This tells me I'm running
Out of titles,
The air is coming
From the north and stirring the trees.
So now you know the weather.
And well the title tells the time,
So this is the end of this
Poem, and now sports.....

I awaken to primitive forces,
My hand at her hip,
Like two flawed crystals
With eager flashes
With no grace in morning ***.

The longings drained,
And a hangover settles over noon.

The most uncomfortable peculiarities
Sit in like an unwanted listener,
Like a vagrant flower she eats
Whatever I threw on the table.

And I never knew my ex this well,
Still at least I knew her last name.

Inflated situation with irony
And absurdities between adults
Who for all adulthood are acting
Like nervous teens,
There's to be no encore ***.

"I'll call you"

Was that a question?
I wonder,
I close my door like the saddest clown.

And they walk a storm,
Mind's thunder and lightning,
Held down to the soil
Keeping themselves from heightening.

As though sorrow gives off
A fragrance,
They wonder alone in the masses
Like hollowed vagrants.

The morbid crusade that
Wears the grace of pain,
The crule caverns of life
With a black rose's stain.

The glacial pace of thoughts
With so little time,
Weary and tired
On the abyss they do dine.

....and in your gigantic presence
With your miniscule body
You are the mirror
Of the deepest stars
Past the spaces between
Spaces,
Into the mist
Your red tailed gaze
Into the echoes
Of Babylon's Gardens,
A grace in a dance
Of your broken life,

The glutton behind the father
Who took you,
The tumultuous perfume
Left with scars behind the drapes
The neighbors couldn't hear,

The sadness in your soul
Inside the woman who
Loves me,
Slender hopes under the lines
Of the dream's eyes,
Your ears never caught
The exhausted bitterness
That only heard an immense
Change in the future,

I am here woman,
As you bite your silver lips,
Arc your metallic spine,
And the bronze shine in your
Otherwise copper hair,
I become a Magnetar
In the metallics of your body,
Mighty embraces will kiss
The crystalline eyes
With lips on fire
And singing redemption's lullaby,

Together killing your past,
Your hands hold distant visions
That bloom living roses,
Who tears are of lost lilies
In an ebony pond,
A fertile present
Gives birth the momentous,
No one can change your past,
But you're a basacrifice
Void of alcoholic bliss,
The grapes before
Now dead forever
Is a sober feeling.

Magnolia of mine,
Like a flowerbed of omnipotent
Desires,
You bloom the ***
With a martyrs sacrifice,
Your hopeless days are gone
And  I am grateful for
The circles under your eyes,
The vain of your existed
Pains,
Your heart transfixed by the
Newness of our love,
Though you still look at the old
Curtains,
The confused and turbid tumult
That bore it's hole
Into your ways,
I have come when you began
To love again the life
Over a darkness under the
Nights skin,
Tearing away the darkness,
A dawn song has spread
Over the horizon,
And your light is a melancholy
Of stars,
From your eyes grow
An ocean of time,
And here we float with hope
I can only Revere
That all the worst
Life gave to you,
A fleece of golden grace

And I can only be thankful
As your sorrow
Has birthed a certain kind
Of grace with the
Pieces left intact.

Take aim and fire,
The predjudice reminds me
Of decades past long since
Buried,
I remember that crime dealt with
And repetitious grievances
Arise with postulated gratitude
As if brand new,
The sanity lies thin in erroneous
Generosity of reporting,
Give me a latitude
Elongated and a new world
Arises in the same ole
Problem,
Here in lies the code of insanity
Dressed in indifference,
Lost in ignorance,
Disguised as news
Repeating the same mistakes,
Conflicting interest and a life
Is a terrible waste
In the elitist game of revision.

Policeman:
You, hands above your head,
Turn around, no sudden movements.

Black man:
Officer I......

Policeman:

Shutup, on your knees, hands behind,
Your head!

Blackman: Sir I....

Policeman:

   Shut the **** up! (Taser pointed)
-Handcuffs the black man -

Policeman:
Now, what did you want to say sir?

