The night is drowsy and frowning,
      I hear my thoughts aloud
      In forms looming over dimly
      Lit rooms hurling worlds at me.
It is incredibly close, the thoughts gallop
     Confused I plunge into a sea of faceless
     Names groaning, discerning the sorrowful
     Language of half dead stagnant beings.
I see a flash of verses that I grab from my mind
     They speak as a mirror speaks in reverse
     Phrases I spill ink repeating my minds
     Tongues to prove a sanity in the dark.
I am lone into the night,
     I am breathing still as I write with
     No gravity in my hands,
     The words lulling the constellation
     To sleep, one by one a poem is furiously
     Born.
But with night comes a deeper essential,
     I am not certain where the images
     Come from, but sometimes there are
     No words for their form,
     It is a haunting tide of thought.
Today is born of yesterday,
     I write into the morrow,
     Suddenly time is conscious
     And it ticks away watching me,
     And now is passing away into the moment,
The moment is sunk into eternity's nest,
     It is not wasted on a compass of death,
     I passionately write it into life,
    Time is frozen at my inkling,
     I will die of life and death will
     Be a birth.
Vertigo,
       Caught in a lucid rapture
       I cannot name the faceless momentum,
       But it brings more life in the dark,
       No body or soul, just life
Into the words, I am trapped deeply
       In the starlit terrace of my fore thoughts:

I fall away into the poem,
     My eyes have nothing to see,
     I am a 360 degree spherical eye,
     I see the cosmic splinters of time,
My childhood comes to mind,
      The whole of the beginning in the
      Past, a whirlpool of water that flows
      Furiously with eyes closed,
And suddenly I am middle aged,
     Today brand new again,
     The past in my present,
     Becoming omnipresent like
     A ghost petrified into thoughts,
Wind blows through her hair,
      I am in love once again,
      My first love relived without time,
      Timeless like a frozen ice queen,
I have come back to where I was.
     I am in immensity of youth,
  The shores extend like an endless beach,
       The water is crystalline,
Her body is transparent,
    Two rivers become one,
We walk into forever over the water
   In a bridge of time that relapses
Over itself, time looping into
      My very memory,
The jade moon follows her silhouette,
       I am a star crossed fool,
The sun shines at night when
   We held hands.
I blink, and once and again,
I am trapped in the eternal night.

There is no way back,
    The dead are still alive,
The living are suffocating on life,
     On my wall a sea of faces enrapturing
My words,
    All the time I have lived in a bottle,
  I drink drunk on memory,
       The ladder leads to Jacob,
A thousand lives have lived in this night,
     My world remote,
I shrink into the dawn,
     My eyes close,
My final thought:
Where or when have I ever been??

Out of the debris of dead stars
That rain its benevolent particles
Onto living waters into miracles,
The sea of atomic births
Collide like comets of their elders
Into evolving molecular mountains;

The sun that couldnt stay
Has birthed an apparition
Of its former self in a glorious
Cycle of substance called life,

In the constellation being named
With more dust on the way
As we look around the planet
Of evolved carnivore,

From star to water to land
To tree to the dirt again,
The silent waste of star-
This body, this mass humanity,
Us people, never and always,
Birthing constellations.

On the heart, which grows cold.
On the lips that dry as the air
Penetrates the softest kiss.

On the skin of a young woman,
Its frailty is the beauty of life
Which freezes in time.

On the magnificent glimmers
Of frozen mist on leaves,
December begins the grey.

The warmth of another holding
You and you holding them,
The glory of cold.

The miraculous cold which
Brings charitableness to homelessness
And gives hope on snowy days.

Cold like today
Which makes my hand write,
That makes me think warm things.

Insanity is a somber flow of waters;
Its rain above the gentle mind
Is a murmur of moaning thoughts
Ina crooked wind, a subtle chill
In the distant breeze.

Suddenness like air breathed
In torn skies, among the vivid blue,
The thoughts collapsed to the startled
Earth like a great ceiling of copper
And shadow.

The Asylum beneath the slow shadows
In a lunatic fringe upon thistle fields,
Flowering Insanity's bloom like
A vibrant Willow under a filtered sun.

The liquid pain in tangled clots
Of distant sanity unlocking
A rapid downpour of condensed
Versions in reality's mixed afternoon.

The Asylum takes in the deep grief,
The rain takes a pause,
The day long and sad,
In the greyish distance the light
Hits though the smallest window.

Like ashes swarming
Sunken in the debris of the form,
Or even the crossroads
Where a stop is received open,
Holding the pace bearing down
On one's reach, far out in the distance;

Where am I going in a rushing brush with life?

The question questions the self,
An answer spades the mirror,
So quick like a plume of smoke
Out of a hurried motor,
The comet that comes and goes
Slicing generations in waiting,
To and from encircling eternal likenesses,
Uncertain about Faith's certainties,
the ceaseless wheel keeps spinning,
A dizzying compass.

The why is immobile, the what is is the experience.

I half shed a tear when another
Bites the immortal dust,
What is a damp ravine drawn
At the cliff of a road lined with stones?
All is erosional,
The enormous draws out endlessly
With poignant time,
So I pace myself
Down to the exploding minute,
Because time only burns
But never passes.....

.....Lo, forth I do march,
Hell's scorch fuels the ascendancy
Into solemn inner battle amongst
Myselves,
I am a poem at war with words,
The pen a bride like some spectral
Verbiage- luminosity antagonisong
The swell of ferocity, I do cling
As the audascious hope gathers its wounds
And scatters like petals in the furious winds,
The forbearance of that knife
Wielded within the self,
Self against self,
The battle rages against the heart,
Against the mind,
Down to the very soul!

