surely, yes surely
          the swindling sway
                 of frost bitten leaves
crushed to the marrow
             of another dinner's eve,
                   tender hands steeped in oils
fragrance wafting like
             the soft moss underneath feet,
                      a candle lit, drowned
in the droning stream
              of coursing music,
                       strings like an airy vessel
teetering like the flight
             of a subordinate trickle,
                        an orchestra crooked in

the loves which steeps

sunshine,
rain crisply tattering
on the gazebo wooden beams
where the moss grows tall
the daisies wither naught
and duo respirations
beating like a thunderous soar
of golden warmth
as two breathing souls
consume the tattering rain
and faint bleak sunshine
under a wooden beam
and moss-grown roof
waiting patiently for the
other to finally
speak

sometimes,
I feel incomplete.

sometimes,
I need to be
                     here.

sometimes,
I wish I
                    could turn back
                                            to the days
                          
            I felt
                                                                                                                 *infinte

stretched, widening grins
plastered in red lipstick
and a smirk beloved
clapping heels and twirling skirts.

spilling red wine soaked into cloth
oozing smell of a cheeses and wood,
of cobblestone streets and cracking walls,

laughter, trickling down the brisk night air
the alleyway tight and sparkling,
the night alive with an affair
between moon and cuisine,
between human and love

I didn't become an illustrator by choice
the slip of words,
the heat of cheeks,
the clothing I adorn,
an illustrator, an imposter
a viel drifting in anticipation
for the yonder and all

maybe here, here is something
a puddle lukewarm and thinning
as the cracks in the pavement
tremor in the running wind,
running leaves and running colors
dappling with a blissful laughter,
I reach my hands out and grasp nothing
and everything combs through
my tiny, tired fingers,
I breathe and taste the sweet air,
I look down and feet is no longer there,
I am a float, here,
here where something can be

I fell in love,
I fell in love with the way
my heart swells and my chest heaves,
which my hands scarred from the memory
of past paintings and draining endeavors
sweat plastered to my face and my eyes
shining, shining so bright
for I caught the glistening heat,
the elusive heat which I waited
a hundred, a thousand lifetimes
and eternal failures
I stride, run, scramble up
the side of the mountain side
and I scream out "This if ******* mine!"
with the brilliant, Prussian blue and cerulean
infinite sky and whisked clouds bleeding
like the blinding light of a rich sunset,
I fill my lungs with the crisp, pure air
smell the scent of mint and pine
and feel the ferocious wind whipping in my hair
and whistling in my ears,
and at this moment I understood,
nothing could ever measure
to the heat of being *alive

the slight rhythm which courses through my hands,
that glowing hum which glistens between
the pricked ends of my ears,
drowned in piano keys and violin strings,
my cheeks feeling flushed
and temple dewing with the dust,
my shoulder aches and elbow flashes,
each joint in my finger twinges slightly,
blanketed in a fine coat of charcoal and passion,
rippling black smudges beckoning to something
like a far, far fetched galaxy
which houses my lust for another magnificent piece,
I am weightless and I float,
I am nothing but the treasures which come in a boat,
taking shore to the bank of my consciousness,
glimmers of gold and trinkets of lore
the paper speaks back to me,
each stroke I lavish a part of me,
left behind from me,
for someone else
to sit, to sit in silence,
and to drink in the galaxy
which I stored
in that single
drawing

maybe, perhaps, there is a time
where the fallen shadows
and hooded eyes
sweep out from the deafening hood
into a broader night sky,
a stunning, sublime silver
of magenta crescent moon,
blood orange and flushed
because that is the way
reminiscent sways amidst
a stroke of passion
and there is that beautiful moon
spotted glistens of a starry sky,
talking, laughing, singing a soft melody
to cool the aching strides
which create pitfalls and unbearable demise,
nay, don't look that way
don't squander where the land is darker,
where the soil is tethered by an eternal blackness,
no, keep a chin up high to the glimmering starry sky
and the glimmer of magenta orang moon,
holding close to dear heart the memory
of a twilight setting nigh

brisk, waning scent
of another scorching summer
fallen to an end
gallantly, it slips
behind the
farthest mountains
and the sky opens up
like a cracked egg
with the yellow yolk
deep-set orange
and swimming on the peaks,
light rain which drizzles
and softly kisses the pavement
leaving steam to roll through
the campus grounds,
another ordinary night
of a summer gone,
a burnt out light
cracked open,
like the way lips
can suddenly spill
with brilliant night

