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Jul 2019 · 177
Connor Jul 2019
For those following this account, thank you for the support! I intend on leaving this medium behind sooner rather than later, having been writing a poetry/prose novella for the last 8 months. Acronym for the project is MSH - I'm very proud of it, it seems to be the culmination of what I had been writing about, and stylistically touching upon for the last 2 years. It has been therapeutic writing for me, and a solving of an emotional puzzle through the medium of words.

Hellopoetry has been a beautiful resource these past 4 years, but my efforts are being directed in new pursuits these days. Given my following is very limited, I still wanted to publish this update as a sort of bookend to the last few hundred poems I'd put up here from 2015, it's interesting to see ones evolution as I scroll down the page. I'll be keeping these poems up, as a time capsule, more for myself - than anyone else.

Thank you! Wishing the Hellopoetry community well
Feb 2019 · 414
White Butterflies
Connor Feb 2019
Where is that amicable child now -
Running with scissors towards the summer to cut the sun down
Like a dazzled godhead balloon out
Towards a vast cosmology carved of orchards (to lay and die in, cradled in blond sweetness which glows & glows brighter
In the loveliness of death)

Traces of fir fragrance mingle with the damp grass filled with sadly deflated stars - candle keepers pace the borders of the grove glad and passing, awake to the transitory nature of brilliance (all things disheveled and clean will await the final culling / faces of roses / phantom laughter out the door - into the garden - through the roots of the trees - settled)

Four black motes stained on ivory wings cross mildly accompanied by rain, a gypsy's kiss quivered forth from undiscovered beds - remembrances, a parade for quiet insects, a time for repose & evenings dedicated to spaciousness.
Dec 2018 · 2.5k
where you'll find me (June)
Connor Dec 2018
We stride again in Summer's preaching
forgetting emptiness for optimism's whole golden form -
just for a moment,

Clothes piled at the foot of the bed catching dustmotes
crying like a silent violence for the arms
that once held the fabric together
and the eyes which stared back & which I'll never see again

There's flowers in the foothills
& Europeans come from across the sea
as per their usual annual custom.
I'm resigned to beautifying marked walls, making tea,
watching the freckles continue to find their way onto my skin
and quietly performing my daily duties.
Carrying cleanliness up the path, back to rugged stone fireplaces and Native carpets rosewood & thistle

(whispering to me vivid, bucolic and incomprehensible images I cannot conjure)

This is my life now, a proud Sisyphus
smoking the sun in, allowing myself brief interior wanderings
to continents being settled by my mind - in softness and in love

                                                           ­              ...Essere a proprio agio
Connor Dec 2018

I relinquished the panic of your absence one week ago today, but it wasn't easy, being caught in such swelling strings once desiring to wake in Gold

I was guided by my dream family which led me thus / glimpsing premonition Wyomings sprawl with pine & geyser
flat land fire
down river /
Spring Snow and tribulations sound with elemental reverberations of Spirit colliding with Stone
pirouetting upon a newfound expanse

My restless and uninitiated Tulpa stirs and screams
(I am owed this one) delving to ancient territories of attractive chaos
emerged unkind
but tender enough to fold into my next dressing, appropriately remote


By June I ascend further via Nepalese staircases carved from Mountain rock, Sun-showers resplendently endow this band of rattling Sherpas with grace
to hold, to wrap around their necks and deliver to my private Summit

(where many have died, where many have given their flesh to this
Golgotha Sagarmatha)

Sneah Yerng !
away you mortal entity death !

I consume you with Himalayan tea and the heavy sensation of my boots planting their weight to frozen earth - listening, attention to the foreground Chorus exhaling harmonies of Khmer which give further texture to the native brush

(We were once kindling set perfect across the ground - to blaze & become heavenly together - instead subjugated by time's feral will, you - now a Mother and a stranger to me, Myself - continuing & following this sense strangeness which is always present but flickering like cosmic frequency magnetically luring me into a breadbasket of fire & weeping intermittent, into a cycle, a snake - surrounding magic Islands of self-past and self-future
which whirl-about searching feverishly for a path - now that the one preceding has been lost or misguided, you're bound to this breathing child who's not ours - but yours)

This is how our story ends. Where we diverge and become Actual -
carrying separate but respectful momentum in each Epoch of life in all its various & flowing Identities, just as I'd once predicted in an Altenburg Kitchen reading Rimbaud and sipping hot water quietly, disturbed - knowing, somehow, that we'd irrecoverably commit to being temporary conflagrations in the lives of the other. The end of A summation. Events that in many ways were born there, it is forcibly behind me now.. I was the result of these things. A sword carved from heat, and pressure.

What do I do with this?
So worn with necessity - living
Enjoying occasional rain, timely - capturing passing loves
refusing to stale and finish as Petrarchan - Madame George and Myself as two ambitions which acted both honorably & dishonorably at times. As human nature dictates, as I'll know, a branded truth from now on -

I am proud of you, I love you. I will cherish you, always.
Oct 2018 · 3.2k
O Dwelling
Connor Oct 2018
Every creature performs extremely
in the Night; careful &
violent (perfect)

Essences - proximal to Mysticism - just beyond the reach of shallow darkness as it fills a room (saving shuteye for one flash of blinding perplexity)

Glimpsed through past anguish! hollowed-out
& vacant Cathedral player pianos jotting annihilation inside the soul - chasing incantations unknown to me until overcome by yawning & heartache // So I wake

I remain, here - recalling those pure and perfect hours.
I am darker, but kinder,
too. I have opened to the oceans, put to rest those purple stems upraised & eager to perpetuate their own naive nature

(toss/turn/undulate spasmodically when confronted by a cause, or blaze ! who is repulsed by any lack of confidence - any lie in heart - any failure in answering those pine & prime riddles which hide beneath damp soil or within traditions that may have always had the answers - of which I still, and likely cannot ever which no one can - such is the point of the thing)

Perhaps the Chapel Perilous and
The Farther are at once the same place. A trial - A Paradise
the rippling light in water balanced by a sea of smoke - the peace of slowly drowning in sacred bodies


Folds, fangs - primordial Velvet
swiftness & delirium - impressions of Saturn tarnish your lips - a desk stutters - a black clock howls - the softness of this state is now stone in somber awareness

...Faraway the Holy Mountain
contemplates alone and conjoined at once - in a terror that is also transfiguring - a terror only possible with great distance and height  - say on an Airplane; taller now than the quivering Mountain - yet sensing its entire weight crack against the sky like music displaces rain and love shudders memory


Night Palace / Mercurial infinite of black-ribbon silk returning, the bindings of a separate cosmology - tethered within our own, a Prima Materia - disheveling the womb of our decadent casket Mother - the clawmarks we left behind us ! an opening to all others - a gate of gates - simultaneity, Ivory / Blood

God's humble gardener
prepares for Empyrean, I will see to my own consecration !

Bring me Spring ! bring me fire ! the lodge
hidden in wood unshaken ! make me myself
as poignantly and sincerely as others can be themselves.