In the craftmans tomb,
A poem floods the inner sanctum
And the march forward seems
Like a depression plowing
The fields of memory,
Oh what dreams may come
May also haunt.

And one drops many a word,
The war inside like flock
Of crows into the blinding light,
I still here could not give in,
The soul still battles its flesh....

Liquid days when the morning
Mist whispers and the woman's
Touch softens in bed under
The pelting romance of raindrops.

Moist Earth of liquid hearts, when
The solitude melts away from
The the tumbles grey and the
Light flashes across the myriad
Of sky tirelessly crackles and lifts
One out of the depression.

Steaming Earth, when the body
Is melting like clay in summer's
Tears, when two become one in
The moist of the Rivers, water turns
Into life and the soul is freed
In youth.

Wet Earth when the Angel's tears
Cry for their knowingness,
Who wish to make the Fall
And bathe in the love of man,
Petrification of the motivated as
The tears flow down un-sinning .

Rain upon the Earth,
Like a woman in her bath,
The stress falling away with
Each droplet,
The edification of her day,
The supplication of living water,
Up on the squall we dance
In thought ,inciting the flood
Within a liquidised existence.

White earth bathed upon
By moonlit tangibles ; purring
Waves upon the glimmer sands
Where lovers meet for their first:

Liquid earth ****** between
The lips of night,
We shed the skin for the transparent
Soul crowding the hopes and dreams
Of the lone lovers,
The eternal moment is a an image
As naked as thoughts,
As wild as a shared fury
In the truth  of our suffering;
How had one lived without the other?

There is no contemplating
Between the young and in love,
Only the ressurection of presences
Where lovers before met at the hour,
And behold the incarnation of lovers
Doing, making,
Transfigured in the truth of each other.

Tell me why the poison,
Your nomadic essence
In a magnetar's romance?
**** the void with your
Missing kiss,
Surrendered to your
Chosen appearing and time
Is your whim to the commands
I obey.

Why the poison
When a million ways to die
Is the same living under
Your spell,
Seductress of the falling sun,
Nuisance to my nocturnal
Soul,
I am but yours
And held by the thirst
For more,
Take me into your
Embrace,
I drink freely your
Kiss of death.

Why the poison
For a suicidal lover?

I don't know your name,
I have see your face;
And hers when she is with you.

That delicate smile,
The same as when we first met,
Somehow, I don't know, ironic.

Does she see in your eyes tranquility,
Like an open sun on a lake,
The lake where we were married?

She drinks in your light,
And when I saw the two of you,
Something inside of me began to die,

Like these words,
Jealous phrases from the other man,
Are you a jealous man, do you know of me?

When you look to the distance,
Because I am sure you will always
Be there, do you see yourself
At the hospital battling pneumonia?

Your hands on hers
Like curled rose petals,
Where at the hospital no one asks
You to leave because they know somehow
The term visiting hours don't apply.

You hold the woman I love,
With your powerful hands,

You who **** me inside,
Is she yours now,
Body and soul?

But you see I am her husband,
And for her I have a divine thirst,
So I won't make a public scene.

Tell me, tell me sir,
What words have you spoken,
Words in a myriad of seduction
To steal a man's love, the love of my life?

Be gentle with her,
Love her as gentle air over tree tops,
Nothing is as sweet as her delicate
Touch, savor it.....

And perhaps when you are done,
Because I know you are just passing through,
(This I pray to God)
She returns to me with the same
Gleam in her eyes.

She holds me like she used to,
And we haven't been this happy
In years, I can trace my life
Over each crevice of her body,

I follow them to you sir,
And it reminded me that I have lost,
Not my wife,
But myself in taking for granted
This dove bit so innocent.

You are no obstacle sir,
Because I am now flaming,
Alive even,
A bitter heaviness dwells within,
I must keep the jealous soul at bay,

And this grief like you,
Will pass,
I will love her again as you reminded,

The paralysis is gone,
And now I leap to life
When before you sir,
Nothing was possible.

Oh month of bloom,
I wander through the greenery
To gather myself,
I see honey and fragrance
From half opened budlings,
I could not be any more sick!
          My beloved grey Winter mistress
          Gone to the birds
          And their songs that wake
          Me from my depressed slumber!
A bird flies from tree to tree,
And no windshield is safe!
      I salute the thorns of every rose,
      I wrestle with the inevitable
     Approach of Spring poems,
     An avalanche of sweet seasoned
     Words falling from villainous
     Repetition, seasonal song of the
     Lofty new flowers,
     Oh my nemesis Spring!

Stay your secrets
     In yesterday's place,
Fallen Angels
     Hear your cry for grace.
Still waters
     Walk with one to the rapids,
Taking the time
     To reveal sin's habits.
Please the world
     Would hear your thought,
Fighting solitudes
    That regret has wrought.
Soul pleads
     Behind closed doors,
Please God please,
     Begging You don't ignore.

