Poets do not
make a living;
they make a life.

wordsmithing virus lyric
twisting lines empirically
like British empire builders
treating native speakers
subhuman /
reading worn cliché
daily lamenting regurgitated
form and style
while smiling at the beguiling nature
of multisyllabic structure ~
it’s easy to forget (in a legalization nation)
that the idea of utilizing parentheticals
is really
just using parenthesis  ~
creating space between the artist


                     and
                           the
                                reader


is pretentiousness personified /

it is our job to play Ishmael
and take them with us
not leave them shore bound
watching the speck of sail
slip into the stratosphere ~

come with me
lend me your hand
more importantly your eyes
and an open mind ~

then we can journey
together /

I love you
like an eternally expanding universe
seen with the clarity
of a thousand Hubble telescopes
your swirling galaxies
artful nebula
tranquil skies
your solid core

I love you
in molten tongues
calling from the void
two nuclear souls
colliding
every atom undone
fused together
to make one

I love you
until the thread is cut
my free-falling light
so high on your atmosphere
reshaped by your gravity
a meteorite wish
sweet ashes
to your dust

on the verge of wilderness
imminent silence*

welcome
the sun stroking
peaks aglow
the thundering falls
mist-kissed rain
the solitude
so rarely reached
too often breached

stillness loosen
untamed words
in the native tongue
before thoughts
unspoken
became yours
mine
ours

to the wild
bear these
cryptic symbols
scrawled on
my halved heart
tokens of longing
succor
for the lost

She has a special siren song
Pastel paisley passion's dawn

She's aloof, but takes on airs
Wearing seashells in her hair

Abalone, mother of pearl
She has her arms 'round half the world

She chuckles softly with the birds
She speaks to stars without a word

She bids them run! She bids them hide!
She tucks the mountains to her side

When whispering she turns to wink
The morning sky will blush to pink!

YES! The thrashers laugh out loud!
She's tangled in the pewter clouds!

She whistles low her magic tune
The dew-soaked desert's her perfume

Though it's the sun she courts and woos
She entices all... the morning muse!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/7/2016

He picks them up at random
Takes them out
Becomes engrossed in one
Then the next

Finished with them
He dumps them back
Where he found them
A little worse for wear

See the wrinkles on your forehead,
read the dimples that comes with your smile;
see your eyes reading every lines
deep within your eyes, a great story lies;
firmly waiting to be unlocked

your smile unleashes pressure of pleasures
on mankind,
fire and ice locked within your thoughts,
when excited, your words travel unprecedentedly
your thoughts parade in high mountains;
till they reach the peak

never giving up, your enthusiastic instinct
visits emotions in illusion
illusion bringing an hyper-sensitive
flair to reality,
though rough at the first line,
it never crumbles uncompleted

exhausted at third sight,
you portray a great character
magnanimous in actions;
friendly in words

your portrait bring life's inner strength
to the surface,
capturing and comparing
all vivid-images and sensations
to the first plane.

i want to love you
the way
i believe
that you should be loved.

but i can't.

beliefs and abilities:
often polar opposites,
rarely do they come hand in hand;
even the most devout Catholic
will sometimes miss
Sunday mass

but i do remember that Sunday,
so long ago now,
that you made me question
the possibility of soulmates

and i remember thinking
about how you bring me
closer
to religion than i've ever been,
your name
falling
(i'm not falling. i'm not
falling. please don't make me.
i hate that)
from my lips, like a heartfelt
prayer amidst our sin.

but that's the point, i suppose:
i don't believe in God.
i believe He is a possibility, but
i can't commit to Him.
won't.
can't commit to anybody—not even
myself.

so maybe i love you;
maybe that's true.

it doesn't change the fact
that i'll never be steady enough
for you.

it doesn't change the fact
that religion can't save me,
that the closest to the Bible i'll ever be
is a representation of
the Devil.

it doesn't change the fact
that i'll never be good enough
for you.

i want to love you
the way
i believe
you should be loved.

i just can't.

...If I love you...

Feathers all fallen grey
I slowly learn to Fly
Again
This is how I am
This is who I am
My spirit clearly senses
Harboring delicate thoughts
Some things I often thought myself unable anymore
I burnt all the white sage
To purify the Energy
Let it go now Let it go away
All these somber silhouettes like dead crows
Around my head
Inside my heart
May they fly higher nevermind how it tears my soul apart
I will live on
They say if I love You
I love myself
Thus I learn to cherish my own Multiverses
Nevermind the misunderstanding
I know why it is so hard to love myself
This is how I came to the world
Maybe also parts of my previous incarnations
I have been taught again and again
About the precious release of Loving Kindness
When you kiss the depths of Forgiveness
You keep falling down the mountains
To the same grounds and dreary gardens
Because it's here
There is something to learn
There is something to burn
White sage
chanting chanting chanting
Shamanism healing
White Light coming from deeper inside me
Unlock my Spirit Now
If I love myself

I love You.

(inspired by Rumi's words)