maybe one day
a stuttering light
will evade hindsight
to the paradox given
in the palms of my hand,
words spilled
~promises evaded
left to dwell alone
under the cast
of lampshade gone,
another severity
vastly overrated
sitting on a fence post
wild daisies swaying gently
seeking for the equilibrium
between earth and cloud
yet how can there ever be
such a thing
if the trees
only obscure the way

the simmering summer heat
lingering like a blanket of sticky tack
weighing on the leaves of the
bright summer suns,
the radiating petals
golden array of sunlight
rows upon rows
where the eyes tend to meet,

holstered with swaying stalks
thick, green leafy stems
whispering in the slight breeze
the sweltering heat humming with life
as the buzzing increases in strife
the screaming cicadas, the speckled path
striking down the field of suns
for the secret, secret place to sing

For once, try to live a little
They say, their sly slithering faces
Their rejection to an another intuition
Their fists pounding in faces

Try to live a little
I drink coffee at morning break
I drink tea at settling dusk
Yet I sit in glassed encased circle

I see everything in sight
Saturated with meaning and rich despite
Yet never can I touch the things wanted the most
Sitting in the middle of a relapsing circle

The glass doesn’t chip
My fingerprints fog the surface
I pound my fists
Yet leave an ocean of smudges

Blinded to the world
There is nothing I can do
Sometimes I feel like
My mind has diluted to mush

like a knotted fist squeezed so tight
that creases fall into crisp white lines
feel the heartbeat circulating,
pulsing through the membranes
etched into the tissue of this
fist-knotted remembrance,
hopeful succession into the white capped seas
a simple touch, a simple shove  
and a burden to keep afloat the flood
holding onto my own gnarled fist
I think there was a stalk of lavender
crossed in the palm of where
the wild things lay,
churning nightmares and twisted sheets
cast upon the dusty shaft of sunlight
and I'll be alright, this fistful of lavender
scented of my dreams to keep
and future to see, the love yet to be
to break into tears at the sight
of beautiful architecture,
the foreign language unsettling on my tongue
never let go of this fist,
the fistfull of lavender

A fist full of sand
Soggy, foaming from the cold sea
And glass and shells like deposits of gemstones
I sculpt something like a home

The salty air whistles and bellow
The sun solidifies
The moon reveals the llulabys
Cooing in nothingness

The tide remolds, reshapes
I put my body between my home and the sea
I dig a trench, I fortify
Yet the water is frigid

My home erodes

And so it goes
I push sand only for
The tide to take the gems away
But one day

The sea left a gift
In its foam

slight echo footfalls
fluttering escape of breath
cool cerulean breeze
gnarled tree leaning too keen
in the brilliance of the waning sun
black, scorched branches
twisted cruel trunk
crackling like struck obsidian
by the lightening rod of thought,
gifted with moving feet
shuffling in one direction
but to breach the swimming sky,
peeking closer
shadows careening towards
my feet, so I can't see
where I am stepping anymore,
a stone gargoyle
fixated like a barn owl
eroded eyes and mistaken beak
moss blanketing like heavy
screaming clouds,
this stone owl
imprisoned within the tree
the loveliest sight I could find,
it's almost night now
and the light is growing dimmer,
the slightest green buds
dwell on the withered branches,
yet the sun has past
the owl mistaken for a ghost
held within the throne
withered to bone
but I think the flowers
will grow like before,
the buds have swelled
night is falling
can I please sleep
at the trunk of this tree
so upon the breaking morrow
the sun will shine
and I can smile
when I look up
and see the buds
flower of such
humble desires

gray whispering breaths brush against the shore
the salty sand shifts under bare feet
the seagulls streaking to the flared pink sky
as the water push and pull, frothy tongues
tracing a marble mirror on the bank of white sea corals

gently, the clouds surge across
and the foot prints trail to yonder
sea ***** shuffle like roaming rubies
and the salty air sweeps away all gone sour
tonight, we will feast on this magnificence
before the beauty in us all expires