Should I throw a rock at your head,
Or should some ornate stone in passion
Be flung that it may open your mind?
There is a poem,
Natural in its state of emotional honesty,
And a bird can be on a branch crapping
On your windshield,
Or upon morning's first light
A golden bird gleams among
The verdant branches like
Emeralds in a feast of crystalline
Fields set aglow by calling stars.
      Still the truth of the poem
And its severed beauty is that it
Does not lie among the constant
Heart, that frail and vicious
Emotionally challenged furnace,
And the words are compared
Like a rare comet vs. a constant star.
       Holes in the words
Sap a poets blood, so he films them
With passions of flame and struggle,
And from fire to fire he spills
Himself within the pen.
     From here to eternity's moment,
They will never slay his thirsting,
From verses that hold him,
To words that overtake even the spirit
Where his poems are forged like some
Ancient blacksmith
Beating together steel wings
To fly the world over for one mans
Fiery thought come to life ,
And he is a star and a begging dog,
A broken hearted moon,
A fragment of dead things
And alive in his words,
Before he dies he wants his
Soul to shed its poetry.

I stick out my arm
To reach for my brother's heights,
         Big brother means
A mountain can be moved,
      Loved,
              Beholden.

I reach out my arm,
      You tie the handkerchief ,
        With tears falling on your face
You put the needle in my vein:

      There are mountains everywhere
And when you move one,
There's always another beside it,
     High, so very high.  

    My arm falls to my side,
I don't see the tears anymore,
    I don't care,
Brother, my brother,
    In the shadow of a mountain.

The sorrowful birds seemed less enchanted,
Like a forgotten holocaust beating
In agony, the silent grey of dawn
Set forth over the mystery.
Under perplexed veils I call
Forth the lost days of depressing
Symbols, like a raven in the distance,
A storm smothering its deathly gaze.
     And when alone the sparrow
Refused to chirp, instead wallowed
In the quiet solitudes of the lucid
dreaminess of the bitter infinite grey.
      Earth offers its deathly gaze
As a meager conteplation in the
Grey of the early Winter displaying
Her snowy apron like some dark matron.
Gradually the day drags obeying
Time, slow to the mind of a sad one,
Preoccupation of illusions,
Like a poets inane blank page,
A wind minded sadness flying
Through darkened pupils:

A grey irony forms,
A crow cloaked as a hope
Cries to the infinite grey;
"I will always love you,
Though you abuse me."

I dreamed a glacial moment,
Where time ends or begins,
I was hopeful the grey would
Never end and I could wear
Its sad dark velvet with its
Perjured love and scorned existence,
I follow the shadow of storms
Searching for the torment with in,
The bleakness is a grey day with
The sun hiding its hopeful radiance.

It was along the ancient rivers
Where the waters break themselves against
The stones, smooth and polished,
Among the seedlings called words.

In thought, well let us call it mythic
Theory, the river was exposed to the thirst
Of the first men, those who wished an
extension of themselves to the universe.

With a constellation to start them with,
The first Word arose after the first man
Drank from it, the word was Hope
and he picked a small star to mark the moment.

The river was infested with verbs and metaphors,
The man was thirsty for words and description,
He drank with mermaids and sea creatures
From the magnetic water that dripped with life words.

Once he had his share, before he became a poet,
He had to learn a lesson important to being
What he so desperatly wanted to express,
The touch of a woman.....

On a night that was felt as though ten moons
Across, he lay with a first woman as he repeated
The first word into his heart, Hope, the audacious
Nature bother heartfelt and genuine.

And the next day as the sun spring forth the light,
He woke alone and a sudden cold entered,
His passion untamed, his heart recognizes
the abyss, and he began a song of words.:

He who belonged to no one,
Suddenly belongs to the word,
The word was his foundation
And the magic was born in a sullen pain.

A poet was born from a river,
The words a passionate abyss,
The perfect pattern from God,
The verse was born from his heart.

Wing of hovering bird
Just above the steadying ships,
Woman on the pier
Waiting with unchaste lips.

Sailor under moons
Praying like a king of saints,
All taming lust,
Into her arms he wanes.

Untamed horses
Gallop upon the fields,
Prisms of the man
From what woman's touch may yield.

Home from hostile waves
To drink angelic milk,
Touch by his angel
Skin like woven silk.

Upon the ground sturdy
He lays his heavy head,
Follow thy *****
To the woman he is now led.

....Anf you swallowed the stars
As I drank the last moon
And we assaulted the night,

Woman, perhaps the violent
Touch like a river winding
Into the ravine where no dawn
Touches,

Perhaps I will find you
There in the moist of dawn's lips,
Taken aback like a surprised flower,
And all the world is a black rose,

Here I hold you blackest night,
Where the light escapes
Your ***** and I enter the edge
Of nowhere and forever
Take in rain of deepest tears....

Echoes of the child
Lost in a first virgins moan,
Take the heart where it beats no more
And I will be there in the ember,
Each a glory unto your night,

Set it on fire,
The blaze of your body
Where the nocturnal lovers
Die,
And awaken like in a blaze
Reborn in the fiery night.

There was a promised life
Given to a certain girl,
Down from the train,
A black girl named Jula.

    Who are you Jula?
    Jula knows her name.

Jula! Master plays his song,
(The voice of money)
- help around the house,
Help around the rooms,
Help for me Jula!

   Jula knows her name.

Jula was called to be whatever
Master needed,
To look to his desireous needs,
Jula just a girl.

Come Jula,
Take me away to better days,
Dance for me Jula!
(Voice of the Master)

    Jula bathes in a wooden
    Barrel, she got no shoes,
    Go Jula, serve like royalty,
    Go Jula, shine like my star!
    Sing for me Jula!

