I’ve been bleeding
black and blue bubbles
through extruded cartridges.
Leaving doilies soiled
on your dressed tables
without placing a touch.
Trying to donate gifts
from my darkening life
to a priceless recipient.
Pushing your peace away
with each bubble blown
onto ink-smeared surfaces.
My mental misfires
cause my life line
to tangle and retreat.
I’ve tormented my threshold
with a shattered appendage
that over extended its reach.
As I twist tourniquets,
I represent one unconditioned
for appreciating being love in truth.
Please, reset my uneven mending
and apply an encouraged healing
by molding me in wrappings of you.

Robotic motions don't extend to tender arches.
They still must stretch slowly and bend softly.
Placing their feet on the dry, decaying ground
that threatens to disclose their covered locations.
The cold mornings have found many admirers
barely exhaling frost from their condensing breath.
They've traveled with the dawn to simply wait
to watch her step forward into the open field.
Away from fallen feathers tangled in branches.
Exposed in full glory from crown to toe.
To pass hours watching her stand as she wonders
what desire would make one look in her eyes for hours
only to smile as they prepare to leave in the twilight.

I will be peace
with head shaven
wrapped in monk robes
pacing my sanctuary
swinging emitting censers
placid with redemption
forehead crossed with oil
habit centered praising
under perpendicular rulers
and when I retreat
from the corporal worship
of the spirits
i won’t punish myself
not at that instant
for to be shaven
releases my past
and my prayers
drift from crystalline pendulums
to guard my steps
and the ruler embodies warnings
that I’ve ignored in surrender
while lapping fabrications
that stain my thighs
black and blue
permanent ink
helps my heart testify
that i was born accused
of worshiping your inspiration
I love to conceive
yet, conception
without accountability
has been my greatest sin
so, i seek atonement
through divine unification
and create for the spirits
as i become peace.

ominous clouds
warn me
that they don’t fear
my red umbrella.

It’s fiery facade
simply means that I
was being adventurous
the day I picked it out.

Though I raise it
like some powerful staff
or extension of some power
that flows to it from me,

the rain falls
and the fabric,
not the color,
protects me

and only for a short time.
For the wind moves
tossing rain pellets randomly
in unexpected directions.

Then I am soaked
due to being prepared
but not having enough
to save my lower body,

so, I run
through the puddling rain
to find immediate shelter
for me and my red umbrella

and the low, dark clouds
continue their duty
as I gaze, winded,
from this place of safety.

Allow me to speak love to you.
To speak lovingly of how you are water to a parched world.
If only dried lands and spirits contorted by malnourishment could partake of you.
They would feast like world powers with coffers over flowing
with enough surplus to satisfy greedy hearts and hungry bodies.

I would speak of your loving healing.
How the disorienting effects of lost loves subside with each endearing word from you.
I am coherent and in my rightful place as a recipient of your love
and with your love I share your nurturing spirit with others.
I am a blessing with your love.

Let me speak of you in the elements of nature.
You are the Mother’s Help Mate and you swaddle me in the rays of your sun.
The vacillating heat of submerged springs cause me to rise as your love beckons me.
My thoughts babble like new born brooks when they roll toward your *****.
Your love draws me to what I would call home.

I would speak of your loving tenderness
and how it inspires an innocent and caring love for you.
Of birds and breezes on tender blades and flowers releasing their covering as we display no shame.
No ritual or suggestions for keeping fires burning in some oasis of romance.
Touch me and you will see me blush under your expanding warmth.
I am supple in your presence.

I speak love to my realization of you;
your flesh encasing a triune soul.
peace, joy and patience.
An acknowledgement of being
And with my words, now, I honor the love of you.

I will not
fear the word.
It is too much
a part of me.
Too deep
within me
even though
I feel that
I was conceived
in moments
that were bruised
with passion.

Now, my parts
flare and retreat
within my
muted passion,
yet,
it supersedes all
that constitutes
my being.

I will not
fear love
and if you
never love me,
I will continue
to honor love.

I will continue
to enjoy love songs
and will continue
to write love poems
and give my heart
to each creation.

I will not stop
when I tremble
from hurt or heartache.
I will remain
with love because
love is with me.
Steadfast. Always.

There’s an obstinacy in this freedom.
A stifling in motion.

Open filaments confuse creativity
by dropping shattered tungsten from its cliffs.
Sparks bounce then darken my mind
with compounded dreams.
Breathless searches produce elements foreign to me.

Panic tainted gifts.

Surrender surfaced to engulf me,
then, balance bridged broken paths.
Restoration created by parallel lines bending.

As I rested on one side,
she told me to stand
where I am
if I was able.

****

She challenged me to flow.
Shed light on my visions
if I had the courage.

Placed me among a resurgence of memories
that confirmed my creative inventory.
They all have been invaluable inspirations.
Yet, this existence at the brink of a new age
has caused me to sleep lightly.

I felt alone and inadequate without them
and thought of giving up.
My being hovered hardened hearts & cartilage
that I’ve scattered from my own *****.

She supports me
and I know that this gift is for me
but it’s not about me.

I rest soundly
more aware and able
to let God use me
where I am.