Paused on graceful Magicians passing by, hideaways, climates doused in hungry fog. Collecting mementos, offerings to the realm of chaos - and timid projections dancing beneath the New Moon - An Animistic supper for fresh senses & sweetness, youthful flesh in mist - Earthly appetites so easily satisfied


Awareness of the fire is power !
Stumbling upon Dollhouse Heavens / where
candelabrum multitudes are brightly eclipsed by exits (to another space?)
another state of being, present music is filled in the lobby with fluttering which clears one's head like turning over mirrors

Poetry here is mitigated by tides -

repetitions // one harmony after the next whistling tree to tree //
birds of lulled imagination pacified and meditating cooperatively yet individual // fixedly watching out for tension points, freedom fissures in the clouds // Morning breaks cradles and makes students
of magisterial ladders // appearing....disappearing // opportunities to grasp or release

(pan-flute & drum of wave }}}
textures flattering Fire
Makers - plea with the shining godhead
Morning, who makes right the wrongs of your thoughts,
as nothing can be hidden in the omniscient eye of the Sun
while you wash in hotsprings waiting for adulthood
unhidden, naked, and clean)


While I meditate, it's often
I will sense a stranger's face there with me, without a body -
beside my own. Observing - what?

silence? the easing away of flames? silver
cold fills the room in secrecy again - we are at last
for this moment - equal forms - silky & caught between
a deafening trumpet call -
for those lost wandering Eidolic strands of consciousness - which, at varying speeds and distances - find their way thru the fog
and towards

A Center
Sep 2018 · 6.0k
Sweat-Bath With Saturn
Connor Sep 2018
Parting the stones ceaselessly
barraged by waves – Abyssal fireplaces
line my recent dreamscape in overwhelming numbers
all hungry & purveying the dirt of my forthright grave – I've had many
desperate attempts to climb your Mountain Tower, a fortress encrusted with seashells
glowing gates, halls which betray the laws of physics and stir trespassers into madness

I'm in the center of indefinite reprieve – a dark and shackled
sweat-bath keeps me from ascending

The Farther, my initial cause – defeated &
hush ! Slick the oil from exhausted wings – fallen protector/sublimated spirit -
as the Dominion I'd once mastered has been overtaken, now tasked at massaging
the unwashed swollen limbs of Sisyphus as repentance for my own behavior – but I have a fantastic balcony to be – Sicily, Spring – a date to attend/a death to disarm & appropriately
chain until such occasion draws me back to her

I am dark
and therefore substantial ! Terrifying ideations have ****** from my vein/The Pilgrim's onerous migration has revealed as much – Dracula thirsts in multitudes

“Life is simply a process of death and
devourment -”

Our purification is only lent to the existence of corruption. Neither can exist so long as  consciousness – specifically Ego – hasn't yet activated itself in the mind. So long as we are aware, there will be conflict in need of resolution, darkness to be expelled by light. Both are intrinsic to the other. In such a way, all division or conflict could be viewed as positive potential yet to be realized. The dragon yet to be slain
Aug 2018 · 11.5k
La Sensualité
Connor Aug 2018
Pleasing each other in the perfect
black night
(wretched forest)

Hands gripped tight against your waist,
on my knees, the dirt below digs into my skin
which is okay
We can hardly be heard midst the lively pandemonium
surrounding our loveliness

like a Luciferean Prima Donna
in silk /
walk on flowers of both Hemispheres
telling me how much you adore me & you

As equals in our posture-possession
unable to stand straight/shrouded by holy creamy
doves closing-in
muffling our mutual shrieks (as to be private and without gathering too much a crowd)

O Autumn Calypso
keeper of the scales, of the riddle
& the promise simultaneous -
- I am your victim and your master, trafficking our fragility
into a glorious Unknown, shade & essence of leaves wavers in the quieting hour,
seduced - transfixed & ravished in a wondrous spectacle
with Enchanter's nightshade laurel endowed on high

****, close and
hot - unrehearsed arias told by tongues  -
while we seep further in a hallowed guise/harp misplaced -
excommunicated from the Stead we traversed
before on ideal grounds – too late to remember or
repent – dabbling in magic with our double identity - now one insoluble drapery of illuminations
being shepherded into a ferocious
intoxication of its own fluid magnificence – a Narcissus gazing back, decaying with vehemence
Jul 2018 · 4.1k
Summer Visitations
Connor Jul 2018
Eternity is closed !
- come back another day with
flower smears for eyes and sincere
passion on your
palms          (weathered)

I need another Russian Doll -
Princess to frequent curtains
fashioned from fire & lead
equaling out to crimson folds
which mysteriously call to
the mystical hierarchies of

Silent requirements signal beneath the steps
which welcome
one (a stranger/
an Ibis-Beak cane & dark coat
stamped with August rain)

They arrive unexpectedly, as if to play the game
of cliches, they carry promises fashioned in foreign ports
tapping my knee
instead of my shoulder
having only known or recognized
                               (there is no hyperbole which lacks within
                                Nature's haunted heavens)

My strange visitor leaves / glass umbrella
in hand / to privacy / our brief interaction begins & ends with simple eager undertakings implemented
in the afterword  

What is in another's contemplation of me?
whiling in manifest Theosophy -

- Thought form -
Primal child-rage / whisp of violet smoke &
inksplotches abolished, mutually panting.
Our decorated
four-legged hunter
has arisen and impatiently
craves for the Earth to partner at last with
the Sun

..The Sun a blazing dime
I can smell crispness
in the air
May 2018 · 258
Connor May 2018
A witness to Epochs
sired in miniature
Arabias, listening to the drawn-out
gasp of God, our
sleepy master rising from their
daybreak chamber

Future fatherhood adorned/Sunkissed mirage of
Irises doubting, adrift &
hazel/Adulthood is an aching spectacle
between selves/pinewood casts salivating for

I willfully lend to the wild Palace of my mind,
affixing gargoyles
and Memento Mori,
dispose of playthings & grieving Tulpas
with great inclemency,
marking dates to see the gold spring from my
Hiraeth Valley

I dream of shadow music
and the Sea, Oyamel trees quiver
at an approach, here-

Another turning
Apr 2018 · 17.8k
Connor Apr 2018

Somnambulists cast
paradise magic, allowing a thimble to fall
upon the floor of our private heaven
(a perfect disquiet to our loving)

We daily reveal our reclusive
sensitivities, a flash (a lowered head, laughing distinctly)
Trailing close behind German poets/path of devotion, a second summit of their passionate influence, rippling generations ago now:

(vineyards caught by grasping suddenness/placating daytime/fig & flame/false tower of Babel, ornamental ruin/he feels owed the sensations of an active spirit, to repent the contrary forces within him/myself)

                      & upon my reflection in the Cabaret of Hell,
I see a gate perched at the base of my wondrous

                    BLUE MOON                 WALLFLOWER

(or perhaps the other way around?)

Overtaken by oscillating darkness/hall of mirrors (memories)
distorted flashbulb *** and anger

until the acts become indistinguishable from themselves/doubly
******* tigers brushstroked in animal blood... essence of devour/temper/
captivation, incredible lips, pulp teeth, pure excitement all disfigured
& joyous


My azzurine goddess, faced away in
shame, no wonder why!