I move from the shadows
    To your intrinsic body:

My touch
     Dissolving
         Like the horizon,
The radiant pulses throughout
     Like scattered embers
Under celestial forests,
     Light and dark dance
Like a hymn of the solstice;
    Touch,
Naked light,
     Bodies of elliptical passion;
The light in your eyes
Makes the love we make real.

The day advances,
Goes round and retreats
Arriving infinitely:

     The calm of a poet does
Not exist,
The words appear with urgency
Behind a chaos of thoughts
Flowing like water,
Spilling the prophecy of no one.
      The journey is the density
Of humanity whose misery
Shines with brilliance like
A moon full of itself,
   They go appearing and disappearing
Like happiness under shadow,
They make no presence except
Being in the moment,
Even now there is a drunk
Homeless man singing under
Shade of life's tree;

Life's tree which branches
To find the light in the darkness,
Which spews seeds of hope
Filling the abyss,
The same skies which petrify
The man in the repetitions of
Days , the days of sorrow,
The days of light, the days
Of moments, under the same sun.

I journey through the minds
In galleries of people that resonate
Understanding, words that heal,
Words that begin and words
Making all transparent,
We have become mirrors that falter
Within the self ,dissolving dreams.

I go within my eyes,
Eyes that remember a river
Of bodies that flowed into a
Lake of my touch, passionate waters
Celebrated in a mystery of lust,
The looks of your eyes reflect
All that is real, you are a memory
Distinguished like cherries,
Red like a falling sun,
You are the edict of magical
Thoughts on the Autumnal night
We wore the colors of our desires;

I tear myself apart
To make naked thoughts come to
Life, among all the waters,
Among all the fires, like a bird
With wings of fire burning
The air I breathe, I conquest my
Dreams, fulfilled by words;

The words fateful and careful,
A harvest of pain,
A field of sorrow,
All that makes sense,
I go upon them as if
Leaving my body to the moon
Imagining better, better, better,
The words shower like rain
And the liquid runs deep into
The thirst, being born, they make
All that was, they make all that
Hopes to be and fills the skies
With wishful stars shedding life
Upon itself.

I come face to face with myself,
Poet whose passion is deeper
Than his talent, whose words echo
Like repetitions of poets past,
They are all i have, all i need ,
I write alone, no one is here,
The day ends, the light ends:

The night advances
Goes round and retreats
Arriving infinitely.

In the carnival of the Barrio
The moment's invent themselves,
Another world apart from
The lunatic normalcy,
       Confederation of fire,
The nomadic nocturne spiraling
Into the darkness,
    A magnetosphere of addiction,
A high voltage need
That crawls on the very skin.
            
        People in a drama:
A woman limps bursting
Into the eyes of the unseeing,
A hand for a hand,
The emotions stir inside,
Coins fall into her,
       Clusters of emotions,
Spinning webs that scatter
The hearts,
She skips off into the cityscape.

I see a people in a tunnel vision,
Perhaps I am part of them,
I speak as I watch the addicted;
       A forest of needles
       In the arms that reach,
A man whose youth is alive
In the body that's seems so old,
     The endless hand that reaches,
Falling without falling,
The night insisting on his existence,
Hands full, he runs to deal with
Himself.

The desolation of the addicted,
A couple holding hands
Walking the street,
He lets her go into the sky
And she is picked up
By a raining comet,
He waits for her return,
Money in hand,
To the nocturnal lament
They become as they pass through
The eye of a needle.

The streets were once rivers,
The houses were once gold,
But the night takes the shimmering
And turns it away from
The additicted nocturnal.

Take note the proper
Posture of denial,
Where all things end in laughter,
And I get the joke.

Because we are not where
We once were and can break
A mold,
When a poet goes into action
And becomes his words the
World will not allow it.
The audacity of the poetic
Gesture turning into a romantic
Reality,

******* world,
I break the mold of your mud,
Fake your way out of this;
I win because you tried to stop me.
Swallow the bitter pill,
Rabbit holes go only so deep,
My poem is an eternal univetse
My life in a blink has become a stanza
Lasting longer than the world and
Its game of nothing.

Death may come,
But i live on in defiance,
I never failed myself
And my actions became a poem,
******* world,
Im living a poetic gesture
And raise my *******
On victory.

