find me a cave that I can crawl into
so that I may not see the light on your face again.
take me into the dark where dew and dank
cover-all and seep between the rest.

won't you let me dream?
won't you let me sleep?
dear, this here, will not suffice.
show me those blues or I will become that hermit.

bearded and away in the mountains,
unaware of my appearance more than hair and stench.
distant, both in mind and body, purposefully so.
please dear, find me a cave or let me to crawl into you.

I am warmer than the fire I can make
I can feed you more than the meal placed on your plate
you know my heart is heavy with the weight of love for you
so make me that cave I may crawl into

powerlines and dandelions point me toward
where the morning sun may rise.
the sky still glows a dawning blue
that reminds me of things i'd like to soon forget.

cosmic pinholes and the creators thumb nail
hang high but will soon be lost by breaking light.
clouds begin to take their shape but only
while they also radiate an entirely new shade and hue.

my bare-feet are smothered in September's dew
and my skin in contact with the earth begins to swell.
each step I take wets the tops of my toes and collects clippings
and critters that join me for my morning stroll.

i can't wait to see the sunrise.
like the first time i watched it rise over the ocean,
or that time i saw it peak over the distant mountains ridgeline.
that moment of knowing epiphanies do not exist.

you're loosing me at daybreak
and I'm learning to let go when all I want to do is squeeze
but I am as uncertain here as I am there
so I will let it be

as best i can, even when i don't know how.

gimme your gap tooth and breath that i admire
darling please, allow my reverie to reconstruct
a world in which i needn't ask or plan for your presence,
but one where your body is certain
and words misrepresent the truths we hold dear.

simply stated, exist around me
so that we may stay one, together.

place your fingers tips above my brow
in the early morning light
and comb my furrows clean with that identity all your own
soothe my worried soul in ways no abused substance has
and show me the calm that rests deep within this chaos.

simply stated, press your skin against mine
with the weight you choose to carry.

lovely, remember what I whispered
before I kissed your forehead.
that my love for you will change,
but never did I say quite how.

we destroyed the forest to trade for a cleaner field
and saw the sunshine crash without protection
I've been dreaming deeply,
with vivid, mind-altering recollection

and wonder if you know.

the seeds took soon after being sowed
and the creek watered each well placed plow.
there are thoughts I have through out each day
and you remain primary and proud.

but you're not that seed within my garden
I can't protect you from the sun
or ensure your roots from coming undone
but I am a farmer that loves this land

and the wild it can bring.

i tried to email my ego
an image on self awareness
but I couldn't locate a recipient
so the email wouldn't send.

I can smell the walnut dust blooming through my toes
I can taste the wormwood tea long past my final sip
but the thought of you can't seem to find an exit

we are spiders weaving webs between the same two trees
hoping to ensnare the other while losing sight of our own webs;
lay down your silk and rest with me a while

time has not offered itself as the tool for our creation
we are born on opposite ends, east and west,
sunrise and sunset, in between there is sunshine and peace

the looks you give me and gazes that you hold
drifts bodies further than the drowning in rip tide
darling i can swim so please don't be shy

you've stolen my mind
and I've given you my soul
so pull our bodies closer and deny this distance that we keep

i am the romantic and you will be the realist
forever contradicting,
until the day we choose another.

like a plastic bag or paper receipt
i can only keep the idea of you for so long
the 30 day policy for returns will shortly expire
and past that point, the energy and headspace
your memory consumes
will slowly eat away at my abilities to adapt to an ever
changing environment and i don't like being left behind
baby, i like to do more than survive

but i know somewhere in the shell of a head i hold
is a gigabyte of your data with the strongest pathways
to pleasure and pain, smiles and rain, love and lust
somewhere i'll hide the key in hopes you'll one day return
and unlock this place i hold for you
but for now i require an external hard-drive to export my emotions
to keep me from loving you

I said," do you remember when we smelled the sweetest rain before it fell?"

You said, "you told me it smelled like a New England Forrest full of flowing creeks", while looking up at the sky, then turning to catch my eyes.