(hair let down in a drowsy spill of
uncertain hours, wavering in a sullen high, thickly feeling,
the immensity/pleasure renounced for a cabbalist subliminity)

Mockery of the dead dead dog/blind in boyhood/while
curious ghosts skate across the ice-peripheral of our dreaming

I feel love, and horror/a frigid hand who's body I have dissolved-
-caressing my back tenderly
bordering terrific malevolence

...Later, in another try at my own eternal return, I find my comfort brother, accompanied by an overhead
divination lantern..

pounding! At the sun skull, for you (my cherished)
are of high order
I tempt soaking the cloth,
to steer the intention

..missing black mass, indulging instead
on feverish Damascus perfume

Splash ramp
down. Flesh, wailing
hidden by darkly earth to inevitably
decay by their self-solitude

(descent writhes in the milk of heartache
and cusps the night firmly in his *****
withering palms)

I refuse this fate, and
in Western-fashion
fire down the city worshipper which was once
I, too        (unmercifully so)

..burying his bones in the Scottish dirt

Terrarium hydrangeas, pale (yourIrises) lipstick daggers
slashing in the white sleeve-
red with epicurean


Big bad wolf
banished to his hole,
I kiss the winter fruit clean from your mouth (succumbing to pinnacles of fire/your lost domain) ******* on pebbles, trying to crack through the surface
like a dragon's egg for pride
(big bad wolf is hungry)
We wear away the season, memorizing the newspapers
which are tossed carelessly to our door. Ah, the kitchen ballet dancers are finally tired..endowed to the triplicate beauty
that we individually define (takes a bit to get there)

You/I privileged to ******* Venice with our mutual
imagination,                              owing to Calvino

To crave eachother
as an Acrobat craves the

Mar 2018 · 265
Connor Mar 2018
A practice in diverting expectation,
the micrososm perseveres
over the macrocosm

(pale elevator magic)

Sand is not enough, nor the perennial heat, instead, I chase my green-eyed children,
 escaping a slow but forceful
 jewelled jaw, for birth
& secret kissing with the dawn

I act recklessly in
faith of foxgloves, harmonica valley
idlings/the sentence, in your own words/my sentence

The crescent court
decided I wait in Guangzhou for several hours, to compare my many lives with eachother, as I wonder what day it is, what my past-self is doing right now, if he's getting along fine, I'm a little sore

Druidic anthems/harbour &
hibiscus, fulfillment that feels strange to me, tea by my side, paying attention to "Idiot Wind" until it gets too dark to stay out

Surreal in experience,
passing winter castles
& carnivals on stilts, foreign cemetaries,
temperamental waters, Afric breeze/
Art Deco saccharine

Now, to return
for an interval of Pacific Spring, an embrace of the howling shadow, banished by process

cultivating The Farther

(An ivory veil/withdrawn)
Mar 2018 · 482
Connor Mar 2018

Nightly woman instinct,
lend your guiding scent
to fierce winds/
into poison,
deliver down
my mercy to the great shining

(seduction poetics,
unrestrained and visible like a crown
of death hanging proud
by my bedside, eager
to martyr oneself for fertility)

Cosmogonic dawn/blinking fire-wheels,
shallow, holy waters
receding as silken tides, awoke from idleness

Discarded silver haloes, thrown into the hallowed dirt to drench in mortal youth

Monarch eyes/careful
heart, sealed/felt lucidly
worried/cavernous and hidden/wild kingdom dancer

A proclaimed Fool.
Imitator, mutilator
clay creator/for pathless ambition
I sink further in sand
which lacks definition, it is careless
like myself

(take a trip to Angel river, where one longs to be freed from skeleton grins
& pagan bathtubs, pollinating one
with wivesblood)


Out of the fog to a
marriagebed & lambs head
mounted, awkwardly
backdropped to an altar of Furze &
disorientation-theatres draped in Neon
& excess
(where even the walls are unaware of their own Earthly position)

If I am the stone,
you are the water, carving
me closer to your desired

to become an Outer, a cloud-catcher, liplurker, destined to Saturn worship


My zeal is an impatient grave & you assume the feral mother
whose flashflood voice draws me to rest

..Yet, I am willing. Carry my body
to your domain, feast kindly, until
paradise is all that remains of us both
Connor Feb 2018


Einbahnstraße in a
night of black arrowheads/jazz, obliteration perfume/
the twinkle of your
eyes which are engulfed
by youthful nymphs

Fur-lined sable coat
& I
in a jean jacket, hair styled back/
the perspiring windows of Paul Gustavus
open to reveal alizarin (death of day)
velvet curtains
(an appetite for moonlight &
mirrors) the reverberation
echochamber settles over us infused
with alcohol and tea leaves

Basement seclusion,
Deutsch in every direction

Woodstove heat/harsh truths exist in
a Blue Rose of cackling ash, left
disentangled ... duskdancer and copperhue-rooftop Saharas
 billowing madly

conversation as a
room full of isolation, lip -
eye, breath -
hairline/drifting to attic enticement,
bedsheets ruffling like
a winged dove


I am a North American phantom speaking through written paragraphs

& on my second drink a voice
persuasively licks my thigh/come up from the uneven ground

"feed the moon

relinquish fear

-blindness & burden, parish your
      anticipation for fire"


In my restlessness later on, I realize
all I can do is keep my head
high, mimic hope, mimic strength knowing we are
but one brief collision of beautiful
time purposed to split off again
towards a chaos larger than

Remembering The Woman in The Dunes..

"There was a drooling wolf...there was the sun. And, somewhere, he knew not where...there must also be a storm center and lines of discontinuity"

our own repitition of love & labor, warding off the deathhand which always comes back around

... How far do we have to go for lasting tenderness?



Australian sand/I erase my flesh
in Summer fruit/the air is thick,
I have stopped wearing leather

With iron humility
I task myself to
tillling a steeple into
a breaking cloudbeam
Feb 2018 · 235
Connor Feb 2018
Easel pink brandish-
markings of bold
Panther shadow/transfigure
to Mariposa sweetly

Sunset sleeper, Mediterranean
heath, silver sailboat idol
chanting in wind/undulating mica-recast

(your teeth unravel
  like hazardous
decorations as you approach
with sand in your pockets, shoes beaten together,
you shut the door behind you)

I've done with
stagnating, a freedom
figure replaces the routinely/becoming


a joyful repose,
                        now sojourned to
                           subtropics, a wanderer-
detaching himself from misconception

I am the Devourer of
my own time
Connor Jan 2018
Dampened Canary-
cloth hanging in the unforgiving

A fateful transaction is upon the balancing wheel
of a godhead-wheelbarrow
(called forth from an unknown plain)

Here comes the chosen Sufferer,
who endures,
endures the cruel calming
of the desert
as if himself archetypal/
The Lonesome Cowboy

Plotted on a humble Hillside,
where nobody has walked since
the first Red Riser fell honorably
(& honorably still)

The Martyr savors
the last of his strawberries before Tragedy (Muerte)
drinking water from a stranger's flask

removing pinpricks
individually, little droplets of
blood are sacrificed to quench
Arid Empress

(Eruption/magnesium iris/Harper's Ferry 1805
perched toward the Consummation Twilight/Alexandria playfully
inspects his remains/judges past-lives/submitting to Lastly/DOWN/fertilizing the soil, creating,
smoking smiles/smoking kills/his skeleton braces for
savagery & foul gale)

! Maroon-like
lamplight daybreak

Sacred-Serpent at their typewriter again, concluding/procuring
iron baskets-

-of bread and wine
celebrate the success in preserving
an irrevocable Cycle

...Another gentle youth invokes
the strange Temperament of Lilacs
& Chaotic Seraphim
Jan 2018 · 929
Connor Jan 2018

Sun since discovered, released, now

-spent shoes & leaves
vanished in


It is without shame that I stand tempered
before the fervor
of the sea, sand
beneath my nails/throat heavy
with fog.

