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Connor Feb 2017
Palms burst forth
   In whistle tones

a fountain has its face relaxed
  the marble body of lions
  exhibiting a quiet African pasture

your blonde hair wrung though with Summer light/

       Suddenly, a communication of harpsichords
       in our chests relaying to each other softly
      
We cannot understand it, with the exception of a hum which
measures thru us

    now the able instrument of love,
so to converge and eventually

        The warm vicinity we've forged
forgets the rest of the boundless
terrain which created it
Connor Feb 2017
The terror in the wind was returned

the terror of a faded chanson
  
my nose is bleeding again

  The banished outlaw that lasts
   through February surviving off therapeutic liquid (from the river)
    
    desperation settles in my head
  preparing his rounds carefully
  
  how many times
       the cycle continues
               how many times
                     the ranger wonders
              
A tower of roses lay dormant
in exile, unmapped,
waiting, and my heart persists to see it in person instead of this textureless carving of memory

  like a poem on an olive wall who
  seeks an understanding with the
  c
  h
  i
  m
  n
  e
  y
        its narrow, black eye
gazed at silken eternal and
        the Sun
        & romantic language
              O to be grateful for the Moonlight
                kissing me at dusk
                (The wall dreams)
               now focused on the living room clock. expanding
              
                the Winter coming to its end
Connor Feb 2017
bathing
chandel      eirs
    exhausted by
nomads retreating within
the
paracosm of a Mountaintop
 
         snow in your voice
a bell being sounded
       bell(((((
              )))))

   receptive to the running water
  a sauna made of afterflower
      you have heard the gospel of lazy shoepolish/obsidian palms

     and worried over
    beaches that are really just an exte
nsion of the whole
jealous Pacific

flaura shyly stripped of glory
     whisp ering
like a convent
 about the mist applause

  the python noise of
hot springs
                     where its inhabitants were born/why they release a certain
desperate O
  to the mountaintop sleeping with        spirited confidence
     this palace of stone which relies
on no approval
  not even the sky, or the early tangerine
dawn
    not silence
        or previous wars, these travellers seek to cocoon & spring forth as a
       colossus
    that no longer has the capibility for tears
           where home becomes world
as rock communions with Yggdrasil
        and the leviathan of time will
collapse
    unceremoniously before the first leaf
 of the newly formed valley has
ever heard
Autumn's seductions
    
       ah, the golden migrant wreathed in
   the liquid base of their worship
    may oneday achieve
  an
absolute renouncement of the soul

   for a bluebird to be born
amid the
overgrowth
Connor Feb 2017
The unsettling fishtank
dream remains/ luminous!
& yet confined to it's own/serene state
of sheltered existence, there is no/reaching in and interrupting this Indian fire two thousand years old/only a deep sense of burden that you couldn't n will never/
be a section of its gaze

There will be no kindling of Spirit while whispering the secret of your/madness to
a staircase/
      There will be no eyes & alms to forgive and guide your restlessness at night/the sky will not forget your cowardice in absolute emotional expression
How you stray from kissing a holy lover the way you've always ached to!

The Summer will not reverse its eternal poetry from your skin/
will not smile watching you blunder through childhood, tending to your fear with higher
priority than your great wound

It (this longing to be smothered & worthy rest) will not reschedule to next week
just because you read the daily horoscope
and it "applies" to you now!
/soldier & your MobyDick heart & saintly revelations on the silence of your neighbors & shaving off ur insecurities/causing you to bleed & be sent off to the HOSPITAL & the staff is laughing down at your mangled face, anyways

& you have done with the destruction caused in a moment of blushing cheeks

Dye fills the head with ego painting & unexpressed volumes ! Oh!