a collision propelling to the imagination of afterworlds
twirling, crying out at the spiraling dizziness
ignited the wretched fire in the pit of his stomach
painfully the pinpricks settled to belittle and mock
to sneer and to gloat as the giddiness of his steps
rattled down the cobblestone street under
the yellow-waxing moon,
he howled grandiosely, dripping golden-honey
of his joy, his laughing wild ecstasy
the cold seethed and glittered frost on the stones,
unsettled this scene untold,
wondering how this young man
had room to grow,
he took a breath
cheeks burnt with fall's amber
and sprinted down the cobblestone and slippery dark
shrilling without intention, yelling indefinitely
and he ran without notion
and maybe that is what we all missing
from our lives,
a little weightlessness

There is something about it
The inexplicable curve in the diet
Swimming in pink grapefruit,
Sharing the stunted manifestation
Of a slice of clementine Gouda cheese
The way, the solace in a lone glass of wine
Chilled iced, purged crayfish
Flushed from the brittle salt basked seas
From the callused knuckle of stony fisherman
Casting out at the crackling array of dawn
With the waters brimming at the hulk
And the mast scraping it's white and red tusks
The fisherman who left at dawn
Leaving his beloved steeped in slumber...
Allowing her eyes flutter to the beam of pink salmon
And there is just something about it,
Pulsing from the faint flicker of overhanging bulbs
A writer stoops over a sliver of miracle
Purged from the raw etched in his vast chest
The very act of describing compassion & sin
With the ink soaked mechanism of his typewriter
The legacy of a young girl
Who wasn't meant to save the world
But to find it, the humanity whisked away,
Drowned perhaps by whiskey and alcohol
Eyesights deterred from the long lone walk
Pocketed with threats and head shakes
The writer's fingers fly,
And funny how there is something about it
How it doesn't end in full circle
That we lack the great capacity
To seize the flesh of truce
So distilled we sail,
So perturbed we write,
So empty we feast
Never quite knowing
That elemental presumption
Of something more

A bright wake of snow
Glimmering where
The grey meets sky
Forging and drifting,
Mounds and side sweeps
Banking against the tall
Pillars of trees
Pine and brisk peppermint
Trickling with the frigid chill
Tinkling wherein a sigh ascends slow
And crunch crunch
More silent noise to follow
Of hot, swirling breath
And Rosemary cherry cheeks
Curly blond hair and a pair of glasses
Glinting like the moon basked in glory
Her hands clutched
Nimble fingers wrapped around something
And with every step she took
Golden light radiated from the coals
Sheltered in her hands,
Hovering over her chest
The golden light rippled over the snow
An array of grass and orchids sprung
Wherever it willed
And thus the snow began to melt,
Taming the sublime spur of
The frozen maiden of winter's felt
The maiden of Spring puts forth
The blossoms and rich sweet air
The color of honey and petals which unfold
Spring walks through the forest of else
Where the cycles reroutes
Of begin anew, of life and something else

Perhaps the music blasting in our ears

The sidestep glance across the bakery counter

The honk of horns zooming fluorescents down the street

The gentle mummur of garlic sizzling on pans

The crunch of rich Italian bread soaked in olive oil

The sweat of leather soles

The mystifying fogginess as one touches a cheek

The relentless sputter of summer rain

The crackle of a brilliant smile

And noiseless or brimming with spectacles

We are most afraid of absolute silence

For that suggests our inability

To be a part of something

Bigger than ourselves

it reaped the embodiment of practice
teetering on steep deprivation
from that chastising realization
to retain an enigma spilling
all over the porcelain floor
laced with veins of blue inked vines
a ringing not of pouring water
splashing all over the carefully polished stone
with that of dust motes made gold
from the shafting sun,
it was the feeling of loss
it was the sensation of pain
left alone in the far dark corner
swept to the far corner of a home
yet the water brought it back to the light
and all of a sudden
fear didn't hesitate from
the lone, lone fig tree
which grew and overtook
the construction of man,
crushing the porcelain
and splintering woods against stone
this lone fig tree of perfect,
indestructible bark
caressed pain and loss,
saying "I will not move away"
and embraced pain and loss
so then the once perfect bark
crackled and became streaked
with scars and gruesome knots
yet the fig tree cared not,
remaining still, knowing vulnerability
and becoming compassionate
suffused into beaming rays
knowing utter peace needed
a place to rest without being rejected
and thus became the trees
scarred to mourn with sleeping incapacities