..Years become part of the water's process

(this process begins in the center of the Ocean, an unseen thrashing of instruments imitating war, screaming obscured by screaming, cut-
off by itself/bare

intersperse of salts, kelp, monsters without eyes
reside in blackness,
continuously repeating in solitude, where no human heart
can be placed without risk of dissent,
it too, becoming fury)


Feral baths
scrape their lyric
into the Dionysian Lid..

Dawns slight flaming fingers/Gökotta/
awake, my features appraise me/an interval now passed for gold
and heliotropes

The Body needs
The World
to hold you

Foreground trumpeting/Impatient Maker
of all which yearns pleading

"Wake from
your underworld and witness
the collapsing of the

Connor Oct 2017

-dulcimer clatter opens the sun, first fruit-

timber fathoms/crystal veils
on all steps, crossing all human borders

untethering wood
from forest, until only the green element remains
to purify the soul

   an alpine afterimage, shadow-display
(creature of Earth, moss-backed & yowling thru the chaotic sleep
of October, you see it's symbology in your tea, sharpening its
obsidian hands against the seastones,
imprinting loveliness into the rock, to be worn by tides,
replaced by death absolute)

The fabled Black Horse (shadow-self) waiting solitary at a
gas station, an imprisoned dreamer inside
its gaping jaw/saturnine, coldness
of daybreak, clouds at their Atelier, my head
feels a pressure, been awake too long,
breathing in through the nose/out through
mouth, monastery of the mind in need of clearing.


embrace, catharsis, collision of
two individual energies
pent-up and cast/release
like a skeleton net::onfire
(kissed, consumed
elated, recurrance)

closeted eternities
cycling back into the
wind (hanging willow)
calling to the seeker, gold,
purification & lightness/mouthcurl washed in silence
(your own body, rising tide)

welcomed crucible of chilling air
& my black and
white vessel,
  electricity spirit-
        “valley swimmer, elude me”


…. The widewaking world
                            theatric elucidation,
emergence of a great snake
a wisened flower, sprouted from exile

blissful rejuvination of
the ivory leaves, at once!

I wrap my throat in a Munich scarf
   walking upon the softness of
Grötzingen (angel's eyes speaking)
an orchard, where the last gardener's tireless
work lay like a dreaming ossuary
Connor Sep 2017
In the caring arms of
candles, bathe
the sky with Autumn pools,
canvasing yards.

Sacrificial intruders, gently
swimming leaves, crying acoustics, Baba Yaga spins
her satin cobwebs in the wake
of morning

(funeral rites a few streets over, hardly paid mind or body)

we are protected now by a sauna, simmering hot stones in our chests-
      -burst forth with passion!
ragged romantics gather
  reaching upward to their forbidden idol (since lost)

coffee, bitter dew on garden, fountain parasol to overcast
dispersion/carving blade/nuptial rumours/nobody translates the sick/everybody is coddled by loneliness (wolf, a deathmouth which has never known satisfaction/mute & watercolor)

shop signs faded white, shoeshiner replacements, faces transposed, day drapes with smoking curtains
prematurely & ur smile
is tortured by animal

lips (siesmic breath)

  lips a
 talisman recieved in charity

another fertile morning kept fruitful for those who value moments & glances 

lips the household fables,
the native porch! (pity)

lips o spirited child clutching hollow whistling images

lips o bedside manner

(I am a feverish mountain branded with snow)

lips cream of dust,
lavender flicker,

(speaker's immortal verse/showering violets)

lips eager to shake hands
& dance
with violence as they
undoubtedly know how
Connor Sep 2017
! A frantic
rising pink impressions/
potent operatic amen/halo snaking

I've been resting in the silver lodge/
I adore you and your
it's causing mandalas to spill out of your
ears and into my mouth
like candy
birthed in the sun                 eyes/lapse of ocean island rain
                                                            ­           (ocean island rain)
starfish gaze, in sky, over city, over the banks,
into the kitchen, settling presence
(water) becalmed, sprigmask lip-
leaf smile, wide autumn orange                     (afterlife shade)

heavy breathing, hot, in Wallachian fabrics beneath the moon temple,
forgetting the living kitchen
which scurries off into my night, the holy architecture of a dream,

(to NIGHTMARE/silhouettes, wax-teeth
carrying a girl/unconscious, doll dress/brunette with blushing cheeks,
they forge a labryinth out of air, Persepolis
wide spread chalky
limbs thin like Cypress/
praying with a certain discordance, sword in hand
I tread with a careful
palm tattooed with a phrase from Matsuo Basho to guide me
thru a schoolyard, cement prism, myriad violins and lucid
eternal wheatfields, abandoned rosary/
chased by Quetzales, crowned explosive heads/
girl now devoured by the bedframe maze, darkness enfolding,
I'm alone, a cavern, smoke
thickens I taste its poison, fall-over
trampled by black horses/Nocturne/

       everyone has a different image of the Isle of The Dead....

                                        (na shledanou)

...wakened to green tea, pattern rug spread on sand,
unworldly passage
in distance, I've been out on high, travelling blind.
Someone laughing about my nakedness
I don't know when I lost my clothes (in my pursuit?)

There's a song, a no-song, Nada, two men
are writing on large papyrus

“At first, the sounds are like those proceeding from the ocean, clouds, kettle-drum and cataracts; in the middle (stage) those proceeding from Mardala (a musical instrument), bell and horn.”

when I ask what they're scribing I'm
hushed by my own inner voice

“The mind exists so long as there is sound, but with its (mind cessation)
there is a state called Unmani or Manas (viz., the state of being above the mind).”

Each word erases the previous as it is written down, until all that remains is the last word,
a final impression,
my internal voice hushes itself
now there is no

inner voice
to be quieted


Intoxicated & raised by the spice of
summer yarrow,

attention drawn to
a place beyond the fence, The Farther.

I sit cross-legged
on a stack of logs, it's June,
I scan the florid heat for
a birthplace I may never return to

"Le Foret Enchantee"
Aug 2017 · 272
Connor Aug 2017
  E A R T H)         PIPES
T                               PIPES
   half-vessel >> /CHINESE
                               DRAGON HEAD/
(product of Jamaica)
MOUNTAIN COFFEE ---------------->
● ...light! (mocking mask)(GRIZZLY)

lation of
aesthetic (me) categories (cute)
sun (transcriber ○) glasses
journal/maptable/coffee mug/sacks
legs/worn shoes/stained hardwood-
experimenting on recreating environment in front of me with words & suggestions
Jul 2017 · 324
A Passage
Connor Jul 2017

the fear on first approach-

-submerged in reflective twilight
& you think say I say I-

(the island you had voyaged once before has grown feral with age)

where cloud, charcoal mane/the scribe of uncertainty/black casper queen
charges into its young,
a battered sea/a vigilant watcher waned
  (Its mercurial body, which folds through
  passions innumerable)
The vestibule of Neptune, an orphic
   iris seeking-
which causes torn silk of peregrine robes/
the gaelic mercy in your voice
now sinking/smoke environ

"where can I find the spirit hospital?"

howling flower!
cracked serpentine clay!

after thousand veiled dreams/
    the tempest of years pulls up from roots
     your cradled heart-
     -to rebirth as color undefined and
    carried by
      curious afflictions-


hands, golden hands, chariot hands, holy & wild hands/animal/oracle
hands with crystallike fingertips & listening eyes
practiced/grasping, sweet
spectacle hands/
mountain messenger/
Charon/hands (the silver tower abandoned for faith)