Who I was
Is not who I am,

     Quarter Moon
Beams of Where's
My Daddy tears hit
And the lonely nights
Have taken toll on me.

Where are you now
Little GIRLS?
I want to see you,
I need you,
I'm better now.

It's ok Daddy,
Echoes of the crescent
Regret arc over my soul,
And the hint of seeing
You again drives me to think
You still remember me,
You still love me,
I regret everything.

Just because I'm your father
Does not make me a good one.

With the light down
From the daily round,
And eyes closed to see
Within the soul,

Your image luminous
Me,
           The dawn of you
Is enormous,
       The flower
Inside the nocturne,
     I am blinded
By your light,
      Feeding your flower

Darkly in a dance under shadows.....

How long I have been in the dark....

A fate less holy,
A mission undefined,
Heart that cries,
Tears that bleed,
The abysmally charged traveller
That I have become walking
Until tendons fade away,
So my knees have scraped
The fugitive hope of the ravine.

        The space of loneliness
        Between these shoulders
        And the tunnelling that
        Devours the necessity to seek
        Out a hope,
        Something to fight for.

Saving grace within the dark,
Because dark is not dark
Without the light to show
Its depths,
its attachments to the misery,
This Earth, home of humanity
Trampled by the inner search,
The strength of hope is the light
Of the world.

Oh but the ravine does not falter,
Its crescent flow like a carving
Knife to cut away any luminous
Idea, the idea that cannot die,
And we are all formed in the light
As we leap into the abyss
In a battle for the sanctum of the soul.

     Where is the philosophy?
     The ideal that love can conquer
     Love, faith of the child
     In the blind advent?
     From the origins of water,
     Many drown in the depressing
     Motion of the blind lights that
     Surround them.

Hope is not sterile,
The idea cannot die,
Familiar to the dark,
Because we overcome,
The obliterated redemption
Is but the whole of the world
Saying you cannot.
Confronting the sea as a rock
To the crashing waves,
Bewildered by marches on the darkness,
Battered and bruised,
At the edge of death,
Purpose is here as we open the light
And reveal the eyes we always had.

     Deep, deep into the dark,
     We have been thrown as swift
     Grenades of light, the explosion sudden,
      The sight revealingly hopeful.

And God is watching the children
He made from dust to confront
Ourselves in a battle of reflection,
Every mirror needs the light
To see the truth of themselves,
Here the nocturnal night
Fights for every soul,
Dancing at the depression,
The sadness of menacingly
Prideful elitism.

    Sweat, these deep meanings,
    Who wants to think on them?
    Ignorance, blissful warrior
     Of the dark,
      Death to the fire inside
      That fashions the sleep or hope,
      The individual loses that which makes
     Them, and here in lies the ravine
     And its war.

Outcast, fighter of the dark,
Depressed warrior,
there is a form of light
In the confusing shadows,
Away from that voicelessness
That does speak,
Shed the ancestral burden,
Leaping from one horror
To the next horror,
Reveal that which is hope,
When you from before when God
Molded you as a form of light,
And though you may think
That you are just a flash,
Remember that every star twinkled
Its light before the last gasp.

Come out and reveal
The fire that yearns,
Feed the hope as a fire
That swells, a fire that burns.
You are the instruments of new
Beginnings, that which
Was rejected, that which was cast
Away like falling winds,
Winds that bkew you to another day,
We pass daily from the darkness,
As if from sleep,
We battle now in the void.

And though we are small
In the vast darkness,
We shine as cosmically gifted
Luminaries, shining as
Fragments in the night,
Eternal hope, a form of light.

A silence of the tears
Made in the resolve
Of the inner sanctum
In a warm embrace of all
That was and is no more.

Take it to the sky
And limit the pain
With a full hope and empty
The cries that never let out
In a thunderous peace
That can take all the
Hurt an pain
And joy and love
Wrapped into the grace of the
Encountered moment.

The storm which rages
And takes on life as a feeling
Or a thought;
A surge of energy
That keeps in the synergy
Of a non perfect existence;

Rage on life which isn't a feeling
But an existence
How to see fit to
Cloud over the land of your mind.