years of downstream rivers
carried by north arctic waters
which snaked through
the snowcapped peaks
of a lone, lone mountain
the temple of the universe
drinking in the marvelous view
yet, sometimes sediment grows
and lay upon a layer of filth
which accumulates and seethe
into the gapping fissures which
I have patched, suppose
and stalagmite stifle
into a frozen expanse
of glistening rock pillars
diverting the direction of the waters
beckoning for a quake in the ether
yet all that is inevitable,
a grandiose cry,
the lone peak began to
grow restless,
so thus divert the temperament
of the waters,
yearning for the scrape
of another fresh spell,
another wonderful,
out-of-the-world view

slipping away
passages of time
slips away
down through the canyon rock
where the forever makes it yawning gait
and the weight of the fossils
forces down upon the lightless tunnels
where the urchins and sea shells
learned to sing
in their petrified state,

where the smooth stone kiss
where waters were once a rushing estate
and eyeless fish swim
not knowing the difference
of light and dark in the deep lake
echoing fathers, weeping widows
silence endangers the sanity
echoed into a beating soul
forget not the smooth takeaway winds
nor the shoreless wager of nighttime gin
a mammoth cavern performing unspoken
hollowed out by all that is forgotten

if a word is to end in fire
    perish howling where the eyes below
             may never turn blind eye
                     shall a guardian steady a watchful eye
                            while the syllables fall
                                    so that the earth may rumble  
                                             encompassed in a crimson sky

sleeping snugged in the crook
where sunlight beams without retrospect
a promise chafing while the tempest surges
scouring the hillside where mountains climb nigh

a moments breath held askew
salmon pink and beading mildew
meeting to cool the burning wound
as howl made flesh and skin crawl

just promised, a promise chastened
in a wooden oak chocolate box
buried in the steep ribcage of the earth
where the mind begins to lurk

feel the hand tremble to life
the awesome power, impeccable brilliance
sloping figures roughed into the earth
giving into the imagination of another night

and here, come along here
where the brain is turned ripe
and light gives way to blooming forage
never to be left alone

come along here

I've been told to do a particular favor
a peculiar one,
like a post-it stuck underneath
the surface of the desk
do a favor and run a hand
down the underside
ignore the gallant arrangement
of hardened bubble gum
there is a post-it
with a lost message
so I have been told
I took the post-it
and found a single word
written "Hello" in pencil
in the most awful handwriting
and I took a pen and wrote
a greeting below
sticking the post-it back where
I found it. And the next day
I found the pencil erased
so all that was left was my
own "Hello."
and I could never figure out
quite why that was so

there was a girl,
a slight girl
with peppered flush cheeks
and golden brow
where heavenly sways
within her keep,

there was a girl
with lips ghastly glow
sweetly pale under
the glints of the sun
and the way the sea
foams on coral shores

there was a girl
with strong curved legs
taken like from a marble stone
and plump hips blanketed
like the gentle ***** of
a rolling hill

there was a girl
with eyes reminiscent of early dawn
the light of day which so few ever sees
the iris retracts as the brightness ascends
still retaining the speckled flecks
of a thousand floating stars

this girl was a girl
with no ordinary talent
and no great mind
yet with laughter like sugar crackers
crumbling in a hot potato stew
she held the weight--the meat
wrapped around her bones

she would hug her elbows
and bite her lip,
collect sweat beading on her skin,
sit in a quiet corner and ponder
what lays beyond the walls
which alluded to a great yonder

what a whopping willow
slinging sunlight
cascading off of falls
like the sea-enriched spray
of another lifeline
anchored in the crease
of a out-reached city
busting restlessly
in spite of the
whopping willow tree

The clicking of shoes
The city night suffuse the air
With its chattery warm glow
I hook my arm in yours,
Feeling quite at peace
With the chirping night
And the cool tepid air,
At how the moon shone
Just so your eyes shone fair
I'm not fooling myself
I know I cannot indulge too deeply
There is an end to every story,
Even just a stroll of two best friends
Wrapped in a complicated fortune,
A love without a rose
A love with just two faced syllables
Never knowing which brick
Is made of fools or gold
Only knowing our paths were to travel
Together as long as it shall last

A raining brethren of splintering rain
Lacing the woes as knights filled fists
Clashing with that of trembling ground
Each footfall a smog in the glimpse

Wading through the haunt of hollow words
Sometimes the leech and gag in the pool
Swimming in the tankard clasped to my head
Needless to say pouring words which built instead

Trembling, capsizing, leaking through defenses
Once fortified with daisies akin glowing reminiscents
Numbing in nights such as this
Solitudes dispairs respite multitude aware