Jula knows her name:

  "They say that God knows all,
    So He knows Jula and made
    Her life like it is,
    This is Jula's destiny,
    God made it this way"
Now Master preaches.

  Jula knows her name,
  Who are YOU Jula?

Jula, mistress of the Master,
Put him to bed,
Naked she lay next to him,
Jula, she knows her name.

   Who are you Jula?
   You just a little girl,
   Where is your song?

The Master calls,
The Master's hands tired
From wielding the whip,
Come here Jula!
Come here Jula!
The slave girl stripped,
The slave girl *****,
Jula knows her name.

   Jula, where is my food?
   Master tired from the whippin',
    Master needs his food,
     Jula know her name.

Jula, who are you Jula?
Jula knows her name.

Do you know what awaits beyond
Your dreams and hopes?
Do you suddenly in the later years
start to think about regrets?
     Before losing oneself in the tide
Of timeless past amidst a dense thought
Of who we ought to be,
     There in the afterthoughts stirring
In the depths of your gut,
A great extension of yourself comes about,
That which blindly guides us through
The dust of days.
    And the rust of yesterday's patterns glues
Itself to your brain which racks itself
And inhabits  the heart which weighs
Itself heavy.
    
    Do you remember when she first kissed
You suddenly and intently?
    Do you remember when she walked away
In tears and you furiously said nothing?
    And she became a regret
Waiting in ambush,
And the thought of her becomes like
A deep well in a vast desert,
The water inside holds a bittersweet charm,
She still awes you,
Against all the time,
Afainst the whole of the Earth,
And still a hope erupts from somewhere
Deeper like the rope that pulls you
Out of yourself.
     Such a familiar sadness.
Who are you compared to then?
And the hope wells against the tide,
Another part of you is born,
This one can see a distant light
From a certain view.
      And the rage is a hope,
      The regret a sad song,
      we remain more
      When time is least,
      And the least becomes
      A joyous misery.

Most of my childhood friends are dead.
Time will grant you new ones, life said.
I want them back please! I pleaded.
All the same as they were!

I take in the nocturnal air
From a past that at present
Feels like yesterday's alive,

The quarter moon smiles, or frowns,
I cannot tell anymore,
Alone the night I walk with ghosts

And old voices that cannot say
Goodbye or hello, and the love
Remains, or the painful residue of it.

The life comes in long days
Some bright as my once there hope
Exceeding the lost, seems to outweigh
The gains,

All my dead friends
I walk a path once promised to
All them same,  radiant memories,

I was once with them a person
I hoped to be,
I want them back to find myself
As lost as I am now without.

I don't belong here,
Got to get away;
Poet, close your eyes:

The fire at the head of a verse
Takes me where verbs and stars
Collide,
(And the girl whose ancient name
Is fire)
Black rose consoler of sorrows,
My worries ride the sky today,
      Brilliant nocturnal fool
      I can see all the words escape
      A collision with atmosphere,
Flocked with hope
It gathers steam towards
The kiss of the quarter moon;
Your name is HOPE.
   I nail my dreams to sky black
   Bridging the gaps in the abyss,
   I catch a ride with the tail
    Of a comet's tears
   And endure its loneliness like
   A broth of nourishing sacrifice:

     "Take my hand dear poet,
    Your words are embers
     On a midsummer harvest"
    And the world froze beneath
     It's cylindrical tail
      As the wheel of days did not
     Revolve;

I became a solar sorrow,
My dreams burst into sunflowers
In a flame of words
Bursting itself from my soul,
Each night as the world
Becomes too much,
I escape and the poem takes
Me away.

All that is not light
Sketches shadows:
The secrets within them,
Pleasurable vices.

Into the darkness
With its stealthy silence:
Woman of the black veils,
The thief in the night,
The murmur of the stray.

All that is light
Flees from the shadows:
The list in the *****,
The fire in the passion,
The fragrance of foreign flesh.

The nocturnal man
Seeks the midnight touch:
All that is desire
Anointed on my body,
The taste of her skin.

And the dreams
Of men happen in bliss:
The scar of the lover,
The crevices of her body,
The feverish pace of lust.

Everything that is dark
Flows in the shadows:
My light is the night,
The stars a guide,
The death of my desires,
The kiss of the veil upon my lips.

See,
     Unsee,
      Me:

Alone in a crowd
I pass through without circumstance,
    All the people
I talk to in my mind,
    Their eyes
Pass through me,
Outside me,
Aloneness within me;
  I am the circumstance.

Bymyself I am an architecture
Of peoples,
My mind invents crowds,
In the silence there is
        No silence.
I recover my breath
As I held along the faces
And they echo
Like footsteps in the hall.
    My obscurity
Is a whole world to myself,
    I speak
Without being heard,
Still the audience listens.
    I remember myself
In a sea of souls
And I speak to them all
As I reflect,
     A memory's echo
And I can still see them all;

The afternoon stands still,
     A woman walks by with
Autumn's grace
    And the murmurs of her
Silhouette enchant me,
Alone she has become real.
     The man whom played with
His daughter now evokes a music
In my my mind,
   He carries her in the gentle air.

Aloness is not sorrow,
It is a world in reflection.

the wet summer
Crowns the head of a psalm-
    Unlacing it's proverbial season
The sun adjusts it's pilgrimage
    Making the images of the world:

    From green to yellow to orange
In a foliage of wind and water and ice
    The season begins
On the five senses;
What I see is what I feel
And the thoughts begin a momentum,
   Impending dazzlement
In the erosions of trees,
  Sculpting winds
Falling to the untouchable clarity,
    The soul and earth join,
These endless things
   At the cusp of change
With that familiar feeling.