(including yours and mine)

Jul 2017 · 534
(8) Carved Murals in Sleep
Connor Jul 2017
I - Sunrise at Futamiguara/Revealed Intent

The piano on fire/
echoing throats of crystal

Village Mystics resign their title for a quick drowning


Wedded-Rocks tide
together while Tsunami rolls in

(Izanagi / Izanami withstand the thrashing)

Japanese Autumn
welcomed as I watch a tinted rose unfold its cloaked chaos

(wherein a panther heeds its calling)

My heart has revealed itself at last

II - Love

bristling zeal/
halycon eyes & Haitian drums
aid the muscles
christening scene-

- bridal dancer pollinates a sleepers teeth in love poems fused with salt

&labor keeps the diaphragm sky
(with pinneedle clouds) afloat

I temper the image tilled with pen/sometimes it doesn't feel enough

(the shadow devours itself)

III - Conservatory of Music/Child Complex

Each gate of heaven its own sound

each device of wrath like doorstep-

-chimes (miracle)

or a whimper dashing through a lake
(vision of pallbearer)

gas heater/
the central puppeteer is dimmed, enjoying his contemplation of the (crafting)

999 violet walkup,
I can faintly hear what sounds like a private fountain

   (misguided flamingos bathe here
   and die
     during ***-season
IV - Joyful Soul/Reconciliation

   Year of water,
  exiting the glassness

  once showered me in doubt
-remove the cause

... and discarding my obligations
(they have only been actors)

where phoenix-mind
erudite/the staggered
  single conversation between grace & naivety/

Balinese temples smeared in
(******) ash & brass &

frame of fade (childhood) yearning for bedsheets and harmonica temperature

V - Reminder/Ocean Choir

(tiger tiger burning bright/amplify your helplessly

joyful your motion
the motion of eager
  repeating archaic
     imitations (meditative)

VI - Painterly Woman/Temporary Gladness/Objective in Medium

my family is
sculpted by candles countless candles
(shadow dancer)

-inhaling holidays

I nightmare
     skin emerging from my bedroom wall

suggested image written with higher potential imaginative range than the act of looking at a "described" moment on a canvas. As one suggests their own image in writing while as painting assumes its own image for you. The reverse transaction. One cannot author a paintings beauty such as one sculpts the image from ink. Both are as immediately beautiful. Different mediums for different objectives (or rather methods we use to achieve this objective)

VII - Unattainable

Pine drum;winking
fashionable clothmats
copulate for silk and ever purer
ever purer
(silk)))       the child universe

will bleed like

(amen/doldrum/amen(doldrum) amen)

VIII - Spring

Aware (zen taste) - moment evokes a more intense, nostalgic sadness connected with Autumn and the vanishing away of the world

This is the unbinding of words
as my terrific dead lover of disaster
put it-

(Somehow the unforgotten
name remains lavish, after all this reconfiguring, the infertile soil we attempted to escape,
the shade we hid in once like a peacock's coat, somehow the name, your name

remains clean)
Jun 2017 · 634
Monasticism/Madame George
Connor Jun 2017

top of the valley
))) showerhead & birdsong,
the womanlike apparition
of previous nights,
  confession buries its warmth within fervent tangerine sheets (where the day is hot and the future is formless)

I approach the dawn
in naked repose/horns repeating/soft a hares tail is
spotted with freckled water from Lands End,
youth & ideal kiss-image lost in bedsheets/
  eyes are painted with creekwater
to impermanence, guarding the stones we left there
  drying away/I miss you already
  (the island which reconciled my heart to that of a lambs infant noise)
  all worry and expenses vanished at the throw of an axe
     haze/fire/italian wine/the stirrings of March brought forth for inspection
     in the dim glow of our ashes/butterfly asleep/carved dragon
     draped with the fury in your kiss/

I stand naked before the valley, an initial warmth fills its features. A smile stems in the garden loosely protected by wire, I am temporarily innocent of day/
my restless behavior now soaked into a wooden platform

     Clothes placed on a nearby log, I now cloak an inevitability to my skin, one of a whisper, mute in the heart as yet,
     heavy (molten lead) to the rest of me

(questions starve in my mouth,
  for the sake of any dire simplicity/animal truth in tongue/awakened from its hibernation)
  I am gripping the mothmask
  helpless & drawn instinctually
  toward the fire which
  hurts me
(the witch unafraid of being burned)

  stumbling in black of later-spoken confusion/divided tones/two worshippers of the same trickster idol-

-only promising the subdued rising day,
where you monastically
prepare (with such grace) the next meal of bananas & hot tea, cupped with mint leaves, meanwhile,
Ethiopian rhythm fills the trees with a land who's taste they'll never know

      (& suddenly I am the forest)


(out of sight)

-hitchhiked home & let out here, a brown ivory-trimmed wood church hardly the size of a house a little ways down the road, myriad
insect conversation & the dry, eclipsing valley, carrying with me a simple liberation of spirit, one I can't let go of by necessity-

-my shoes are scuffed with loose dirt at the sole, I must pantomime the Sea, now more than ever

(without intervention)

-my clothes clean all things considered-

(darling time acts in accordance to nothing but its own divine & careless will)

-as if ingrained to me by the Summer heat, & the earned sweat on my back.

"Life needs to be lived, not to be solved" - Osho
Connor Jun 2017
Peacock summer (yolk & barnyard coffee shop for strawman Sal)

cactus palace, alps figured in stonework train terminal/Dylan hollering (I am the vessel for the ghost of me)

transmuted nostalgia, blank graffiti gaze/the alchemic architecture of skyscrapers replacing skyscrapers (an image made more blinding, the child raised to be dissociative & intolerant. I miss the oaken texture of your voice)

bulbous glass humidity, I am poet/poet build word house/in surrealistic wood/fireplace made of naive rainbow and the bones of a whole universe (Sun paints its terror on the back of my neck while I sit here watching a Supermodel with a 3 thousand dollar paisley pattern olive dress walk outside towards Gastown, her rings are worth more than a boreal dream)

Japanese weddings in Elizabethan gardens/grey Fenrir cloud-beast approaches with its faint dew/kites strewn between the Willow trees/Canyon instrument drum/ponderer creates masks of flowers/she sinks into the soggy earth/her primal home (I value those who are humble and beautifully so)

the more poems I read, the more mosaic my soul becomes like world-tree (roots collecting together, vibrant stems of skeletons & Springtime goliath)

do not fret the newspaper will never stop screaming, your cigarettes will never run dry, the ***** platform will never stop bathing itself in the city,

God, to answer your question
yes I am still godless
& yes I am happy

growing thin in the phantom pull of your vastness

(to essence of Lavender)

the sea its
own travelling
to time
Jun 2017 · 267
(blink to) Summer/Canyon
Connor Jun 2017
Patchouli incense, chestnut thighs

(the stoicism found in
clocks made of paper)

an impressionist's linen,
fingertips all too aware of their own alive/

the chimney's formless eye
awakes to Mattress & agedviolin & I

turning to beautiful October taking off her whistling clothes/
yawn n gasping in gossamers ghost

The weeks bobbing (interminably) like an optimistic pond of


(three strikes of a distant Mountain
bell signals reflection at Ryōan-ji)