I said, " the smell transports me to my childhood, where life was merely a string of seconds that somehow knitted a web", while the rain we smelled began to fall

You said, as the days first raindrops spilled down your face and toward your lips, " it tastes like mothers milk"

I said, as I stared in your eyes " I love that we have language more than English. Your definitions are more vivid than most, and your imagery turns my mind towards more"

You said noting, but you smiled. And that was all I needed.

can  you see the depths within the shadows?
do you hear the whisper of the sunshine through the wind?
Are you engrossed enough with the abundantly surrounding green
to forget the grey and black that falls so in-between?

darling, please, remind me of the way in which yellow seems to spill
take me to the meadow where colors rest above the wild overgrowth
take us to where our eyes fall in favor with impressionists painters
put me in that plein-air canvas; just remember to be there too.

i can hear the deep and low thunder
from the train passing by
a few thousand feet away
but as I look around and recognize my setting
I realize it is thousands of miles away

that horn we heard will remain with me forever
only to reappear in reality and memory
both are unreal
but the horn I know well.
and the thunder I feel will stay forever

I made it home before the sunset
and I saw you sitting.
beyond beauty are the words that came
blonde and brilliant are the songs that sang.

I can't believe in chirps of birds
or the light on bark between the haze.
I can, however, believe in your loving grasp
and the way you speak in words unknown.

we've yet to pick a plot
where donkey's "hee-haw" and chickens "bok bagok",
and where the grass grows green and tall;
where kids may learn to walk.

you've not read these words
or known of their existence
but in time you will;
know my loving grasp

and words you knew to know.

ravenously crazy or stoicly crazy?
which do your prefer?
take your pick
because the answer is never wrong.

Sitting still in disbelief can lay
the world in colorful ash
which our eyes are not
meant to see.

yeah, i'm drinking you in.
the moonlit sky of nighttime gradation,
atmospheric blue to reflected white,
I can't help but remember our time
and that drive we took through the countryside.
memories replay inside my head
like a lonely cinema, screening avant-garde films,
but still the bills get paid, even when things are quiet.

I said I love you but my knowledge was elementary
i do love you still but only because no one loves me like you

yeah, we lived in sin.
lazy Sunday mornings were for laying skin-to-skin
with no intention of changing that fact
no desire to part carnal bliss
our rest was wicked and yet so vivid
our sweat was sweet and so humid
our days were bright and bountiful
but our appetites were different

there's a light that shone within the forest
and somehow between that light and the moon above

i entered a cinema, and i'm the only one.

i heard those raindrops fall so silently
atop the colorfully striped canvas
that stands above my foolish head
but there in the dark corner
where green and violet cannot exist
a breeze blew to shake the way things were

so simple it seems to sway in the wind
to feel air flow betwixt the leaves
and the sky to glow a color unseen in day

my eyes continue to tear but
not from the thoughts i have or
the emotions i truly feel
spring has arrived in full force
with beauty, serenity, and visions unknown
i tear for yellow green and all that can be

"how boring to see only black and white"
said the patient traveler seated on the greyhound bus,
"such rigid lines are unnatural, human creations,
that seem intent to divide us from truth"

look past those reflections in the tempered glass
to see a world passing by at impressive speed
in vivid blooming shades and vibrant but fading hues
and know that even life and death

do not restrict themselves to
simply black and white.
gray skies lie overhead yet
there is so much shade and color in-between.

I know to not turn around or keep my eyes wide open;
my choices rest between blinded by light or
confused by shadows I choose to leave behind.

the strength I own resides in the nerves between
my eyes and mind; what I see and what I know.
the faithful gaze saved for saints and sinners

but I know that I am both, worthy of heaven and hell
deserving of access through those dozen pearly gates
and the land of eternally abandoned hope

I place myself firmly here, in-between the creations of
suffering and relief
where I hope to relieve and support

myself as well as the other sinners and saints

hey harpist with the stringy fingers
pluck me some melody made of daydreams
serenade my sleepless soul into
an ethereal pool where bodies are not needed
let each note pronounce as though to
declare the highest of high with sunshine
emanating through the vibrations of blissful contact
ripple love my way as though it could be shaped
so that I may know rest in peace

i heard it say
"don't trust your thoughts
as the clouds too will disguise this horizon"

false paths for walking
a theoretical projection to a place unknown
unreachable in every way but obtainable through lies