I walk the Westside of San Anto,
The place I buried so many.

And the dead do speak
As they are in my words,
My very poetry.

Some have gone decent,
Others waved their final colors
With a kerchief ,now rest immortal.

So then I go back for them,
But move forward doing so,
To remember where I am
And where they shall never go.

If I am just a lucky guy
Who made it out alive when so
Many could not,
Then I cannot regret because the
Dead have no memory.

But why go back and visit
The desolation, the addicted
Nocturnal, the names who have
No faces?

Because I cannot reject myself,
The pistol I once lived by,
The nature of air and hope that
Escaped all in the ruins.

No, I will always return,
And my heart has not the words.

Now what?
Flowers for the dead and walk
The slab of names to rejoice
In what once was?

No, I come home,
The same as you,
As anyone,
Superfluous as this may be,
The return is necessary
If only to find oneself again.

Dedpoet,
Eulogy given in the third person
In the third degree,

        Burn....

You were ideal and even convenient,
Sweet liar,
A movement unto your stillness.  
     I'll  see you never nowhere
Which is where the whispers echo,
     I am here DedOne....
Feel nothing as I speak no more,
Writ life in actions
Preserving a poem's noun,
     Verbiage of time taking
toll on you,
     You died a thousand times
And your sonnet never bloomed.
      Deep thinker,
Martyr of words,
He'll hath no fury like time
off a cycle,
And  I am here,
    Only God can stop me.

I Am because I choose to be,
Dedpoet alphabetical madman
    Analyser of life in the stillness of your mind,
    The occasional poetical
Token on superfluous spectrums,
You only spoke HELLO....
But poetry was the effect,
I want to live Cause!
And you were space in an
        Stuttering
    On broken moons,
You lived on a paper boats
And had that sinking feeling.

For The Poet,
Words on fire on a slab of jade,
Fool,
The fire was inside you,
Burning the yearn for
The quivering touch of
Her arched back as the fluid moon
Light kissed her curve...
Shone in the darkest sunrise,
      In the dark was always the light,
I am reborn,
R.I.P. Dedpoet,

I drop my penn like the Mic,
Undertones,
And I Live the poem,
Beast of the acrylic void filled
with hunger,
Passion,
Vigor....

Life has just begun.

The profits of words
In the night that becomes us,
We the nocturnal poets,
Divinities of the good nights
When benevolence soars
As the pen avenges the light;
Constellation of the return,
Coming to rip the hope from regret
And all dissolves into a pen,
Inklings that become the umbilical
Cord between now and then,
Present and tomorrow
Are written for the sake of hope,
Because yesterday is usually
A sad poem.

Quarter hour gone, I reinvent myself
Born from the volcanic melancholy,
The fire that burns
In the moments we want
Those moment's time,
Here and now,
Words are the quarter hour's
Fulfillment at the poets
Expense.

All that the sun gives shadows
Sketches with its desires,
The people within the dome,
The thirst it uncovers.

All that the shadows might
Hide in its deft solitudes:
The dying of the light
That burns in elongated spaces,
The cry of life,
The murky depth of regret.

All that the people try to fill
Makes known the hole inside,
The strength of fear,
The aloneness like a blameless
Lamb to daily slaughter.

All I see drives me mad,
The palpable wounds we carry,
The hope in oblivion
That tastes of the sweat of the Earth,
The Earth that devours.

All is a dream,
No, a nightmare vertical,
The wound of the walking days,
The feverish rush to nowhere,
No one cares awaken.

    Everything,
All that is in one's perception,
The acceptance of sleepwalking
Drives me to insomnia,
      Dying with life,
      It sleeps on me
      Like a dead truth.

In the tower of fantastic journeys
Where a half full harmony
Trembles with hope,
There is a poet and dreams:

Come stars of night
Whose light is flame and scorch
But reaches as a twinkle of wishes,
Come dreams of sleepless angels
Whose golden smiles annoy,
Being that perfection into my
Little world where dead eyes
Have seen too much,
Whose hands have callous
Not from pen but mindless toil,
Let me put you to rest in reality
And a poem of my awaiting deliverance.

Poetry,
         Suspended moments between
    My truth and
   The truth lived.
A stillness in motion,
      A path of action like history,
Only the truth is to be it,
To walk it and ressurect it
In the words.
     I am in my body
Knowing myself outside
In a sea of pages.
    My poetry scatters,
The ghosts remain:
      Poetry is a shared fury,
      A shared oblivion,
      My sorrowful song
Hidden deep in my Mother's womb
The unspoken part of my birth,
     Retracing the lineage
Between seeing and believing,
    Writing the constellated persons,
A torrent of memory,
A melody of love,
I close my eyes
     And the words of my blood,
Footsteps of my words,
     My pen covered in a quarter moon
Translucent like a fountain of night,
     Poem that travels through me,
Scatters into the ink,
    Words spoken
Reverberating quietly into eternal
        Whispers.

Once, when forever was merchantmen
And time sold in bottles,
Once, when the nocturnal Almighty
Opened the skies to eyes of stars,
I had wings that existed wholely
Like two sides of an ethereality
With the miracle of an illusionistic existence.
       Wings which sang unto open blue
Skies with all the light of a star,
Wings flashing like a storm lightning
And the caress of the moist rain at my
Feathers, the calm of the night.
     I was an angel right?
Once with glory and rhythm
And all the harmony of ineffably
Clear minded hope, did you not pray
Upon the dazzlingly Divine,
Like mercy in flight over the
Sprawling desolation?