I belong to no one,
Slave to the moment
And my spirit is a devastation
Of freedom,
Keeper of the lost nocturnal,
I dwell within the despair
Of a melancholic grace,
The beauty of a depressed
Soul can measure beauty
With a grateful clarity.

Take me away from this ignorance
And show me the truth;
**** the words of nothing
And show me a humble poetry,
Be that I am lucky for this
Life,
I know there is more than
The conscious dreams,
A place without ironical
Pressures
And no socialistic grading,
I will never be a man,
And I am thankful for that.

Drink the blood of this ink,
Die to the lies
And become alone,
There u will find me
And all the others
Whose death was the beginning.

To die of life
Is to be reborn.

Bridle of desires,
Wing above the storms,
He that steadies the Current,
Lord of my life
Gather me unto You
That these words may be holy
And worthy to praise thee,
Christ, God of my life.
King of Kings
With Your perfection in wisdom
Who rejoices in the little children,
He that is the Word,
Heavenly Shepard
That forms the stars and the skies
With a gesture
Saving those from
The darkness that looms,
Guide me into the Life
As I follow the immortal light,
Merciful One,
Jesus Christ
Distiller of men
Allow me to praise you
Son of God,
Savior of my life.

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.

Everyone has an answer,
But there are too many questions.
Not to be deluded by hope,
But inspired by it.
To know that we are not alone
But by choice,
Which in of itself is the greatest gift/curse
We have all endured.
And the lesser of two evils
Is still wicked,
But the integrity of man is murky
Without witnesses.
And we are the dream inside the reality,
      We sever the humanity
Because a person is not dangerous,
      People are.

It is an ugly thing to think
That we cannot deliver ourselves
From our own ghosts that
Sing the same song.
      But the true atrocities
Are that love in this universe
Is not necessarily a universal thing.
So I say reflect the beauty around you,
The moment's truth and that is real,
That which loves you in return,
The child in their purest joy,
That which is close,
All the littlest things.
And that is a dream realised,
Love that,

Or drown in the gallows of man's
Darkened life.

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....

Everyday people,
Everyday faces,
Everyday the same.

The sad ones,
The lonely ones,
The few moments in between.

All of the repetition
Speaking in repetitive
Statement one heard before.

And to have to be alive
Knowing that there all there
Is to life is is to live!

I pace myself in search of a moment:

I seek the day as a man,
The sun at 5p.m. with ripened
Sweat,
A cold beer with hard hat at my side,
A few words with a co worker
As though brothers in arms,
The sweet smell of dinner
In a place called home,
The run of my children toward
Me as though a hero, daily.
The kiss of my wife as she fought her
Own battle,
And the evening when I realise
The moments are not moments,
But a momentum;

I savor the journey.

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.

All along the rain road,
Stopped, like a solitude ray
Escaping the glooms grasp,
Along the ways aglow,
Evening,
Perhaps morning,
Mixed waters in the midst
Of a formless cloud,
      Colored grey or under
The brightest light,

A wandering mind
Never at its now,
     Only then can he be,
Occupancy time
And bellowed grief through
   Mists of thought,
And luminous it may,
How stars see city's night,
    His cloud follows into
The sun,

All along rain road
Slithered in presence,
A wet summer heat
Forms in the cab still,
      Rolling in a flutters drop...

And it is a war of Worlds of worlds,
My mind versus you.
In the flow of the river
I began as a drop
Filtered at the edge of the moutain
Becoming what a perfect intention
Usually flowers into.
At the precious moment
I left an eternity of thought.
And all i see has passed me by
When the present was gifted
And abnormaly
Absent from minds eye.

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 am 37:
Writing a poem I wonder of the words
And an echo forms into my very fabric,
I sit in my chair and the pen begins;

I am 12 years old
And mother is dying in front me breathing
Her last breaths as a bullet takes her from me,
I see the quarter moon and pray for mercy;

The quarter moon stands in a night
Filled with wonder and
I am 32 years old when I find out my
Daughters exist, all that came before
Comes together in the moment I find
Out they are mine;

And the moment is an algorithm
Of change that never really changes,
I am 15 years old and she looks deeply
Into my soul and tells me she is ready,
I enter her,
The time is phosphorescent;

In the afterglow
I am 47 and I have not yet begun
To live, but my days are ending
Because I could not control my urges
And the alcohol eats my liver as my daughters
Cry for their father;

My daughters cry for their father
Reaching out to me,
And I am 34 years old when I see
That this is something to cherish and
I immerse myself into the moment
And all things seem to stand still,
Timelessness, yet it all must pass
To become forever;

I am 37 years old,
All stands still.....
The years passing away.