I heard it said before, "don't believe your thoughts"
but never from within
never so loud and brimming with confidence I do not know

in that moment, Gaia labored for her breath,
as the treetops bent to bow with a colorful homage,
accented pink and pollen green

flowers bloomed, non-flowers too
and the earth felt right
even as it still feels wrong

I no longer have words
for a while, It felt as though words passed through me,
acting as a filter between

the ether and the real.
like electricity through a wire,
water through leaded pipes.

now I feel like an empty vessel.
a dead wire
a dry well.

Loudly, I hear them above the rest.
Through the windows of slender sand, which rests in another form, songs of primavera bounce around my head.
I never knew their range or talents of projection; so small and fragile are not the melodies of the small and fragile.

This moment of recognition moves me to adjust that which separates her song and I; to hear more clearly that which I forgot,
truth and beauty, peace and presence.
I feel the thaw of spring which melts so sweetly into the air, sagging with weight as it tenderly brushes the backside of my neck.

These things in successsion cause more than hesitation, they cause more than saintly admiration. My eyes become fixed upon something in the middle distance to avoid and restrict additional visual stimuli; to allow this focused moment a place to stay.
to sit in appreciation of the fresh-chilled air and music of our returning spring that sings in natural melodies for we.

it's only three feet and two inches from falling,
crashing into a million bleeding pieces,
holding momentary glimmers of tungsten
and shimmers of electric wealth.

it lay there, placed just hours ago,
maybe by the hands of a mind
with these thoughts contained therein.

or maybe it lay placed by the hands
of a mind that could not restrain itself from
flying away with that fluttering cardinal, outside
the window, bouncing from tree to tree.

with either if-so, omnipresent is the hand
and the crystal that lay still, just on the edge,
three feet from whole and no longer still.

the echo i chase sounds from the siren which bends my ear.
summer clouds in springtime plume while soft silt bunches on the riverbed.
the shadow in the mirror looks like what i once knew but
from around the bend and above the break,
i hear her without distance.
like a hornets kiss on the back of my neck,
throbbing like a geysers sulfur surface,
welted like a rolling hillside,
i cannot ignore such persistence.
beauty and the burden knowing;

knowing she is a burden.
knowing she will change,
become something i've not known for others,
and unfold her beauty
in ways i'll not be blessed to know.

she remains that echo of thunder deep in the ravine,
she remains the shadows in the mirror i cannot shine upon.

if i were a tree in winter
my bark would praise
the bright light and warmth of sunshine
and scold the treacherous and bitter wind

but my roots would shout from down below
beneath the blue and white earth,

"we are safe within the dirt
where our source of being remains;
drinking, growing, absorbing more of
what provides us for this life"

While gazing wintery white
The only thought that came to me was,
"It's summer in Argentina,
but I don't speak Spanish"

just as a painted landscape, dimension and depth disappear
before my eyes, and like the slide of turpentine,
movement slowly ceases 'till the fragrant bead dissolves
into the tightly woven weaves. visible no more,
the aroma remains profound, as though there shall be no end.

i can't seem to find the mark where preservation placed its hold,
a naive attempt at keeping age so young.
a barrier between the world of quickly passing glances
with ever changing tastes, and eyes of failing foresight
which cannot find their pace.

composed of sacred balance, aesthetics defined
by what we can not know, sable and squirrel,
or some other mammalian hair, delicately define the strokes
that hold impossibly stable forms. they remain nothing more
than the anticipation of change.

i hold dearly their ideals set before me.  
worlds not yet conceived, sonnets of they eye.
immaculate conception of material, geographies of a mind;
i know to kneel and weep. i know their end is near,
while framed and draped in hammered sheets of gold.

unfurling cracks appear, sounding cries for renewed youth.
howling dearly to hide their hidden truths.
i listen within earshot, the call of dying lies
and feel no remorse. no guilt. no sympathy. their backgrounds protrude abruptly, like mountains from the sea.

although, their time is not like mountains or
the falling and rising seas. they remain only for our pleasure
and contemplation, when money and interest build into cacophony. confusing onlookers to believe a misplaced value, not an artists intention, to become only what man makes their purpose.