The flooding of golden light
The murmur of crisp blue
Glinting like those marvelous
Icebergs chilling in the sights
Soon the light ceases to glint
And the hues deepens so that
Only the tree tops in brisk evenings
And towering sloping peaks
Reach out to chance a dancing feat
With the fleeting gazes of mourning  blue

help.
don’t want to be alone.
left in dismay.
with nowhere else to go.
the perpetual ignition
to the minds of synthetic decisions
left scattered like fall leaves
trailed for me to follow.
can’t always keep my weight
from crushing underneath.
the sinking punch plummeting
to the pit of my stomach.
left to reiterate the syllables
stranded for me to swallow.
help.
can anyone hear.
sometimes I don’t think
there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
the cool misty crisp.
the pregnant clouds seething,
sinking to catch teeth
with the means of you and me.
a gullible shrill thundering across
the expanse of the big grey sky,
the spit of your words cut edge
like a shower of shrapnel clinging
to the teetering stance on a flower bed.
feeling the eclipse, the weight before
the swooning slip  
as you decided to let our grip
go into ****.

smear a goddesses' back
creamy wax of sunset dust
bite the scent of ashtrays
as the soul smothers
into the leaving night

people come in and out
of my life

like a shower of sparks

what is erased?

what leaves a brilliant streak?

forever

what do you expect?
In all the things I do
in such as collage of a person's dream initiation
what kind of things leave you in sweet appreciation?

who do I call, my mom?
my brother, my father, sister and that dude on the street corner
in fact a completion of four blank corners
achieves nothing but to a getaway box of concealment  

wait, that's not what I meant
to say,
to do,
what I ought to be,
*******, society
what are you thinking of me?

Why is it that your thoughts justify
that a ballroom of hot gaseous stars
rooted in a seventeen year old dream
is nothing but hallucinations of a childhood...

you make me want to scream

what makes you think any better
to take, a list of vocabulary as mode of expression
people smirk at the reflection in transition
yet in a world gone of such things
you try to mumble, stumble, tumble
on your own tongue
as nothing retreats
and substitute it with useless prepositions  

blank stares on blank fat faces
greasy slicked tongues attached to an ugly wrought of body
stop stuffing your face with social media
our lives are capable of much more authenticity
stripes red, white, and what, green?
I'll make it whatever I want it to be

you say I am wasted away
that thought, that havoc, that pleasant furnace
well thanks a lot
to you, my thoughts are burnt out
like a light bulb in a dark room of four blank corners

channeling riot thoughts onto paper to screen
composed in depths of my dead weight backpack
crumpled under the weight of text books
explaining how we should live better
and how I am suppose to be  

well it's my mission to live outside of conformity
and as words fly in class, in halls
first only to myself, then vulnerable to the audience of you...
wait, virtually the entire world?

understand these words are as raw as lemon
fueled by thoughts, cynical, you can reckon
and **** as my teenage mind, naive
just like the shadows of you and me

understand these are reflections
we are starry magicians in the game of complexity
constantly fluctuating upon gravel grounds
it stems from existence we label into nouns  
we string words together
and if nobody else ever reads this
who cares?
your name is the last thing we'll
care to pronounce

the blur of four flesh and bones
encompassed with skin and smile
piercing white teeth
and braids spilling over
four dancers swept the floor
joints swept by their melody and laughter

shadows creep in their faces
gaunt brows, twinkling eyes
feet hitting the floor
like brewing thunder
and breaths pouring over
the fragments of yellow light

four, four dancers
they danced like no other
lost to the bliss of movement
simply lost to the rhythm
of the moment

An explosion of flavor
blossom on the tongue
the sizzle of vegetables
and laughter sweet sound

the crunch of iced snow
and campfire to keep
our fingers warm
slight stars twinkling

nothing so precious
but time with friends
loose wine and tongues
recounting memories