(we abide by the fury of charging organs)

loveliness, willing to empty
our bodies of day
and fill our heads with

an hourglass garlanded in stems
the years turn over


(((((blink to
summer rain    

my heart has become
occupied by an unfamiliar

(summer(ra(in s(um(mer rai(n)
Connor May 2017
(freckled freckled freckled eyes/

dew/pattern smile/you are eager/the

humidity dims the shadow/relapse/

enticement/the beachhead is creating

splash colors again/the tide applauds

gratefully/hair beam and glow of green/

scent of exotic oils now coalesce/

meditative lovers/idol obsidian, great

brass bird n neckline harp/quartzstone

tendon/consume me into the ardent maw/


valley for waxen bones/decay, sweet

altogether now/O half moon descent/

reconstituted daisy/you there, resembling

yourself, familiar of a fleshseer/cleansed

in white tended theatrics/become/

beseech/diluted symphony, Egyptian

security/It is time to leave behind your

May 2017 · 474
Pygmalion & Worshipper
Connor May 2017
O prim harrow/
     ******* gomorrah/slashed fists-
raised eyes/joy conjured as alchemic kiss of wood/machine
      I am the child's unfastened bow
The diamond bible lay in a meadow formed
     with fragility
     (frame of mind as honey & cream & Ubud in June/do not suffer for the Monarch is nearly free from its own funeral, repeating)

       Pygmalion & worshipper
Iris ribbon/expander/deceiver
      Midnight smoking in backdrop of Lalibela
          Lalibela Opus
           Your thigh burned with Mystic sand

your past of perhapses & sitting on the
flashing rug
     where we listened to flowers speak the Animal language

roots imitate Atlas grasping at our lungs our earth/

the wrath of flesh
   like a youthful mirror
I escape the pavement,
  you fold the Sun into Origami
      swallowing it/a bird in it's irrational nest
     (I enshrine you with skylines)
       we try at last
            for a place of eternal windmills &
baskets which

    entomb the ocean I
tilled for our drowning
May 2017 · 588
Tenochtitlan (For Elena)
Connor May 2017

I have seen an
Aztec owl, kissed by the eternal
kaleidoscope of morning,
robed in Yellow air

Light escapes its hungry beak
and joins the Sun in harmony,
break of day rekindles the brickwork of archaic memory,

The Owl has lantern eyes which have witnessed innumerable births,

     -and the cultivating of this cherry-wreathed Valley, where we eat and
   write music for the soil's tender womb
Opal condolensces for sleep
and sadness, the Owl gifts a necklace embroidered with apology, coiled 'round your neck, in times of gladness and tragedy

...and do not fear, for cradle, ring, and tomb
   all repeat in cosmic fashion
            (you will eventually return here, to the sea, you always have)
          Remember the attic where youth was stored away, to be replaced with exotic patterns, coral bulbs, cotton and laughter
     There, lay a glasswork child for your chest to keep safe. Your past. Your past of plums and skirted dancers, desert glow, Caribbean sleep.

(your mind rests its quiet curtains, but the classical radio station can still be heard)


An owl of sunset mosaics
     enters your dream, illuminating
the revisitation to a Mexico City
  that was flooded for Mountains
           ..soon to recede and quake, when Winter's spirit fades once more, there you will unearth
May 2017 · 359
Connor May 2017

****** fire
   Scattered with
salt of sacred youth
   Split & dislocation, your empire light
          (A memory/reproached by vines)

          Replaced by hills of small cosmic stones
formed like a scream in the sand

  Pagodas wrinkle beneath
The sunset's ardent temper
                   (nobody can escape the smoke)

Mothers give up their daughters

Heroes are marked by volcanic glaciers

Anthills are suffocated softly and without sound

Death has taken up other hobbies

Cheeks resemble the shade of a dream

I am greeted by your wolf of absence
it's hairs are thick and knotted

(a shadow)
of what it once was

The toothroot maw of distant islands
tremble as a foreign vessel
curves around the bend of florid pine

Sails be blessed
              & branded with
                     symbols of balance
Islands echoing polyrythm

    (Small stone houses, ritualistic, romanced by careful horns)

The old are tempted by decorative
horses crafted of leaves which dance and
                 the warming sea
Ladies dressed in Batik patterns
     carve quietly at shopsigns to capture their stale glow
I realize now the black underbelly of May

I see
Performances of it's ancient verse in all
who bear children

     All who practice with the weapons of abuse
          & the perfumes of mortal love

In thought
and acknowledgment

(Accompanied by tenderness & pull of lavender in a basket)


I have been taught to no longer fear alive

(alive) at the will of taxicabs

Of eyes which haunt the heart/

  The strangeness of
  mental carousels/
Rapid entanglement/
          Palaces conjured by the Sun/
Basement conversation/

Iron candy that worships your body/


An ever present sound of black
           The black of love &

  nightfall in yearning

Where the Northern sky
dies with adoration,
swallowed by an
orchard's olive skin

       (A wine for exchanging poetry)

& like a static Summer unrehearsed with cathedral orchestrals

Or willow's wind flowing in through my bedroom

I will miss the black animal's fur,
of the silk you covered me with
in my sleep

(midnight shelter)


Lamenting with another woman
for another time
devoted yet fractured

A landscape scar
for Springs Bengal hunger

on a door as wide as the mirrored
cavern where promises were forged &

what happened to the Tsunami which drowned your past?


On the truth of time gone by
I wake with the burden of
every season
& you remain even still

You are the day's end
Apr 2017 · 213
Connor Apr 2017
Woe is a horned creature
      Color/blue (soft)
      Youth of savage taste
Piano is envious for magic
(The noise is disquiet)
    Angel wise and
    a whisper

Mother cleaned up her
violent act on stage (a highwire)
    The temple forever stained with
          Garden of age/
       A river's foolish plea with the moon,
People wrapped in ivy dance holily
   With their April patterns in a truly
    Dionysian scene
         I am there (a poet)
             day belonging to death
as death is owed to

   I feel balanced in this state
   (on the edge of the river)
       we are joined by harmonies from the Valley,
         they can be heard from above
           (a warmth/a womb)


   The sea is still alone
   (chasm of black)

Thinkers chase its waves &
Our eyelids disappear like marble
into empty flies
  released from a tropic fantasy
    The inevitable scream, humid &
     Covered in ash (volcanic)


Illness rejuvenates the dream/
questions remain questions

   An elephantine flowerbridal looms/

Smoke erases the memory stained in each ring of each pine,
          burdens relieved from the Antlers of
ancient death
         (smoke, tide, branches crackle in a flame, peace is envisioned here, I love you)
         Narrow ceilings attempt to re
The sky/      
Paint flaking off pathetically (the palace)
darling ember washed away with simple time

    (Where has our capability for survival gone?)
         mapmakers and children watch their hair fall into a promising wishwell
    ...kept secret and sacred
         those who see the bottom of the well are branded with eternal laughter!