Our lampshades at midnight shine like amber moonlight,
like late august and amethyst; brief pulses of electric-cotton bliss.

They brand our bodies like ***** poppies
in the newest blue before the sunrise.

Dear, lay still as we shelter inside this warmth
Stay silent through the night, lest you need to speak.

If so, then whisper with your palms cupped 'round my skull
So i may feel your syllable kisses dance past the hair of my ear

To feel and know that this not be a dream

there's a fire on the treetops
that burns a yearning glow
projecting sounds of tremendous whirls
as it passes through the windows we left open.

just ahead, beyond these sights and sounds,
sits a peak, between here and the horizon,
where birds curiously soar
above this thing i've come to love.

these middle thing reek of sights and sounds i've not yet seen.
they sit silent, hidden, beyond the peak;
In the ashes of the burning trees.
this i know too well.

But I want to know those things,
I want to hear the whistle of wet wood
and the wings above my mountains peak;
to know a new horizon and

and feel new ground beneath my feet.

be little with me
as the sun rises and sets
and seasons become
our way of keeping time

be little with me
as if our nights will never end
and dreams are seen
as interruptions to this existence

be little with me,
while the world turns
another day old,
seemingly unfamiliar to itself

be little with me,
like an ant marching toward the edge of a finger,
feeling its way to knowing
a world yet so unknown.

be little with me
while some earthly feature holds our lying bodies
and the sky above busts with colorful clouds
and the breeze sweeps clean our toes

lovely, be little with me
today, tomorrow, and the next thing
before time reminds us
we are little no more

50 minutes of moonlight fills me
with fragrance of cinnamon and spores.
shadows and decaying tree tops
fall on an illuminated floor.

my breath will remain full
as the night falls to end,
while the fear behind each tree trunk
grows with moans and croaks and woes.

my sounds, they echo, as if to live another life and
my heat expels as if to warm the earth.
i may die unknown, dark and cold within the forrest
but at least i knew the forrest

and the forrest knew my woes.

I awoke to the screaming trees and bursts of flashing light
with colors of electric etymology and earnestly held emotions.
they were sounds of embattled fervor;
they were ablaze with unkempt rage.

I awoke to the screaming trees full of query and hopeful resolution
but the tribesmen still only cackled at the sight of my pasty skin.

there's a field i long to sow
and a sun i need to praise.
where the clouds,
the sky,
and grass,
belong to me.
while there,
i know that all i have and all i am is free.

that is all.
that's it.
that's all i'll ever need.

i can taste the lasting linger
of my final pennies worth
and i can feel the blank desire
my tastebuds spin inside my head
there is morning dew on dangling leaves
and beads of that,
hang on webs of busy widows.
the grass is green but, not for long
and the pinkest flowers are in full bloom;
but only until their pedals fall.
there is an evening light
reserved for days like this,
held and used to mark the end of
more than just a day.
there is a seasoned silence,
we hold in high regard,
but i can't stand or sit
with what that silence is

past summers sunset, before the witching hour
wheels beneath my feet spun forward
through this seasons ending blue
flashing lights of LED projected to and fro
dancing hues of white sent to indicate
another traveler along this path
from afar thats all you were
a light shaking to a fro, dancing in the blur

slowly we came within that distance on communal paths
that only frequent users come to know, that distance
where some form of greeting, some sign of acknowledgement,
i believe, is required for those in such a sharing peaceful place.

