Wild child space travel gypsy
       drunk    on     the cosmos
     churning a sensual pattern--
             melting         suns
with a carefree wink
as stars pour into her eyes
like a garnet shiraz
       spiraling
              in    tidal   waves
splashing in a crystal wine glass
     caressing
              her white light lips.

Planets dip and dangle around her hips
as the weight of the nebulous nectar whispers
                                       lullabies to her eyes
         as her incandescent            hair contours
    to copious glistening constellations  
rippling across her tired body
                 like ice dripping on a warm chest
vibrating    indigo       moonlight         jazz
enrapturing millions with her simple act of symphonic yawning
as the dusk light dawning over faces
embraces souls stirring--
her purring hip cat dreams
leave people like us with mouths agape
as her voluptuousness nape hushes
us with a supernova explosion of peace
oscillating between
each of our spirits.

some seek art in sidewalk cracks
or between fragile spines of old books
and some search for meaning
through the gaps between the oak trees
where solitude exists and melts
together with the prismatic hues of
every sunset fading into memory

some find purpose in silence
or rather, the center of bustling conversation
and some find beauty in the enigma of the ocean
and the shy touch of the sun, warm,
like butter coating our lonely souls

everyone but her,
she never had to search, for her masterpiece
was herself.
her love was made of notes strung together
and played colorfully, radiating through the air
as smooth as mother's finest silk, and
with every beat, she painted the most beautiful
of images, dancing along to the hum of her heart
that never understood the meaning of silence

and her paradise meant being blinded
by stage lights and pride, each song
a testament built by bones
that taught themselves how to bend
but remain vigilant,
because breaking was never an option
in her pink-ribboned world of piercing perfection

but they will continue to search for happiness
in howling wind and steady rain,
never bothering to find her smile
fluttering effortlessly in the music,
that smile- the one that could put
the world's most beautiful dance
to shame

In the flowing lights of a musical romance, there lives a queen.

And she dances so violent.
She sings so silent.

She is everything, anything, heart filled with happiness, soul filled with sadness.
Mind filled with madness.

She is flawed perfection, the crack in logic we crave.
The innocent child we all wish to save.

She is waves, she is fire, she's not me.
But I'm here, I'm alive and I'm her.

Her creator, her pain and her love.
I am everything, anything, nothing at all.

Running wild, standing tall. What is real, what is truth, what is lie, who am I?

Is it me or the world who is wrong, who does wrong, who acts wrong, am I wrong?

In the blank spaces, there dances a queen, and in the ink that are lines, here rests I.

For this book is me.
And captured between infinate pages I fly free.

The water was calm that day,
no rushing water, no waves to disturb the dull sands of the beach.
The beach deserted, no living creature to be found.
It was for the better that all creatures fled.
For the sky darkened that day,
With the promise of a show.
The clouds grew larger,
taking over every inch of the sky.
The sun, much like the creatures of the beach hid in fear.
When the storm opened up there was no need for the sun
Lightning flashed brighter than any camera.
Bolts reached their narrow fingers to the ground,
Just barely touching the surface with their havoc.
Two at a time the bolts would strike,
As if they were dancing together.
The water was calm that day,
But the skies were not.

In the middle of the city,
We find our safe haven
Darkness surrounds us,
peaceful and silent.
Grass keeps us bounded
As we gaze at the stars.
My backyard is our escape,
Neither of us speak.
We are protected,
from the chaos of the world
But if I flew,
I would run into a cliff.

Off lone island bay,
Outlander waves are praying,
Curly in their white caps.

Cars and lorries are creeping
Into a village still sleeping,
Coming in from nowhere.

Stones have things to voice,
There are stars of rock fish
Deep in bays with the moon.

Beyond night dream are lochs,
Darks and colds of longings,
Mountains old as confusion.

Birds chime their mouth musics,
Churlishly sent over moorlands,
All questions ring unanswered.

On broke beaches are notions
Of days strung to faraways
And sands bleached ancestral.

Off lone island bay,
Simple comings, waves, goings,
After sly moon, sun has its say.