all she had to say
Gone away with secrets
As the wind carried on

i spend three days in dreams with open eyes
until the last rose petal falls
silence writes "remember me" in italics
just to emphasize the disposition
of three
in a space for two.

blurred visions of glass shatters
like a roll of film that leaks, stains blank pages
ruled by the very narrow lines of what could have been
and still could somewhere be.

and two toast to somewhere over the bridge
a touch with force to damage such glass
nearly transparent to mirror
this consequence of causality
and the knot that ties two tethered
will detach forever
like broken glass.

three divided into two
uneven
halves of hearts
of glass

1945
trumpets sang a triumphant song
that echoed throughout the city
and these lights,
these lights i tell you,
a tear.
looked up
around
the motions slow
i placed my hand upon
the white fur coat
he bought for me one day
one day ago
and felt the warmth
of my beating heart
that beats for him
my love
who i run to
into the open arms
of a man who lifts me up
and all stop to stare
at a moment
the scene so slow
as to stop the time of pain
and with this all stop to stare
at the lights
that shone down upon the two
whose love lit up the city
to set ablaze
such a song did play
at this very moment
in 1945

clocks
falling from the sky
and hear i stand
watching them fall
there from up above
down below
my feet
i watch the time beneath me
but time
however
is false truth
for
in which exists within
one's figurative vision of
reality
nothing is real
in a world where time exists
and clocks so fall so close
to the heart that beats
to the rhythm
of the one who made the world
made the people
made the clocks
tell time
can you here it?

may she always hear the waves
rock and roll her soul to sleep
as she dreams
of home so close
to the heart of one so rhythmic
may she always feel the warmth
of the sun
kissed by something so familiar
never let her go
but now shall set her free
#401 #904
-k.m

cigarette daydreams
i hold on to it-
like fate
between my *******
only to throw it all away
mistakes-
i run around
a blues traveler
mr. blue sky
wont u give me some advice
mirror mirror
i look
i have looked into the future
only to find the feeling
like i only go backwards
mind-so mischief
i fail to recognize

one day
time will tell the universe
and so the stars will listen too
and they will tell the world
as we look up in the darkest of skies
where the stars shine brightest
we will know

I shot the boy
whose name i did not know

I looked down
Into the streets
Where peace had once resided
Now torn at the seams
And scarred with the essence of evil

People hide in fear
As their world crumbles
Crashing down before their eyes
Exactly as it seems
And so i closed my eyes

i shot the boy
Whose name i did not know

a hit
of stimulation
where waves crash on the shore
a paradoxical vacation
music
opens the door

it took us to another world
a place so paraellel
that only music makers know
it's our story to tell
a universe where it is found-
the reason for it all
and so we hear
the music
and into the world we fall
all of the lights
they dance to what
we hear not in our heads
but there it lies deep in our soul
waves all but never dead
we live not in time and space
but in the moment now
and some might ask us questions
as to ponder how

for we're the music makers
it's you who must realize
that the place that calls your name
is where waves will never die

she stumbles into the next room.
white walls are
transparent in the aura
to the white noise.
have you ever dropped glass before?
a vase full of color
shatters slow in motion.
pieces scatter.
a shattered stillness,
like the silence in this room.

until the silence breaks
by a glass frame.
falling to the floors,
opens up into a world of color-strokes of someday.
she can hear it playing
from the house
under the streetlight flickering.
she looks into the white wall
to a life of euphoria
in a visionary moment
of interstellar picture books.
goodnight moon.
she recollects her thoughts
and leaves behind nothing
to be a part of this starry night.
and there she lives among the stars-
a muse in motion.

from eden
not east, but west
where the sun did set
for the first time
a spark
of madness
ran wild through a garden
where skies tinted red their world below
shadows cast by flames
the first color to be read about in stories told
in the beginning
the sun did set
the color red unlike any other
started to fade
into the darkness where they ran
to discover the night

Do you know
where the wild things go?

I have heard stories

From my mother
Spoken with wise words
Before i knew
How to study the tides
By the pull of the moon
Is gravity even such a thing?...
I hear it may be true
For the wild things
Do walk upon the shore
That pulls me closer now

Awaken by this very nightmare
Vivid
Pools of Red within my sea
Of blue
The war against the wild by these free spirits
Tamed in this enigma-Atlantica
Flames forever engulf my very hope to be
Part of that world
The scars shall exist eternal
Upon my blue, blue heart
Instilled within my skin-
Splintered by a ship of wild things made of wildwood

I have heard
Of things called trees
My mother told me stories of such forests where
I too, would like to get lost
To walk around on those               feet.
I dream
Until time does transcend
For the song
Of my ocean-
I forget the words-
These sands now made of ash
Where her song does fade only now to whisper   oh       so         silently
By the waves

I try to shake the spears
That have pinned me to this ocean floor
Too many times
I must go!
Father,
I must see!
For myself a world where i
Have been told how much I will love someone named Dance
I so deeply wish to meet with Dance so soon
A beautiful name dressed by grace-in white
My mother sang to me and told me how Dance does love song
More than any other
More than me?
She whispered,
“You will find out for yourself”

And so i shall
“She shall escape”
My mother told them-the wild things

Apart
From this world
Under the sea
I sacrifice my very song
The one my mother did gift to me so long ago
Wonders treasured here within the cavern of my heart
So blue
My voice does wash away
To be
A part of your world
Dear Wild Things,

If only you could hear my voice
With love it may return!
In rhythm i dance
with him now
I look into eyes
A blue so deep-
Aquamarine-
A sense of belonging
My heart does feel at home once again
The truth-i understand
The tales-in awe they listen
These many stories i will forever tell
Of such sea creatures-wild.

Aren’t we all?

many the
miles
i'd surely walk to you
for the day you board
the plane to a place
where you shall dream
another dream
without me
in mind
i'll think of you
and so i think of you
and close my eyes
only to have them opened
to the most wonderful sight
existent as a memory
one i treasure oh so fondly
for i love you
and i'll love you
and the miles?
you may wonder
what the future holds
along the journey
wonderful things
and so i have thought
and so i am sure
that
love-
my love,
is infinite

Peace
Rather live in it
For you may not rest while you're awake
So wake up and
Love
Rather live in it
For the clock may sound
And you fall only to be caught by the past
A very critical
Time
Rather live in it
For managing the minutes
Strips power from the moment
So quickly can it
Change
Rather be it
For you can see with the eyes
But look deep within the heart
The answers
Come from the Soul
Rather feed it
Do not starve the prisoner for he will not acknowledge hunger
And when his mind sets the table for the sinner
Take the seat away and let him
Wonder
Rather live in it
The mystery is the beauty in the madness
Rather embrace it
For fear is merely
A figure of imagination
Rather
Bring it all to life

What matters is today,
Yesterday's tomorrow.
It is not what comes of the future
Or what has come from the past,
But what will come of the moment.
It is the beauty in which the world offers
Here and Now,
This very day,
A gift.
There is nothing greater
Than today.
Never mind tomorrow,
Never mind yesterday,
What has been
Has been.
What will be
Will be.
What matters is today,
Yesterday's tomorrow.

you can never have too many flowers
and if not for simply love
perhaps for sympathy

i perceive unique perfections
in the fullness of bouquets
and the life they bring
to the rise of the morning
and then dim silence of the night

i admire the aesthetic that they grant
glass coffee tables
and island counter spaces
i enjoy the glimspe of colors
on city street corners
atop the bedside tables
of broken hearted girls
within the hands of lifetime lovers
and softly laid in remembrance
from the dirt in which they came

like we
alive in the spirit of gifting
our innate love to another

like flowers
to mean something to somebody