? Healers hand
       (You've arrive
       at the entra
       nce you once saw asleep)
                 The conquest for simplicity is finally realized as no conquest at all
                     You're in love again,
(Yellow love)
Apr 2017 · 342
April 10th
Connor Apr 2017
A divided composition of incense ash

someone is cutting the grass outside

I can hear the hum, as the hum can
experience its own vibrations, as the
vibrations are experienced by the Earth

grass is severed like a mother's sleep

I'll be getting my hair cut today

there are flowers emerging from the trees

new incense stick burns now

my second destructive composition

the first an informal mandala

tossed away in another room
Mar 2017 · 317
Connor Mar 2017
In the fountain revelry of a
simple moment

My face is ignited with sparklers
there are crowds shouting joyously

the Omikoshi emerges from my hidden theatre of shut eyes

I still haven't seen you carve out a home within the hilltop

I have never heard your voice cry into the deserted afternoon

where everyone has abandoned their post for sour milk,

(it was just as Shiva commanded)

in a purist's wisdom that we shall sew together

A dramatic sepulchre of landscapes &

Balanced shrines which release

pinkish children to the Spring
Connor Mar 2017
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is

A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in

A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real

Continents wither where the flies glue their

regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)

Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement

The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all

I can

hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
                         O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)

     The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a  micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
     O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
     Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
     Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
     Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
     HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /

his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome

Inspired by Joyce, happy St Patricks Day
Mar 2017 · 499
Vernal (Tsukiyama Gardens)
Connor Mar 2017
The monumental nature of a

  flower regaining its identity
causes a thousand violins to shriek,

the dominoes of an approaching year

are struck, frost resigns from

its domain of death


A glorious matchstick

The Sun imitates

with pride and loyalty

to the garden
Connor Mar 2017
Balsamic parades
before you now

A cosmic                silence
fettering                O fair winded fury

   delicate fishnets casting for a stage of Arab desire

        Neolithic pattern &
tender reflection does welcome the stone
which an ardentness accompanies

    Long, Long and carried
    and curious
  a glance of eyes/
         your cavern for splendor
               freckled blossoms, tired
               eve of tiger daylight &
steam whimpers from your
               shadowy ash
church bells ask drawn-out questions for dogs that have long been dead

     vision of an ambigous
    baritone presence
     daisies & mist settling over the valley
     & the estate burned down! & multitudes of trees pray for your shoulders to be relieved of dragging your own grave
      & expressed expressed expressed
        until exhaustion
         & the thread of thought is naked the tone is optimistic
          The miracle is upon us
(the miracle)

            shrines are rebuilding
I can feel a pheonix glow
can you feel it, too?

(and I and you and the animal outside and its noise and how it increases in size
and how the earth shakes from the vibrations and we try to sleep it off
we cannot distract ourselves from
the wind
is tearing apart the decorations we had on the balcony
the land is stirring with consciousness
it is whispering but the whole world whispering is
A great tectonic force

we will not run
we will sing too
we will sing)

my mind river pursues this

& babylonian cities flower from
the weathered
      eager to join our laughter
Connor Mar 2017
Your final sight
the floor and myself

it is over with as quickly as
you expected

   with your jewelry spilled
   graciously on
    the floor
      your final sight
relieved of pain
   your expression mirrors confusion
   and a sort of gladness
     it is over quickly
     i retreat back into life
   your final sight is life
   spread clean with your death
Feb 2017 · 230
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
        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
Feb 2017 · 463
vagary of Maquinna
Connor Feb 2017
chandel      eirs
    exhausted by
nomads retreating within
paracosm of a Mountaintop
         snow in your voice
a bell being sounded

   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
    not silence
        or previous wars, these travellers seek to cocoon & spring forth as a
    that no longer has the capibility for tears
           where home becomes world
as rock communions with Yggdrasil
        and the leviathan of time will
    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
absolute renouncement of the soul

   for a bluebird to be born
amid the
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

             -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

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
left it's mouth at home
in the sea
sea of Greek ******

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

Jawbone painting
     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
      (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
               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
Jan 2017 · 244
this poem is
Connor Jan 2017
The sound of this poem is
Harsh grating steelwork
In a wet and lonely subway.

You are in love
it is almost Christmas

The smell of this poem is lilacs and the recently deceased
Which isn't exactly sweet or
ugly I don't care anyways

The owner of this Poem resides in
Which may show
    But really
            On the precipice of an alteration of
                            Identity, he dreams every
                            Night of
Freckles & medical examinations

The hero of this poem is you, the reader,
who continues into the unknown progress of day
Perhaps whistling the song you have come to associate with a year now gone

The end of this poem is
missing! ,
Jan 2017 · 228
Connor Jan 2017
I have found myself enamoured
With that slow kind of dying,
   the kind that allows a stone to mold over with
Stern fungi
that which is observed in
one shop being closed down and removed from time
for another that plays better music and has nicer staff

& there is the final confrontation
one evening
I will be held by accidental virtue
and my breath will be weak & accordion failure
Swelling from the heart
out thru the mouth in dry release
& some queer observer watching the whole scene play on
will claim my last words were some
comically insightful romantic notion
I was simply trying to feel a full Northern breath,
As in life.
Jan 2017 · 218
Connor Jan 2017
..As the self is sacred like lillies!

and deaths callous fingers are no good for
piano playing
    The current posture of America
    Has the optimistic
tossing marbles
    I have seen the fetishized
Of music & body made white
   By our very soul
   We have made it clear in ourselves to shoot the floorboards with pig spit
   Induced by
       your twilight  
       Canine flash exhibit

(sacred like lillies & willows
& whisper & yellow & May
& yearn)
Jan 2017 · 322
Ode To
Connor Jan 2017
I - In the active perspiring of
Manhattan dirt

& now I tell ya
The monkeys lost his surpreme gavel
& intimacy finds a false place
Within the youthful realm of transience
(the wide grove of
Grass slowly growing into golden cherries
To be picked apart and criticized by ones who'd gladly describe themselves as Angelic)

A ladder topples over a nightly bistro causing its windows
To ever /so //slight/ly crack
The owner & his two daughters take themselves

(along with his displeasement)
to the basement to conjure up a lawyer made of wax

Meanwhile Queens experiences rain as a cataclysmic shower occuring everywhere
Even the barred 1st floor apartments /

Nearby stabbings\

(74 people watching
  and the screams for help were audible nobody did a ******' thing. We call this the 'bystander effect')

I am long-awaited and less stressed in comparison to the last time I broke the barrier of clouds,
Which decieve America into thinking its
Worth only greyness
& worrying about bathroom Mirrors//srorriM//


The cinema will show you otherwise!

Minnesota causeway glittering with
Luggage carriers
Alike we are and have been
Bundled together
To read poetics or the sad paper
About elephants in an empty zoo
or the flammatory lawns of Washington

(audible from a brunette protected by last year's scarf, the cabin pressure decreasing
my ears feel full of eagerness)

Trunk of the elephant I read earlier
Lets us thru to Airport
The hollowed organics of this passage
Cause my spine to crawl
There are flies bespeckled like
The jewelry of decay

      But soon we are clean again
Yet still without a forest to
         Confess in
               Comforted by shrill wind echoing 'round the wood
(as one would say patience is a virtue)

II -   I have missed the first
Haze of every mornings gentle mouth

Strawberries press themselves harshly to lobes
Like oriental jazz
& a collective yawn
As the ground becomes
        Wait! Look down there!
        It's my friend welcomed to wifehood!
              Ballads of a long time ago,
                   Humid run-ins with the twinkler
                   Performing a theatrical
                 Tearduct expression

Valleys of varying shades/
Orchards & the Apple of my eye
      Nectar and beggar
      Some Disney story Swiss town
      Operated by
       I am tired which causes me to write
       I am writing which causes me to tire
       I am which writing causes to tire
       I which am writing tired causes to
       (the shoreline of a dream where
       Socialists wearing straw hats created a whole scene involving a loud child
       Unaware of what movement he was being indoctrinated into
       And a pocket full of change which was later tossed to the sea
       The image of which caused My Mother to
       Wake from her fainting)