Yes, yes I have taken the fall,
The ravenously singular fall
For the lust of a woman and twisting
The Heavens, but I have awaoken suns,
Flown with meteors and shedding
The brilliance of light in the dark,
Even the fullness of the Cosmos
I have known since before when
I danced with constellations and evoked
The deeper lyrical prayers
Of madmen!

One day,
I will lay upon the exhausted earth,
Fall asleep upon the deep soil,
I will dream infinite things once
Again, and I am still in love with you.

A God visits a city,
An Omnipotent One whom
Walks among the dire,
And a woman passes through.
Suddenly she sees God
And her face falls to the ground,
Her blood runs cold
And she feels death coming to her.

But God was confounded,
In all the scared places
In all the faces of even astonished angels,
And the Holy spirits that stopped
To witness the moment,
God did not bring about
Her final moment.

And God remained silent
Outstretching His arms.

But the quaking woman would not
Raise her face from the dust
Where people trampled
On the concrete day in and day out
In inept and rushing,
Still even more a lone tree
Buried among the concrete jungle
Shook in fear,
And the consecrated moment changed.

God,
Mercurial and fiery,
Compassionate and understanding,
Did not and could accept
The woman's reaction,
God with His arms outstretched
Would reach for every human,
And every human still
Trembled in His presence.
And God left the city,
His amorous presence could
Not inspire the people with
Holy reactions of love and embrace
For their true Father.

And God went unto the Heavens,
Arms outstretched,
Alone and omnipresent.

To separate from youth,

The mind mastered
And a brazen flame forwards
The march

Watching all innocence
Fade, devoured by time
And taking every moment

Watching the son become
The father in a blank slate

While knowing the woman
Under the sun, every day
A work of progress.

So you are a man,
Shackled,
A man that weaves
Together fear and confusion
Beyond what is known skin deep,
A man overblown with
Certain landscapes and familiarity.

What words come out
From your version of Heaven,
From your Heaven to other lands,
The red winds that blow deep
Tickling strings of rhetoric

Listen,
You are what misunderstood
Like a certain star that refuses
To pass light in certain spectra,
Different star,
Wrong star,
Dying star,
And your sky will be taken away
By hypnotic cages
And civilized torture

Speak, speak a confession citizen
When you are found
Guilty and your manhood
Is bled into submission,
     You will see no sunsets,
You will bear a cross never your own

You, man,
Born in the tide of crystalline confusion,
The world is predicted
And the tombs are full of
The innocent by faith

I tell you because I am a man,
And I do not know what kind you are

Problems, they are problems,
Is it you who blow up the constellations?
You dance on the heels of Jihad,
Do you not?
Are you not guilty by faith?
Now that the angels cry,
Tossed into the fray of which God
Is holier,
Tell me, is this fair,
Fair the torment,
Fair the fear,
Fair the justice of manipulation?

Answer me, answer me
Man of faith,
Because I too am confused,
I am bound by love of country,
Yet tormented by ethics and morals,
****** this humanity!

Now, now I must know,
I am splintered into many people,
However I am also your friend,
The day burns with rhetoric,
I do not know you man,
I cannot seem to help you,
Much less help my understanding
And soon,
Soon I am called unpatriotic,
They shall call me traitor,
Because I wish to understand.

All I say,
All I know,
Tell me,
Why have they caged you?
Say nothing,
I can't believe you,
Say everything,
I doubt every breath.

And now I speak as a man,
I speak to you,
I am a poet,
And to write humanity is my curse,
No allusions,
No metaphorical terms,
You Muslim,
You Man,
I do not understand:
    
          On the moon God watches
          On the wind the angels cry,
          And men do not speak,
          They cannot understand.

I slow to a yellow crawl,
I watch the meadows filled
With bloodstained roses,
Beneath crystalline eyelids
I see the fire burns in all directions.

I rush a rush to nowhere,
Everywhere standing still.
I yearn to claw the sky black,
I speak in a the archaic language,
The sorrow understands.

I come forth by action
And spew tattered verses,
I sleep in the blood of dreams
And awaken in secular ******,
Alone with everyone.

The curtain closes on my being,
Neither here or there,
My steps like an echo
Chasing my future steps;
Only the words to me are real.

In my youth I remember my face.
               Today
As I have lived and breathed
        And died inside many times
And live again in this lifetime;
     I see faces in a mist,
The man in the mirror
          Has no face.

At every turn
Is the voice's spread hand,
Almost like the echoes stream
In the passionate resonance.

  Let it go.

And yesterday is loud in the silence
In the invisible pain,
Edge of nowhere
And tomorrow.

  Walking backwards
To the abyss of yesterdays,
The spirit flickers
And begins a dissolution of faces.....

   Only the voice remains
And a haunting of regret.

And it begins at the end,
The finality of the body
In a stir of echoes.

The whole of the world
Curled into the womb
Of the woman I adore.

I see her in the mist
Weighted by words
Never spoken.

I guess everything
Becomes a haunting
When the moment is failed
With deep intention.

And my voice
Becomes a scream
Vowing to make up for
Lost things.

But one cannot go back.

In the fullness of the prime,
When passion beckons
And emotion is erupting

I tear away from myself
And scream to me
To speak the words.

