Until the quiet comes, I wait beneath the tide
Before the rising sun, I'll watch your empty stride
The bay will slowly chase, pushing you for higher ground
I'll return from being swallowed and eat your viscous frown

after your colors show, i'll smear them into black
you'll no longer be primary on my brush
i'll use you for the shadows hidden from the sun
ill use you for the highlights under the little of my thumb

when the quiet comes, i'll swim inside the sea
throughout the morning glow, they'll be no dark in me
the wind will dry my skin and the color of salt will stain my face
you'll be gone, and i'll be free, blessed from saving grace

we've acquired an army of elephants
and this room we've built
remains entirely too small.

i'm tired of living in this zoo with you,
cause it smells like domesticated ****
and i need the open air and space.

Perpetuate Perception, Deny my eyes, Lie.
Confuse Experience for the sake of Eden.

Shadows too, they Dance.
Size and shape transform,
Alive at dusk and dawn.

Belief dresses beneath a faithful veil
Organisms, dancing inside oneself.

Unaware of shadows and their truth;
Persistent, lively, barefaced.
Visions of forever, no scope to lead us there.

Unsupported bridge, leading to no path.
Outlines of intuition, retaining the all unseen.

Hammer out our reflection, define new lines to fill.
Perpetuate a new idea, deny mans evil will.
Perceive the Eden inside us all;

Fulfill our Godly ill.

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 home next to your families
looks just like my grandmothers

the sound of crashing waves
the breeze of a cool atlantic
and the sun kissing your skin

it's easy to sleep with the sand at your feet
and not be sure
if this is just a dream

i wish i could eat infrared
and taste its color scheme.
i wish i could hear flowers talk
and listen to their dreams.
i wish i could see time
before and after it occurs.
i wish i could touch space
and feel it's infinity.
but more than all of this  
that could ever be,
i wish that i could smell you
lying here with me.

five years ago, i made a right turn.
there was a destination ahead
warmer and foreign
i didn't know the safety of the path,
and that was o.k.
i was giving up my atlantic.
late nights of **** bathing,
avoiding rude traffic in the morning,
and turning spindles on the boardwalk.
it was beautiful but i was dying.
we met on stairs built
on the sound of a southern state.
you knew my cousin because
she loved your brother once.
you were bubbly with long hair,
thin and fair.
our names share the same letter
and the same amount of syllables.
you weren't older than I
but had grown in more common ways.
i had seen more corners of the world,
the darkness and light they offered too.
i was shy with an open heart while
you were hopeful for more intention;
more time spent of our invention.
we made red sangria
and cut fruit in the kitchen
overlooking the shining bay.
a place where we would love each other
with a ripe and fruitful touch.
  
we soon moved in together
and life was simple.
i had made a fire for you and
dreamed my thoughts aloud
of keeping life this way.
material and time built
walls between us.
you wouldn't let me love you.
you became afraid of the worlds i knew.
no words or actions could convince you
how those things didn't matter
that we had all we needed.
your distance and shifting desires
lead me askew.
i made a left turn towards something new.
i didn't know where i was going
but the journey was intoxicating.
i learned about deep hurt
and a brighter light;
darker corners
and wider definitions of what love really is.
this left turn took nine months
to more unknown roads,
but the light on the bay
with fruity sangria,
with the love and light you showed me
for making a right turn,
i will never lose.

These three little spoons that
Rest wet in a bowl of soap
remind me of simple beauty
And the things I too often forget.

this form is tiresome
i want to be food
maybe bread
grow moldy
feed the birds
become mixed amongst
the seeds and dirt
only to return
as some weeds
between those flowers
against the rivers bend.

i told you
the memories of moments
i have of you.

but today i say

i want more.
moments to make memories
that i'll tenderly keep of you.

you will argue counterpoints and objectivity will be forgotten.
reality will remain inconsistent aside from pure existence.
you will illuminate countless experiences worthy as
being considered the only human truths
but i will reject your every word spoken,
in your every tone.
i will quantify your values and point towards my bullet points of proof.
i will not beg for mercy or ask for your forgiveness.
i do not ask for pity or intend to leave you filled with guilt
because if your argument was valid,
those emotions would not arise.

you lied to me while in your heels
when you met me at my eyes.
but you were beautiful,
and i believed every word.