my gears were turning and my mouth opened to say "good evening to you"
just around that same time, the two of you said "hello" and "how are you"

suddenly, with the sound of the loving voices,
i was tremendously thrown into the memories of easier times
when i looked to you for love and affection
when i hoped to hear you with regularity
back when i was confused and disturbed with no compass to guide my sails and no wind but for what was in my lungs

i knew those voices once
i knew their faces too
they were gods to me
and now, just two voices i heard
while passing on a blue summers eve

my love lined in a windrow
swept aside for harvest,
lays still and full of bounty

use your hands in my collection
be gentle with my yield
my crop of seasoned fields

i am at your will
a subject of your disposal
eat and be full; waste not.

for my life and love remains your meal.

the sound was perfect until the pothole
and then you bolted shut your door
afraid of admiration, acknowledgement of beauty,
aside the anthill where the rubber stains
from strong aggressive ignorance
but when the details are finely captured
some kind of answer will appear.

part of the universe
even before life began on earth
complex chemicals reproducing themselves over billions of lies.
between biological sciences and
the laws of matter and energy
chemical processes are within us.
when our bodies move,
we give muscles the energy that is taken.
many species of the animal world
defend themselves to **** their prey.
modern methods led to greater understanding
greater identity
color, taste, smells of flowers and fruit.

the cast of morning light
pours like molten earth
forming polished sunshine bronze
inside the mold i am

firm and formed
resolute in solid stature
i cannot reach out to touch you
i cannot feel your skin

some parts of me are patina
weathered material in color
but some parts still shine
and those are the parts you touch

the tap turns towards free flow
spewing sounds of fluorinated spit
aerated aqua, so far from Caribbean blue.

baking soda toothpaste holds high aims to hammer
ergonomic plastic lays plush within my grasp
upper left molars first, always upper left molars

gyroscopic suds bubble and sludge
as the image of I projects into my eyes
but it has been too long and now i see you too

astral projection misplaced my mind and body
my soul was now with you as we cleaned our teeth
i see your titled head reflected in the mirror

and my eyes cannot believe
that it has been so long.

Mystery of the vanishing hills along the old silk routes.
near unused spirit houses i saw a church.
at my feet i noticed the minor compartments lie in
where the Spanish rancheros once lived and worked.

Golden fleece of dixie,
beyond wind shaped cypress trees of giants and dwarfs
aquamarine water gently washes, trapped by falling tide,
a herd of whales meets death ashore

bishops had thrown out all the devils,
man with ginger colored hair and chocolate skin,
decorated with intricate tattoos
from high in the air on the island
i crossed a channel to another part

oh yes, the spirit houses remain
but hiking trails lead to streams
valley in a winter mood; photograph
the wrinkled and gently contoured mountains

for four days we wandered
monks hope the disillusioned, skeleton of the ox.
somebody knew, i was coming.

there was a cool and damp electric hum
i heard outside my ear
and in the sky, hung high above my mind,
a pulsing breathing thing

in quick repetition and in pace with the sounds
of an uncharacteristically chilled evening
i could see the stars as they were
i could see myself as i am

and the world was right
but only in that moment.
i turned away, but for a blink,
and the earth had turned, hiding away,

our moment shared in time

whence you rested neatly,
betwixt mine arms so dearly.
no longer; farewell, forevermore.

seriously, where the **** did you go?

Say Florida in the cellar
speak flowers where cool and dark
close your eyes, wander through the library
smell the age of knowledge
touch the fading thoughts

Say Florida in the morning
speak soft for sake of caution
walk toward sound of flutes and fury
dance to unheard anger
die for woodwind rhythms

watermelon patch of bedlam
gourds of organic mess
vines in search for foundation
with flowers in full bloom

green with bristles of transparent shivs  
dirt that's aged from years of acidic drift
humid rainfall drums above this night
pooling inside my garden of life

the fallen rot, inside to out
but birds and bugs will gorge
and feed upon this ever restful seed
to clean this rotten pool inside my garden

toes touch preening green
brushing bushing basil
smelled of sweetest scents
summer in the morning

sunshine in a teardrop
cicadas in the moon-glow
nicotine nights, tobacco tearing teeth
insects breeding ringing sound

picasso floats within the tall oaks
boring beetles breaching dead birch
death-strokes sounding like your voice
mirrors filled with portraits i do not know.