Deep and intenful,
A murmur in the shadow,
The compassionate memory
Never said.

Uncertain, frail, timid
Times in the state of me,
It seems life sends no invitations
For the proper timing.

My love, my lover,
Uncomplicated as two,
I simply never spoke,
Those words

One final thing
Chasing her mist,
The unspoken "I love you"
Failing the moment.

There is no time
As you time passes through
Eye's perpetual needle
And a basic understanding,
      There are no seasons
That resonate forms and certain
Needs,
   There is not enough time
For anger and happinesses,
Only that it remains equal
In the chaos of a a hurried
Mind,
   A flutter into tornadic
Expressions,
A desire into a yearning fire,
Indirectly the season gives
A feel,
The cold winter she walked
Into the wind and her hair did
Not move, time does not beat
There, but arches into
A future,
    That summer the sweat
Off your brow bought the car
Of a dream in a dream,
   Carefully time snuck by
And perfected a moment's
Theory,
    A man needs both time and
Stillness to recognise that
All is fleeting,
And the only thing real
Is the mist,
In the mist
A temporal moan.

And when I spoke her freely
My words,
The cage became a bird.
And my heart a frenzy because
It longed for death and
Now howls at her life.
      She smiles at the reflection
Of my words,
What shall I speak to her now?
And the light dances in her smile,
Her seasons burn lilies into
My ideas,
******* my hands
That were gone without hope,
She brings a poet from death.

She punishes the darkness
And all the monsters that ****
Away the blood of life.

In the hour of her fullness
Condensing on my lower lip,
I breathe life into words,
Though it was her name that
Condemned my sorrows to the gallows.

And I am young again,
My eyes speak,
My mouth listens,
And all my life has come to now.
The end is a rebirth
And I fled the dark side of night,
The worn out lonely poet
Has come one more into the light
And for her,
Because it was inevitably her,
It is not too late.

I remember my sorrows
When I destroyed flowers,
The flowers withered in my hand
Because the joy still lingered
In them.

But she has devoured my chaos,
Caged my fears
And loosened the words.

And though I was lost in the abyss,
Surrounded by a prison of regret,
She loosed me from that place,
And the cage became a bird.

Today I sit with my coffee
And I like life right now,
      I can feel it.
I almost touched my own soul
When the brew came out to perfection,
      And my tongue did not burn.

Today I sit at my table in deep contemplation
  And in these momentary boxers
I sit as I gulp down life's immensity,
So much and so little!
I buried myself in this moment,
And in this moment I have become
Everything and a sip.

     I write the infinity of a cup,
After all it is great coffee,
With my beloved own pen
And paper stating that a poem is born,
And repeating this gesture,
I take another sip,
The poem writes itself,
Always and never!

I'd like to immortalise this cup,
And the millennium will march,
This organism's had enough,
     Anxiety kicks in,
So much life in a cup!

I imagine that I long
For her touches,
I miss the smell of her hair.
I'm lonely without her.

My friends tell me it will
Be ok,
And I try to surround myself
With their support,
But sometimes I just want to be
Alone.

I suppose I'm lonely because I
Miss some one that I love.
  I guess I'm only alone
When I choose to be.

I'd rather be lonely than alone.

Perhaps with cleft eyes
He grasped the form of woman;
    To what region of being
Did He want to tempt the Saints?
And men tripping over themselves
Until the sky plunges beyond her skyline
Chasing horizons like waken dreams
      Conjuring the vanishing moment
He entwined himself in the essense
Of Her,
Of She,
Of Woman!
(I write knowing I too am fool
For the taste of her wine)
Welcome to the vineyard of slaughtered vine,
Trampled grapes,
Vessels of drunken madness!

     Imagery of her transparency,
     The energetic torture of her touch,
     The burning flame with lustrous embers,
Soft harmony of her fingers
As she flows onto my body
Like some supreme sculptor,
Blossom me with your masterful touch,
Woman, created by God
To accept a blood stained lover!
Lost man to lost girl
In tunnels of obsidian,
The bonsage of our love,
Woman, ancient name of desire,
Abstracted spectre of your body
Sets men to explode like a sun!

Such a wondrously created being
Set before the eyes of barbaric confusion.

The victims muzzled,
The barking never humms
And Where the wild things are
Is another home.
Speak forward and see that its all
The same from future pasts,
In a greivamce i filed
The return was:
Null and void because it is so
And i accept the lower end
Diction given by my universe
Which in my mind is crazy,
Thus i am crazy to them.
Privileged is not
Being rich but plagueing
The right to have rights,
Monopoply of the most torn.
Rip the flag of your eyes,
The red white and blue
Is still my home and i suffer
Greatly, because my suffering
Is better than most places
Where suffering is a slow mourn of life.

My Mother was killed, along with
A cousin, many friends like brothers.
Twisters of death's erosion
Scooped me up and led me on
The path of vengeful living.
I had to make something from all the
Death, a pile of flesh staring out
At the quarter moon, so
Unknown that many
took me as orphaned.
     Yes, me, Dedpoet, bearer of words
     Once was lost in the fire's reign.
     I would walk in the rain catching
     My mother's tears for her lost child,
    Hoping to catch the light and be
     Taken into skies hopeful greys.
I became a rock that heads were
Decapitated upon, the house of regret
Stirring the animal inside to prey
Upon that which preyed on me.
Deep inside wept a little boy poet:

      Fallen in the abyss,
      Mother's golden light,
      So far into the unreachable sky...