In the birdhouse I built,
The youngling flies off for the first time
Looking back

With hope for you
       I whispered your name

I wanted nothing more than the world for you,
So much,
I invented new ones.

     We made moons at the cliff
In a word of spoken poetry.

   The rivers split
And we became found.
  
     I caught all the petals in the wind
To recreate a flower.

      I taught you how to fly,
And you became a bird.

    I'm just an old fool
           Who pieces together
                  The broken heart.

The sun has stopped at midnight,
Its sky caught in a tapestry of stars
And there are certain shadows
I recognize.

I am hidden with the secrets of my desires,
Alone with the guilt of my soul,
The lost wings of the Fallen
As I wear a burden around my neck,
The fountains can never quench
The darkness,
The tears are a storm inside me,
Because I have fallen from the highest
Peak into the lowest abyss.

My dreams are hidden here,
The colors lost to me from the
Stilled light,
Behind a sea of failures
I leave the sky behind me,
I surface at a destiny sealed by the past,
Like the ignorant bliss of oblivion.

And I weep at the boredom of it all.

I want to be alone,
And someone to be alone with,

Crowding eachother
In an Empty heart,

Dark stars entwined
In a melodious nothing,

Taking in the sorrow,
Lovers with melancholic grace.

It all works....
    The way is should.

Whipping the day
Like lashings to the body,
Exclusive to where
You found yourself alone
In the prison of the mind,

It all works.....
    The way it should.

Tell me where you found
Yourself,
Away from me and the vivid
Yolk of slavers rejoices,
Don't tell me what I already know...deeper thoughts
Reside...

It all work.....
I suppose....
The way it should,

   Tell me where the problem
Surrenders to the solution
At the end of the barrel
    Take from me the side arm
And I will reload my mind
Trap the soul and win
Your body at the cost
Of time's reflection,

I suppose,
It all works.....
The way it could,

But where is the just
When I just got here
To my trial, tale
Of two thieves,
And I am locked away from
A grim reality,
Perception at its most gruesome,
Where we all never were,
This is normal,

It supposed to work,
The way it could,

Mentally programmed
To a bitter state of mind.

America, I cannot close my eyes
Nor sheathe my skin color-
Which is that of which she was
Built upon-
Which was that where my ancestors
Were left under supremacists.

Look out and see the restless
Peoples rising with tides
Flourishing under nothing's banner,
How the planet has shrunken
Destroying proud origins
And lamenting the absence
Of patriotic diversity.

America I cannot look
Out in the wilderness of words
That cross this poet daily
And not fathom a poem that
Crosses borders and enigmatic
Skin tones, that water breaks
Itself upon the stone,
Yet blood would stain its surface,
Yes the sacrifice of fools.

I cannot close my eyes
Nor change my skin,
Here in the land of dreams
And the spinster's lamenting
Polishing blue and red tears.

America, much angst is flowing
From open wounds from yesterday
And tomorrow that comes crashing
At the precipice of dawn's early light.

I hear your pain America,
I watch with a selfish pride
At the pain we share,
The differences that unite us,
The words that explode in freedom,
Your stars are not lost
Upon the impenetrable sky.

In your depths you are one,
In the bitter difference of eachother
Filled with children and uncertainties,
We shall not fall gently.....

America, I cannot close my eyes,
I see the beauty of our nation,
America I cannot change my skin,
Nor would I care to.

America, beautiful mutilated rose,
I am convicted as a patriotic
Fool,
America I cannot close my eyes....

America, I will not.

I wonder often which side
Of the coin I am on,
The magnificent irony of God
For giving me words;

I am the lightless eyes that see
From the dark what is leftover
From a library of dreams that
Seem dimly lit longing to be.....

