Thunder blue
Leaves abducted from there gray fathers
Windows buckled and snap against the pressure.
Shutters shutter.
Lights dance and collapse in their bulbs.

The trees sway like chilly carolers.
Bring me winds. Rain a la carte.

I. The hell my mind tries to tame. The honey writhes and spits in a wrinkled cage.



II. Harvest the thick of oxygen, but never dance in the gale. Heed the vocal constellation, but never try to scream along.   



III. I taste the dry tears of last minute musings. Thorns hiss at my flesh; so still I part the green to avoid the forest’s swallow. 



IV. My bones creak with shards of the wind. Their surfaces riddled with Braille.   



V. I sit in my skin and stare at my skull. I’m not going to try and talk over the loud cranial hum. 



VI. You’ve seen the malice of history. The planet screamed an earthquake. Grass forgot to be green. The sun hung in the air like a pierced tongue. 



VII. Fathom not the light freckled days under the green pulse of Earth. Leafs have huddled into the ground like children.



VIII. In the summertime, we're all the same when we're swimming. A waltz of bubbles and hands.

The expendable existence.
That uncomfortable rat on your skin.
The cut in your gums that bleeds when you chew.

The last feasible member to fit on an ascending elevator.
Warm.
Hot.
Itching.

The spinach in your teeth.
The tear in your jeans located too close to “there”
The treacherous unzipped jean fiasco.

That crumb on your face.
Where is it?
‘To the left’
Is it gone?
‘A little more’
How ‘bout now?
‘Got it.’

The untied shoe.
The untucked shirt.
The eyelash stranded on your face.

The rainy wedding day.
The gold earring under the fridge.
The luggage thats flying to London instead of Zimbabwe.

These are the unwanted little honeybees of everyday being.
cracked mirrors, guitar-snapped strings,
welts of fire and third wheel things.

the sun has finally worked out its affair with the clouds.
and the snow has expired into a feeble slush.
dirt is bustling with exasperated seeds:
tiny tired shoppers in a Black Friday for nutrients.  
And someone keeps splashing green nonsense into the trees.

but, its kind of- Grand.

Carry your transcendental
hands
towards the colossal
bloom of rock and earth
Bursting forth on earthquake feet.
Breath blue, and paint only green.
Promise me fire,
But when you come
bring only light.

1 + 1  isn't math.
It's life and it isn't hard.

1 + 1 is love.
A universal concept
of criss-crossed hands.
Blue eyes to others
hugging their gaze.  

1 + 1 is war.
Two acidic cultures
colliding and sizzling
at contact. Blood
Hot. Black.

1 + 1 is curiosity
Glassy eyes on charcoal talons
Wrinkled trunk 'round tail of dog
Feeble finger ravaged by thousands of legs
Paint Africa upon my hands.

1 + 1 are footprints
of mud on the porch.
Yours between mine.
Toes so close and mud still fresh.

But for those,
who have the most unfortunate
pleasure of removing
themselves from
infinity.
1 + 1 = 2.

How sad.

I thought that we were
friendly pieces
to a game of chess.
Even if we're both pawns.
But now you just
throw pieces.

A loss of lights
and unsaid fights
has spoiled our unsung marriage.

I’d rather walk
in the chilly grass
Slowly, while fire has time to beat
And tell you everything that burned me.

While heavens have concluded:
Your Jupiter heart
housed a Neptune love
but
hide the embers on Pluto.

May we hunt again the sky
for shooting stars

If the night allows?

Please
I beg.