I was told that if I didn't straighten out
I would be in a cage with no words,
But the words welled from deep springs
Of pain that could be written on
A window using the vapor on my breath.
I danced the pale moonlit nocturnal,
I breathed the night, the point of a gun
With indecisive fingers.
I was thruster into my own war,
Living already in a warzone,
I was the the living shadow of
A Nightingale bathing under darkened
Splendors of city lights and barely there stars.
In the day, the gardens of vengeance
Were planted with fresh seeds,
I was the bloodlust of the West.
The sunlight bathed my heated words,
All the while I fell in deep love,
A collision of an unstoppable desire
With an immovable lust, we engraved
The names of lovers with a scorching pen,
A hopeful poet came alive and the words
Beckoned the Heavens attention....
  
         Little boy, little boy,
         Close your eyes
         Upon the thorns,
         Life never stops piercing.

The days became a hopeful cloud,
The nights were countless,
Splintered into a thousand moons,
The words of vengeful allusions
Fought alongside the love for Her.
Lucky the Raven, nevermore,
I still must be here to remember,
Lucky the dog whom bit his owner,
Homeless now but free!
Lucky the life that dies young,
Never to look back,
Like water at the foot of the mountain,
Here the river begins.

     I am alone, the years fall like grains
     In the hourglass, I have shed many skins,
    I see the losses and the dead fallen
     From uncertain graces,
     What had vengeance reaped?
     I wait for you all in the other side,
     The words I leave will take you there,
     The last place of the little boy,
     He will real the stars and bathe in the
     Sun with a Mother he lost so long ago.
     He will kiss his lover and the twister
     Grows calm, the love will cure the deepest
     Affliction, he will die in her embrace,
     Born again in her kiss, he leaves the gun
     At the foot of the Word, and the words
    Gush from his body from a nocturnal sorrow,
    And immortalised pain will reign here,
    The cycle of life is an embrace of tears,
     Love the enscription on every one shed.

Upon my tombstone
Is the covenant of poetry,
The escape like water
between the fingers,
The distance between
Now and then is but a pen stroke.

What is your reality really?
Is it the clarity of familiar things,
A toast to the success of monetary
Accomplishments that weigh
Just as much as the opinions
Put into them?
   What makes a rich man so rich?
Possession or the value one or all
Put into said possession?
   Is a billion dollars more valuable to
One person than the love one has
For their child? Or is it possible that
We have been taught to value money
As survival in a chasing of the tail?
   I was was told that is just the world
We live in, that that's just the way
Things are, yet the very fundamental
Being of humanity is to change,
The struggle for it and the ability
To do so.
    Yet here we are, chasing tails
So to speak, and the very concept
Of " living a better life" has become
The mantra for the struggle.
   The struggle is within ourselves,
The fact that we are living as a species
On a doomed path, regardless of belief
Or faith, that the end is inevitable,
That we must live a life together
Yet the very success one has
Is set up to be solitary,
It has no bearing on thy neighbor
Because one gathers success towards
Themselves and their circles.
  Is this a preaching?
No, it is the truth we live in,
That we see, that we cannot change.
Why can't we change our selves,
Our greed, our hunger, our animalistic
Nature that has only become sophisticated
In brutality and not shed like history?
   Because we need struggle.
The truth is the suffering in which
We live everyday is delivered by ourselves.
   We have accepted the experience,
That " higher" learning is the route,
And we chase tails.
   What is real then?
Well, that is your perception,
That which your heart tells you is real,
Your reality as a poet takes you
Outside of yourself,
   That lets you see the sad truth of our
Species, and yes, our doomed nature.
   Live die repeat.
Is this a sad rant of a depressed insomniac
With too much time on bis hands?
Yes.
Does it make it any less true?
No....
Why state this if I'm not doing anything
About it.
If you have read this in its entirety
Then I have.
Wake up,
Your world is what you make it,
Not how you take it,
Live free of circles.

My touch discovers your
Body
I rain embers of desire:

The light over the portico
Elongated morning
     Your lips kiss the horizon
Inauguration of morning
       Your hair is a foliage
Tracing destinations
       The bed is a cloud under
The exploding sun
  I am in a daze
Perfect spirals

    The day ends with your awakening
Nothing can follow
    My eyes drowning in the
Rivers of your nakedness
    Time pauses
In the eternal moment
   Between the caressing
Improbable reverberation
    Your smile tears
Away shadows and reasons
    I swing on the light in your eyes
And leap with no fear
   At the precipice of the day
Cliffhanging the morning

In the immortal present
clouds making quarter suns,
The sky makes blue solitudes
Petrified by precipitous eyes....

     Diaphanous drops
Under phosphorus moon
Loading the eyes with munitions
Filling night skies with glass shards....

    Eyes perceive
Light distributes shadow
Glimmering with ****** views
    Understanding what one sees....

Aligned night begat day
Begat night....

Between the horizons
The imprisoned night,
Fallen from the grace
Of the solitary star.

Over mountain tops
With a bridal cap,
All is transparent
In the Light.

The sun moves
The living Waters
Under glittering gushes
And a sparkle as it rests.

The naked light
In mother of pearl
Glazing the morning mist
In a feast of reflection.

Like a lovers reunion,
The eyes kiss all that
Is lit as sky falls
Under shade.

The living star
In a fugitive passion
Brightens the forms,
The sun sees no light.