Each stanza I vainly write,
Or are they written already,
Insensible scribblings wondering
If I am the poem or the poet,

A book of sonnet infinite,
Inaccessible rhymed schemes
Prewrit as the lost manuscripts
Of Alexandria lost to fire,

I live among the metaphorical,
Gardens of verbs and fountains
Of nouns, the blind word speaks
All that is seen.

Librarian of my days,
The the form is free I believe,
The cosmic universe in which
I write call to me in words,

Who am I?
The poem or the poet,
The twilight of my days have
Come to wonder what's real,

The delectable world I watch,
The words feed into me,
I realise I am a poet
Living inside the poem.

Here we dilute ourselves into many
Things to stop our world
In the middle of its course:

Your skies are caught in dreams,
You bloom only flowers you recognize.
It hides the truth between
Your ears,
It hides the selfishness of your poetry,
The sighs of life in your grey solitude,
Your tongues are thirsting for something,
And you have become a pop cultural
Verse of repetition,
And the world will catch you
From behind your skies,
You can no longer hide in your abyss.
  
   And to state what I mean unpoetical,
   I see the hate rising in a tide,
   The world I know ignored in this forum
   Of intelligence, hate gaining tide.
   Of people ignoring the bigger picture,
   Where are you?
   I see nothing of the tsunami that
   Has overtaken the country here
   In this place where poetry and political
   Topics mesh more than you know,
   This is your voice,
   I implore you to change your flow.
   We live beneath this destiny,
    Beautiful Earth,
    But if we stop our words,
    Are our words even of worth?

When they saw the first womb
Swooping to all that God had
Breathed into the Earth;
Even the angels fell
Cutting their Heavenly umbilical cord
Drifting alone and finding mortality
In an echo of the first sorrows.
    Even the angels fell
And flew among the wild Dahlia
Devastated at the temporary beauty
Of it all losing wings
And even hope with the impatience
Of a moth to life's flames;
   A final coup de Grace
With a blessed suffering of crimson
Wounds and crystalline years;
  
    Even the angels fell
And we are but men falling
Like vermilion embers in a solar
Flare of time,
Even then the angels knew
That men were wounded stars
That glimmer with such HOPE
And fade into God's eternal memory.

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.

A room, a bed, a closet,
A familiar setting,
A window and a storm.
The night without stars
And a thunderclap of wonder.
There are many people like
This, all around me who get
To know the storm.
The sunrise, the mist,
The birds at song under
Wet trees, lukewarm morning.
Here there is a woman alone
With no man, many like me.
And all that is and was
Or will be wants what the heart wants,
Love.
The night comes again,
A room and shadows long and
Madly the same.
I swell with a thought of a woman,
My dream comes to me awake,
I am alone but she accompanied
Me through many lonesome nights
Even in my imagined reality.
We had loved and made
Love many times now,
I don't know her name
But I know every curve of her face,
Her transparent slip....
The rolling curve of her thighs,
And while so close seems
So very far away.
I see her ****** in the shadow,
I long for her body,
No I long for her soul with me.
I love her more than I know,
But I don't know her,
Her wings clipped like some
Fallen angel,
Her flesh deeper than the touch,
This is more real to me than
Anything else I know.

Tonight, in a room, in an insanely
Familiar room I stand alone with her
In my thoughts,
I sweet song arises in my head,
We dance in the pale moonlight
And then I was interrupted by
A passing car,
And I knew the car was real.
Illuminating from my mind
I return to the last dance,
Forever the first.

I write her into reality,
Every lonesome verse filled
With an unknown woman,
She that I love deeper than
Any abyss,
She carries my soul away from
The room, the closet,
The familiar night.

As one listens to the rain,
Every droplet memorized
Among the curvature of your
Earthen face,
In a silhouetted distraction
Your dress falls to the floor...

All is still,
The night arrives in your eyes,
You found me in the mist,
The mist that is a lifetime
And one night an eternity,
The murmur of birth,
The death that is the moment passing,
Inward the rain falls,

Weightless in the heavy
Earth we make our indentations
On a universally illuminating
Time,
We speak with no words,
So beautiful God unfolds and looks,
The pain of the momentary eternal,
Passing,
And then the rain.

