Her hands are a mystery
If you look at them, you see his light
But if you look into them, you feel a consciousness of their own.

Their spirits embrace at a single moment
and all Time and all Trees pray
for them.

But the peach trees stand still; silent
They witness the reincarnation of his dreams
Chaos, absolute seedless chaos
A peach drops and dies.

In the darkness, the peach is unseen
Only eyes question death
Flooding, flooding, flooding
Only twelve million answers

Ravenous stars light the sky
by hunger for only their answer
But enlightenment is encrypted
in Latin and all the languages
of the world.
And her conscience is full and sleeps.

Who’s to blame her?
A vision of red may only wander
And wonder she is.
In China, dragons dance to their unheard
secret.

Oh, but the owls know.
Within their ocean of a soul
bathe the greatest whales
eating oranges.
They grow oranges in their minds
to keep the sun jealous.

Zealously, the gods blow
new passion every morning
Her suprasternal notch ignites
His lips bloom twelve roses
And all clocks stop, and fly

Yet their fusion reeks
Confusion lasting a few weeks
and a painting
A painting of stones born
by their bedside every time they
hug; free

Free love ceases to be a myth
It blinds an entire universe
into entropy for eternity

Her magic, as free, is trapped
in books and lost music
His breath, as lost, cradles
every word
The elephants walk through mirrors
into her

Her blue shirt falls apart
A heart beat crying, squanders
Every button, hiding the moon
A pomegranate seed as red as her vision

Her hands are a mystery
If you touch them, you
feel him, in all sadness and grace
You journey into space.

My hair is red. I am alive as the sun.

My heart pumps red. I am alive as fast as I run.

You make me run.



I shave my head in the morning and by midnight I find my fire burning.

The ashes bloom into a red rose.



He finds her in a garden hidden from life like a red, red rose.

Her hair smells like fire.



Like fire, we dance.

Like music, we dance.



The sun rises as red as itself.



May we love.

You woke up tomorrow with bleeding ears and thought you were dead.

You gazed in the mirror and it cracked in your head.

You cried in agony but the tears run through the blood and dread.

You looked back and unveiled memories you once over fed.

He shot you right when you were about to taste the baked bread.

You woke up tomorrow with a trembling heart certain its dead.

I’ve never been that close to a bird

I’ve never been that close to a bird

I’ve never been that close to a bird

I’ve never been that close that close to a bird



The feathers, the colors, oh the beak

It makes me feel all so human and weak

For it can fly so high and I’m doomed to gravity

That freedom, that beauty, is all I seek



I’ve never been that close to a bird

I’ve never been that close to a bird

I’ve never been that close to a bird

I’ve never been that close that close to a bird

Hot water in hands
And face cries in the broken mirror
Where last time there was kiss
In a bathroom somewhere

Eyes young and sad
From yesterday when they dream
Rivers of blood where butterfly
Lay eggs

Mornings not happy but
Mourning
Nights not brave
Not knight

Are we here?

I tried writing a poem about us birds

But our wings whisper greater songs

Of flight and warmth.

This is a story about a man who ate love.

An odyssey of his tumultuous travels up above.

Coveting confection, he licked the sweet kiss.

Starving for affection, he swallowed the poor miss.



She lived inside his stomach for years.

Undigested and pretty, she slept in his fears.

Speaking in groans and abdominal aches.

At night, his disemboweled soul, in torment, shakes.



Insufferable disgust and miserably alone.

He prayed in hunger, in agony, to atone.

For once falling in love with a lady of wit.

He threw her up; a meal of true grit.