Etched in stone

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 pocket full of wishes scrounged,
From that jar hidden glistens,
Moss quilted over the with tight patterns
The way those words befallen like a tragic accident
Ridden of ecstasy, mirroring mirage scrubbed
Of the seedlings I planted in place of you,
And now the sun has weathered and water
Flooded the void crestfallen in my rib cage,
I see how ******* wrong I was,
The tree which have bloomed stands
Alien and distant, unlike the way I supposed to happen
These crisscrossing bones around my heart
Are not meant to be torn apart,
**** no, don’t you dare come in with a hammer
A key rests whisked away into oblivion
Maybe in that jar, a tiny glass jar
Hidden in rocks and soil,
Kisses of spring water and haze
Of pearly whispering fog,
Someplace far away
With the lid barely clutched to the lip
Roots have devoured the pretty lies
The glass slipped deep into the green earth,
So if you dare entire my life, dare step into this void
A void rattling, singing, cursing and barking of laughter
A void of paints and cold leftovers
A void of running feet and fleeting glances
A void bedridden of danger and ringing
Of the purest love and affection
To simply be, to breathe beyond the stitch of your sleeve,
I dare you, gather gander, smitten courageous one

My feet plunged into cold water
You could hear the ice
Cackling with cruelty
Snapping me
To a startling reality
And the stars ceased to sing
My friend, I began to sink
In all the mounting pressure
Like that day
Of clouded gestures

lie down embroidered in the cool darkness
startling signatures dotting infinite oblivion*
capsizing a raging fiery glow transition
singing of great chorus daunting premonition

anticipate the halt of breath prior
the splinter in time where the trees
gander the melodious swell intimate
the slumber left behind to the well of day

that fraction of a moment
my bedroom window encompassed
upon softest pastel pallets, kissing the breeze
soothing the scars and ceaseless throb

amazed, drinking in the spilling of sunlight
clouds streaking the stains eradicating, pulsing over
nature chirping and sighing with that of sage
lucid bliss settling gently on defenses in my chest

and as the day swirls and falls, pulses and cringes
coming home, bustling with stings pinching
thoughts gone quite tired and violent
the sun descends, and night begins

shadows cast, swimming in direction
like a flood of acoustic strumming
and wink of yawning black cat
the world softens and slows

lives retreat and flowers sway in the breeze
aching hearts and bitter limbs rest in sheets
linen of softest cloth, woven by threads
a comfortable place to rest my head

and the day descends and night takes full
crickets crying and mystery lurking
fingers soothing the spasms in my brain
with every turn of page, the stroke of brush

resting with the sliver lurking
everywhere I go, ghosting in echoes
reaching out with eyes quite closed
*mind swirling with undefined competence

there once was a girl
who stood alone
and while realities clashed
she wondered how long she'll last

Another fraction of a second
Slimmer of sun's glints
Clashing with the jewels
Running, streaking
Of the sweetest melodies
Thundering head held high
Glimpsed into another galactic universe
Sublime which cannot deny
That the moment a breath
Teetering before the summit sunsets
Breathes onto a cold glass pane
So one can trace one's soul
Feel the gorge of beating hearts

The graves of echoes
Where voices lost askew
Smothered into pearly ash
All the things we behold
Is thrown away, like trash

everything else has room to grow
                                    so continue to run,
                                              gallop and walk
                                                         weave through
                                                               the something's
                                                                       and nothing's,
                                                                           aching for that
                                                                                better tomorrow

I cannot guarantee anything.*  
the warmth of breathing human being
ruffle the cool strands of my hair,
untidy yet shimmering softly
gentle beams of moonlight
Stars glisten in the dark navy sky,
the moon floating like a pearl orb of silver sunlight
To have our feet tired from walking the daily bouts of life,
to feel the comfortable weight of life lifted even for a moment.
To have the stereo humming with low,
swaying beats of brilliant acoustic,
guitar and a ringing voice buttered
with the soothing strum of an ocean’s breeze.
To have our backs nestled on the hood of the car,
the head lights trailing two perfect beams
which stretch far into the dark night,
The headlights catch the swaying stalks of golden hay,
the flutter of moths swinging about in the fray
As the night wanes and the early morning precede,
the car will be turned off, the headlights no more,
so that all that can be heard is our silence
The morning is beautiful,
the silence a comfortable melody,
One whispers a syllable or so,
soon a train of laughter is followed,
it is broken with the voice of loss and defiance,
of confusion and youth,
the air is sweet and lingers with
the hard knock of trees, presumably pine.
The horizon glows with the faintest sheer blue,
the pine trees stand in the distance
Soothing, cool breeze flutters across the field,
Like the way I feel
When my life feels right
In short glimpses as such
Yet,
I cannot guarantee anything.
My memory taunted me