Silent flattery's kiss,
Womb of lumens,
    A touch of images
Thighs of dark stars...
   Silver moon in a quarter dance,
Splice of lifetimes,
   Back arches in the luminous
Glow,
Nebulous hair,
Forest of galaxies
   In a game of light
Backdrops like Aztec hair,
Fluorescent serendipity,
   The words choked
From the thousand times
We live and feed
   Upon Andromeda's blink,
Surely to be alive
    Is to die reborn among
The dreamscape of her arms.

I have three words in my throat,
One that I cannot set free,
Though its passionate suffering
Devours my spirit,
If I say it it would flame
The untamed hearts,
Fell the spirits,
But it stands at the tip
Of my tongue.
This is why I am unworthy,
Each maddening breath I cannot
Say it,
Until I see the Man,
His blood coursing out of His body,
The spit at His feet,
The hate at thrown at His Spirit,
Until I swallow the hurt,
Until I tear and let it all go,
This is who I am,
This is my faith,
I must recognize the Truth,
Thankyou Christ!!
I fall to my knees as I let
The faith resurgent in me,
I know that I know,
And so bled the Lamb.

She is the last of her
Frailty, that shadow
Of girl interrupted,

The whole of her burned
Like a great scar on a heart
She once knew.

The anamolous woman
In another world,
A woman used and left behind,

Though one cannot recognise
Her face, through her
Demeanor she tells of another life.

And she declared war
With a ravenous intention
On building great walls,
Insurmountable

And with no doors
She leaves but a window
For him to find
And glimpse what she guards.

He will fall for her
And break like water against
The rock,
The jagged rock never smoothened

And the walls will shake
At the oscillating moment,
She will see a silhouette of frail
And timid creature,

She will sedate the emotion
And the walls will grow taller,
The embodiment of independence
In a story lost to the pain,

She will walk the earth
In a stir of echoes past,
The walls shimmering dark glow,
And the woman scorned does roam.

You swear by life and its beauty
In ten thousand poems
And breathe the inescapeable moment
Purifying your existence
On this foreign plane.

You consume the fleeting mortality
In the dim half light that is time,
You make love with arrogance in youth
And butterflies in tow,
You recline in your chair
And remember the dry dust of days,
The procession of years on this
Great yin and yang flight.

And death is a sleepwalking dream
With intimate knowledge of your
Deepest desires and wants,
So that one version of you
Might tell the other version
Yet to be
to live life to its fullest
In the emptiness that surrounds all.

And the current on which death rides
Will take us to the door of wombs,
You will see the  Depths and the Heights
And pass the One
Into a flurry of ashes that pass
Like glittery dust,
And to die
Is but a rebirth,
Into the madness once more.

When summer came in 98'
And the eyes of the momentary
Eternal swam into the Canyon Lake,
It was then the sway of skin
Took me to the place hungry eyes
And kids seeking stimulation went
To cool themselves off.

Under sky bright
I saw her with hips of light,
A second beer and I was grown
Into a man worthy of any woman.
No adults with experience
To guide my ill advised tactic.

A smack on the ***.

At first she turned in complete anger,
Her curves had stiffened her body,
Combat mode and my buddies
Giggling in the backround.
I saw her beautifully frightful hand,
Her slap before we met eyes,
It was mighty and meaningful,
But when I turned from the wallop
To my face,
We met eyes once again,
The most timid of smiles
And a soft apology from me.
She smiled and slapped me once agin,
It was then I knew....
It was then I knew.

The words will be remembered
As he held the book sprouting
From his dead corpse,
"We The Peoples!"
The soldier of nothing's bloom,
Will he have been vindicated
For the sacrifice he made?
The night follows a tearful mourner,
Behold the book of words
From the forgotten wars
And ignorance that breeds the child;
"So he died for what he believed"

Poetry of the warrior's bane,
Between reading it and
Not learning from it,
That poetry in its beauty petrified
The lesson that dies in the tomb
Of the un named soldier,
Though a candle is always lit.

Well such pretty words worthy
Of the fallen,
And a book in a soldier's hand,
How glorious the book was sprouting
From his corpse,
And there endeth the lesson.