Seance in voluptuous turmoil
Only confronted by
       A vision of the sky transitioned to earth
       & shadow dancing
       Accompanied with the sun,
        its last inkling of lemondrops
        Spread in buttery fashion to my personal

Fr­ee from(in the) the properties of
Textbooks and
Inflated intellectualism(vast pastoral landscapes)
One can
    Allow themselves to truly sleep in
       (of the air)
Connor Jan 2017
Star spangledgraciousness
An empty vessel
Yet not without its redwine
Red wine
& sourness of past inhabitants
The fog of Manhattan
Cries the whale of night
In a street of slurred bodies
& electrical heads &the; train is late &excusemepleasesorrythankyou;
& directionless/compliancy is for the agents who don't know rhythm i can speak the tongue of a sweatfaced
Painterman or
The kindly blind
Who haven't the time for soreness

Its all soupNmute screamin!!!g

"Ur dryer has been faulty /
The showerhead makes cruel sounds!"

My Beltbuckle healthier than
Leather!of my shoe (a horn from up the block)

Rosesmile lovely faces
Being uplifted by balloons &
Kissing hymns

(RedwineRED wine)

Impolite barter
Or 75 cents in Metro
Paused for Rodenticide

(green neon coffin)
Coughing neon green


HERE is a wailingCannonBall
Creating a space of drums
And dancing or microphoneAAA

Golden cloud & dripping halo
Words cannot hurt these saintly scenes
of a
Light caught in the rain
As mist rises u p
From my fleecy walk
& protest sirens orchestrate
/X and O/
               Do not mind the slipping
               Or poorly-tended meadows coming up thru
      Grains to cigarette ash
      Rolling daintly upon the marblefloor
      I have seen scholarly tearjerkers
      Preach about the elevator
      Blinking the signal of the soul
      And potplant lids
      Fantasizing of Mothers
      To shoeshine their world
      A (         eniwder

Note of
Myself put into the hardwood of

The blunder
Of thought itself

For a fool beneath a bridge to find
& smoke with aching feetNplastic
Speaking plastic musings to

The plastic of the falsely opposed
And unable to prove why this country hates them so much

(which begs the question)
Candles keep to the museum of headaches & irony

I keep to this narrow night under the
Attic of West 3rd

Wishing for a place to rest easy
Except these foreigners slam their

Quiet fists to the map of New York City instead

This sort of passion for
The stone and it's
Bulbous radiant
While simultaneously
Brushing them away with nervous laughter
Can only be caused by

Spending too much time at the beach
Reading playwrights.
for E.E Cummings

New York, 2017
Jan 2017 · 517
F Train Musings
Connor Jan 2017
The Chinese wall
Stained with teacup & wandering
Chatter and white texture
Of table and screen in eye flashing
A personal ideal

You and your entitled insomnia

Making blonde dogs hurt for a summer
Or a saxophone
Me and my twelve hour staircase speech
Aiding a circus

Or a bleeding taxicab
Way of thinking about a moon
Full of dental light

It doesn't need to be a dreadful
Sadness alone on this street
I can be a child too

The symposium of fastened
Yellow sounds
Being sent by radio tower to
The head of a gated individual who hasn't sung something fresh in far too long
& quite frankly

The ones who wear ***** dresses have had enough!
Enough of totalitarianism

And the debate of a sidewalk under fire

the seat of a desolate minstrel

Who can believe in your
Fantastical idols??

Not the airport who's burning fur hat
Lifts a feather to the
Palace of night

And ..... Now
We expect burdened coronations
Or the theater to put on

A clatter of
I have no wide stepping

The alarm has rung for the strange ostrich
One may attempt to love absolutely

Renouncement finds pleasure in
Renouncing itself
New York,2017
Connor Jan 2017
The grey
Weeping hill breathes heavy for
A winter cloud

Inside heated houses
Your hair rests just behind your shoulders,
Tucked around the ear for safe measure while
The cold hill looks for its instrument

Every garden has been paved for gasoline structures
The mighty rose has

I and you
Clean the kitchen metal repeatedly

Where is the song to
Be hymned from
Your desolate crow eyed hill

It finds the instrument beneath frozen soil
Where a pure oak grows for
April perils

We recite lullabies to Angels already woken
& write pollen poems for the white and trepid wood

Rats feel holy in New York where a carnival of stone encircles their tufts

******* glimpsed in the crack of
Yellow blinds
a versed blonde will recount across the street
Somethin' out of "Rear Window"
Minus the broken leg

"Romanticism is the emphasized or passionately overblown image or feeling in art or as emotional expression. Romantic art emphasizes reality and attempts at imitating the divine. We have idealized love as being more than it is as a means to cope with the reality in which love isnt as special as we have blown it up to be-

-this unreachable expectation we place on the human experience is combatted by the romantic which broadens our distance between the reality of our perceptions and experiences VS the romantic ideal. It draws attention to its own lacking"
This is the palace for naked ghosts.

   A time of enticement has passed
   To make room for Dadaism
       & a lackluser sensibility for medicine instructions
       I have become haunted and naive
       With frequent prophetic snapshot dreams
       Detailing crimson hotels where the hardwood floor is sinking with rot
       & past loves appear and try to
       Converse with me as my legs shake
       The kaleidoscopic halls sweat with
       An earthly pressure
"I wanted to apologize for hurting you"

"I appreciate that dear but we are sinking
We need to go"

"No no listen to me!"

(Here come the saxophones
And rhapsodic lights tearing this noctuary down)

She has left
     We are causing the silence
(tragedy is the divine and enamoured image)

Another flash of color underside of
The stairwell in my hotel

(DREAM #2)

A neighborhood follows itself quietly
With garage sales & sleeping cupids,
A man drives down the sky
With his dog on his lap smiling, carrier in the backseat

& piano is reintroduced just in time for the post office to go on strike

..And I took to violet rooms with perplexing
Polka dotted floors & black and white &
worn-down coffee table & I have a headache & someone smells like karaoke sounds/

The sunset company thru the window is
A nice arrangement despite this,
Frank O'Hara is reading Ode to Joy in my head.


-as being sensual, orgiastic and purely relating to the destruction of the self as means to experience a complete lack of individuation. A loss of reality and a more cosmic and expansive transcendentalism, experienced without the desire to have more than itself. Its a state of being which exists outside of the longing for something better
(relating to "The Birth of Tragedy")


(DREAM #3)

Exotic spaces
With several
simultaneous heart attacks

The ambulance is late

A harp is one floor below us

It doesn't matter now

Do not worry for the director of
This scene has also died

      A valley of copious harmonials
      Waits for us
      The feeling is easy


I am sprouting from the icy hilltop
Instrument in hand
We can stop with our obsession for cleanliness

I am unsure whether I am still asleep

"Share the complete pleasure in mere appearance and in seeing, yet at the same time he negates this pleasure and finds a still higher satisfaction in the destruction of the visible world of mere appearance"

The philosopher's essays continue !

Day's intensity
thrills the valley to living
Without wine or prayer

I can swallow a raindrop & laugh
Having never desired the silence
Of dust
                      Here we dance in Dionysian
                      Jewelled with feathers

It's okay to be afraid of snow
And thank you/
We are all elusive at heart
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