      The circus remains fearless but still uninformed, worn down in its senseless practice & schoolboys cry observing the clouds lose train of thought to the music of Berlioz

My terrible soul skips/unblinking from the pondrous black cat who lingers above my dreamworld/to Gustav Klimt & his empyrean entanglement/
      out to the parking lot which cannot mind it's own bussiness

    trees of insoluble space
         haiku lion
                  prisons kept hush hush
                         so its prisoners may forget
                         again where they weep

(how are you dear? I wish I could be a lasting impression)

Since birth
many of us have successfully
avoided the barbaric
heat of life
        I haven't been uplifted by beautiful
        laughter in a long time
the laugh that uplifts this whole Earth

A child to die so early
Connor Feb 2017
In sheltered gaze
the swan of consciousness
becomes liberated by

        the calm death of March

As a noble
mother fits into her own
neon curvature,
      complacent fisheries sigh in
       ashen tones with smoke mixed in the
       puget air
      
        I thirst for the horizonless
        milk of the clouds
       and to be gradually
            rekindled

             -my soul to
             imitate the repose
             of your features
Connor Feb 2017
O bridal eyes! the obessive mixture of
doves in Winter's desperate grasp to retain the memory of itself
        and I
        , remaining lively in white to pass over
        slow, patient
        and flashing like
a celebration film reel
      Set to your favorite false orchestral

I adorn the sky, whistling to lost
   phases of the moon,
   meditations on a canvas of pure
   noise !

May the passive cedars grant you
passage to their primal love

-without its social preliminaries
            without its reliance on flesh
            but rather

a peculiar divination
no amount of ****** lucidity can know
Connor Feb 2017
Impersonal gyration
The millepede gauntlet of ashcan death/
has seen echoes of your fire
in a garden of happy flesh
I was, adamantly awake
covered in poets glue & organic watermelon

SIX
reverb mutt howl
the boys cry fists
& money costs magic
magic costs ***
Costs money

Tar sweat rapid affluence in the world pool
creaming with the
Rosepetal dreamplace of
bearmounted Bathtubs.  (grizzly) Chinese masks
palace odes
The CITY who's long advert
(isement)
essays
left it's mouth at home
in the sea
sea of Greek ******

I HAVE ESCAPED GOD
I have escaped your god and my god
& the more we get
       together the happier we will be
      (lips of actors who have lice and lay
      loose on the country red country
!!!!      laughing
in midst of ashrams & motorbikes
all trying to outmodel each other
(screaming presence back
Of my head back again
I have had enough of this ******* I knock
loudly I know he hears me
he does not acknowledge my complaint still screaming instead
without the gap to breathe
I have no break from you
& myself
the administered dose of handcuff headband
violin formula they claim is from
Their own Venus
Child Music
i do not believe you or your
******* you proudly speak
           I have questions
           QUESTIONS about
           where I can find the
         popular bleeding scene & eyes
          frightened of mysticism
        
I am devout in the treasonous act of nowhere
      wet with infant mortality
   manically covering my furniture with
   disgusting sheets bought from street vendors that promised me
    in doing this I may save
   my favorite chair from being victim to

"the newspaper"
   I plead with my front steps to
   turn away unknown visitors
    so I can focus

   on what's important which
is anxious temperatures
   Daily "RIDE
SALLY
RIDE"

Jawbone painting
     madrigals
     set to the heroes of
     odor sleeves& I don't claim to
     know ink or
     howww to count to 10 in several languages or build a house from used matchsticks
    
     & repeat your name like I have been
     punished
    
      (outside is sad I won't go outside today)
      
      Romeo o Romeo
      where Art my dispersed teabags
      
      left stale during my destiny in
      AT LAST Manhattan
      
      where my journal was smaller than
      teeth on the coffee,table
      
      fireflies in my brain to
      be sleepy
               & such a thing is allowed!
               in a place like that enraptured by
               ovens
               and Metropolitan Jazz

Why haven't you picked a daisy apart
gambling on lust in a field of Saturdays
     I'm sorry I never returned the favor with soup
     OK OK OK OK

Cardboard cutout you and I
mocking me from the.... sunny side of the street
I welcome
One day coming home overjoyed
    because the blossoms are still with me
     after all
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