I barely know your name,
I have seen your face,
A sorrowful divinity,

Delicate like the pain in your eyes,
Small, sweet, yet somehow broken,
The tranquil pain says so much.

Your hair drinks in the light,
And your hands hold a smooth
Grief that grows deep and kills,

Eventually you will see a poem
And wonder if you are like that,
If your beauty is calamitous,

If your rose petal smile
Cries with humble tears
When you look at distant stars,

Wether you see white doves
Of dark Ravens ,
Or even both in your sleepy heart,

You who hold the adoration
Of the blind man,
In love with shells,

You- beauty of the sorrows-
Have a sweet hole in your heart,
Love complete, body and soul,

I confess your picture is a spectre,
It exhausts my soul
And I open my arms,

Would you run to me?
Would you just half smile
And cry a tear for what will never be?

You have a divine thirst,
And your eyes carry a myriad
Of fluttering whispers,

Words that float to me,
The wrath of your being,
One day to find one another.....

The bitter heaviness of your name,
Angela....Angela...... Angela,
I whisper to broken air,

Your picture is a feast of beauty,
Yet I cannot hope for more
Than a haunted glare.

I sink myself into mortal grief,
The paralysis of you,
Angela....Angela....

You leap to life
When nothing is possible.

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.

That wall man hits as a child
Would still on the floor,
Anger,
Which breaks men into pieces
And scatters him among those he loves,
The anger which held down
Can turn into an explosion.

That same anger which calls
Men to become something else,
And that something else becomes
Regret, that regret becomes a plea
Of forgiveness, which to himself
He cannot give.

Anger, which triggers paranoia,
And that paranoia into rage
And men are sent to early tombstones;
This anger is that of a poor man
Who has the world to suffer.

Anger which tears the man apart
And makes the soul cry for help,
And the soul breaks down into
A corridor of sorrow,
This anger that stains the man
And consumes like fire,
An internal burning.

It was in the old civilizations
From the arches which angels
Appeared and appeased the land
With rich oxygen and fully grown
Greenery, until a swarm of God's
Favorites released from the soil
Breathed breakable winds unto
The world, released from the wild
Of God's heart:

Up the ladder of the earth
The angels climbed,
The humans braided with ******
Threads and spreading like
floods at the shores of horizons,
Filled with a luminous hole
And confusing noises running
Like a forest fire.

Through the drunken madness
To fill the void meeting from
Broken songs they built cities
Of stone like their hearts,
Fathers of spinning webs,
Mothers of the attacker.
And in the days they wiped
Away the tears in the stellar
Madness wishing on dark stars,
They circled the earth,
Like madmen they lamented
Vanished wounds,
The man animals,
Anomoly of the Most High,
Throbbing hopes within,
They wander like lonely storms.

3am or same day yesterday,
Now,
Opened the blinds,
Pitch black,
A dance of shadows,
Watching slumped
Full attention at a moment's
Snap,
Order in the chase,
Cigarettes steady stream
Lights flicker at eye's corner,
     Animal nocturne
Domesticated wild.

A regards to the singlular
Chaos,
But life dwelling is not a
Trek alone:

   I forecast order in a feminine
Touch that clouds the menacing
Aloness,
That order feminine
Which will throw away old
Things lukewarm in my
Memory,
The old cup that barely bears
The insignia of my team,
An order feminine which will
Prearrange all the chaos
And let me fill it's orders,
A space all my own,
A dusty garage
And all the feminine order
Will not follow me there,
But direct like a good woman
Does pushing behind every man.

An oder feminine like the sweet
Smelling home she scents
As with everything she touches,
    The chaos will never truly
Die,
It will slumber and awaken a few times a week,
An occasional game and fire and meat,
And filling in the time
Between the spaces,
An order feminine
Diguises a brute and differs
Into a man.

The fawn walks at birth
Finding balance quickly.
If you study the baby deer
You will see that it can sprint
Like an Olympian.

And you asked me:
Why didn't I walk quickly
Or run like an Olympian?

Oh baby, you did.
But not in a in an event,
Rather in my hope for you
Chasing clear dreams
In magic hours,
Your spirit soaring as you
Find true love,
And it is my heart
That was racing.....racing....