Starting is hard
Growth maltese candles
The painted board next to me
Where i sleep
Cars, unrelenting bring an incessant drone
That lulls
Exstasis
Mechanised intrusion grants
The brevity of randomized input
The aversion of direction
This isn't a poem
Nor is it not a poem
This is a home
This is a home
Shampoo crease salt licks
Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt
Salt salt salt salt salt salt salt
Not that but there was something else.
Not what just happened but something else
I remember when i try not to.
I always forget when i try.
I can feel it
It's not suppose to be remembered
It's there to be felt
Something like that
Something similar
Im not going to just say 'something' on a single line
Nope no.
Nothing
That was ordained
Now this is nonsensical
As if any of it was.
Reading
Nothing yet
Nothing worth saying
Yet
Yet.
Yes
Ending is hard

It feels like sand on my breath
Like dunes in my chest
They are silent
But they are not still
Heaving gross quarter
Leaking for most water
The unscratchable itch
Can it be denied, of which
I am left outside, neck twitch.
Hands force paint in from closed 4 seaters
Enough
Enough
It subsides
As do my words
Am i anything without my words
Would i choose words over feeling
He said, as all the dry paint dripped from the ceiling
And there was love.
Nestled in the corner
A concave attitude begged no less of what there was to offer.
And we gave and gave.
Stretched innards in closed fists
Adorned by salesman with neat.
With neat.
Withering, neat.
Forgiven heat.
Not much to give
But we must eat.
Die and let live
For the succession of wheat.
Basket bare more than their share.
While the humans are simply denied theirs.
When.
When does this part end.
Soon i hope.
As if there were something.
Something to be had.
After.
Besides the calm. When the calm let's us notice our own distaste in it.
Not that the tree trunk needed that.
That hug.
But it helped the armless. Armless.
Or was it a kiss.
The mouthless.
Something dark.
Force them to spit.
Ask them to sit.
Did that have to rhyme. Did any of this have to. Did it take away. From
Take away from.
Cultured eyed breast sore
Vultures hide crest something

Coastal seizures. So sand fills a sun-kissed cheek.
Boasted features, hands lull movement in hips so meek.
Thumbs peel lids to stretch the Sun into clefts that reflexes forget
******* press against throats and ears to breaths.
Palms press ditches in chests to remind hearts of blood to teach.
Lungs keep secrets that tongueless kisses were made to reach.
Salt water rinses cheeks of death and cold stares
Paroxysms exhume life in the form of humid air.
Grief slowed as tides fell.
Teeth locked as cheeks swell.
Water took softly what it had let go
More than shook fondly but it had let grow.

I.) Bodies of

Open lakes are naked
Their secrets,
Rub like salt.
How did one get here
What seized the labour of hands.
Do we deserve to know.
Do we deserve to know the extent.
Do we deserve to know the extent of our own subjugation.
Knees meet dry earth.
It's dry where we forget to water it
Not that it needs water,
Salt finds form
In our negligence.
Arid insincerity spoke of more.


II.) To follow

We left.
We did not need to stay
A dry sterile whisper kept us there
With it's pleas for us to leave.
The trust of invitation,
Burnt holes in our wings.
Untrust of warning,
Had us leaving without our things
I don't know which is better.
A departure announced drew heed to soft cartilage.
Unsharpened curfue split bone without piercing the skin.
The expression of self.
Callous wanderers knocked at no doors;
to accept rejection.


III.) Reintegration of being

The want of murmurs in wanton misuse
Kept us foraging for lust,
For more,
For inability in casualty.
We waited for forest to arrive,
Bare earth begged of no candour,
Trees deny script.
Unclenched hands greyed over context
As purpose gave none where some was due.


IV.) What the stars offered

A quest unrelenting bends bark in fervour.
Do we know why we left,
Cold hands hock at swords needed to keep slight wrists in check.
Or where we are going,
Our aimless pacing finds direction in blind eyes and guided hearts.
All the dust settled, buried in puddles like art.
And the thunder was there
The thunder never knelt
But we listened
To listen was the choice.
A brief connection with the sky
Through it's reproach
It implored for something more,
Only upon deaf ears.
Was earth all there was to rain on?
We thought, as the stars spat on us.
Celestial offering in cleanse not spite.


V.) Love

Maybe that's why we left.
To trascend our own ideas of love.
Innocent foliage made the path harder to see,
But easier to tread.
Gentle arches hug mounds of green
Like finger tips kissed by yonic flesh.
To remember the conception in contact,
Was to recognize our own affirmation
And any word intended for the ears of the unknown.
Blood is replaced where word is love.


VI.) Relation to self

To stay or leave was not the choice
The distance from anything was illusory.
The real choice, was acceptance of self.
After the end of our disintegration,
The dry heave,
Leaving without hesitation;
We are not without ourselves.

A hyperactivity that sees no expression
Lack of divinity that bleeds from intention.
False flag débutante gives warning of cluster ****
Salt bag-bread crumbs gets poured into flustered cuts.
Deeper into forest fervor, I hope the hounds don't lick it up
Creeping into ogham order, I hope god's wounds will be enough.

You're soft and clean.
Nostalgia fills the throats of Cherubs,
The milk allows them that respite.
Hoarse valleys are no longer bare.
Wings, like lips, flutter upon landing.
Wings , like hands, stutter upon leaving.
Blonde hair holds the Sun in place,
A Sun made to reflect your stare.
Honey filled orifice bled into dry rock,
That was all the land needed,
As it missed feet it had never held,
And knew the paste of blood all too well.

Untainted blossoms grew to flesh as they should.
Dust hugged knolls knew more.
Sun-worn cloth draped to her sternum.
To ward off the passing of warmth-
Warmth brought a heavy air
An air to be sent back to the ocean,
The air knew what it carried
It carried it all, but never had to let go.

The rain falls all the same
On every field of old feather and seed
The rain fell all the same
On every concrete upheaval, those with corners
They always have corners.
The rain cares not for the sound it makes
Only the fall.
To be alone.
The return to dry earth, forgotten.
Rich blood in a warm heart.

Leaves pile and rot.
Hands exhume themselves.
Sunset stained cloth,
not covering her eyes.
Her eyes.
The colour was sharp.
There was no rain.
Air held itself in sharp layers,
She knew the smell.
Her eyes drew colour from that air
and what it could do.


She held the rain before it could return.
Snowflakes formed on her lips;
Words that fell,
how they loved to fall.
Carried by her sighs,
the snow never touched the ground.
There she stayed
her toes not quite touching bare earth.
Her words carried her.

Yuki was not the rain,
Although she knew it all too well,
she was intricate potential.
Her form was chosen.
A manifest of all the beauty the world had.