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.

The morning lays quiet,
I feel you near.
Your breath is shallow,
Body warm.

I wrestle the sheets and
fleeting time I have here.

Your leg overlapping mine.

I check the time, continued plight
Slowly removing my leg from underneath
So you’ll not notice the subtle
Absence of flesh and heat.

Following that moment
I felt true bliss of you and all your being.

My leg now free, regretfully escaping,
Once again became overlapped with yours
As you silently settled your warm
soul atop of me.

when someone hands you a rose
it is beautiful in front of your eyes
but place that rose behind your back
to see the beauty you cannot see.

the beauty your heart knows
the beauty your mind desires.

the beauty of that rose handed to you
is a sincere emotional transaction between two people.

I saw you sitting atop your sprinkled leaves
where you stayed perched to pass the day
but when the gentle wind blew a breeze
you turned to run away.

I do not fear those things; no longer.
I will not hide from the face of the unknowing.

I've often found
That love is bound
To illusion and misconception.
Of who I am,
And who you are,
Fulfilling our minds reflections.
This and that
Will not exist
Without our own involvement.
Our hearts will break
Tearing apart
From internal misalignment.
Find your north,
Tune your fork,
Towards truths frequency,
It may spin
And twist alike
Pointing back towards me.
Either way, gravity
Will fall tremendously,
Exposing all, in their truth
And frequency attuned.

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.

look beyond, where lavandula wildly grows in fields of fonder
look beyond, where silk weaves between trees of deepened shade
look beyond, where electric snow coldly hums a muffled word
look beyond, where salted mists lift above a cresting swell
look beyond, where glass dances with mountainously airy leaps
look beyond, where green is all the eye can see
look beyond, where lamps light cannot reach
look beyond, where limits end
look beyond all of this to glimpse the hidden parts of me.

look beneath those beyonds
look beneath those glimpse's
look beneath those hidden parts
look beneath all of this to see a little more of me.

even after beyond those things
even after beneath those glimpse's
even after seeing all of this
you'll never see all of me.

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

it was just past midday,
between the hour of 12 and 1,
when i laid outside in my aged underwear
and enjoyed one of those wakeful stretches
which feels more like a spasm,
atop the fallen wet leaves and still green grass
when a sun-shower shone and washed away
all my lingering summer thoughts.

that's when the mailman approached my mailbox
with that wave like hum of low gear driving,
delivering pulpy reminders of todays date in the real world
and the actual passage of time.

baking with bananas brings me back.
when your love took form of a muffin,
when French was more than an ideal
but something our tongues practiced
with spitting vowels and lingering r's

we were married in French class
down the aisle of our hallway but
you're no longer a part of my life

but you'll remain a part of me
and when I bake banana bread
filled with chocolate chips
ill remember how warm you were
and how beautiful our love could be.

mista marley be in da background wailin while
miss robin between dem treetops declarin
"why dem beasts be destroyin?
mi can't imagine wat dem be thinkin"

me fingas dig da dirt in mi garden
and mi knoa dat dis be mi own
mi plate stay full from dem humble growns
and mi knoa dat dis be mi home

when i have a child one day                              when i have a child one day
and they come crying with a bruise       and they come shouting full of joy
from falling down                                       with grass stains on their knee's  
                                        
                                           ill tell them with a smile,
                                                        th­at's life.

when i have a child one day                              when i have a child one day
and they look up in wonder                       and they look inside themselves
and point to a passing bird                    and find something scary and new
                        
                                            ill tell them with a smile,
                                                         that's life.

when i have a child one day                              when i have a child one day
and they smile brightly at                                 and they cringe in distaste at
their favorite slice of fruit                        the worldly food filling their plate

                                            ill tell them with a smile,
                                                         that's life.

when i have a child one day                              when i have a child one day
and they find their love                                            and they loose their love
in beautiful harmony and                                                to passing tides and
brighter skies                                                            ­                      fuller moons

                                            ill tell them with a smile,
                                                         that's life.

when i have a child one day                              when i have a child one day
and they have a child of their own         and they're saying goodbye to me

                                           ill tell them with a smile
                                     to remember what i taught you,
                                                         this is life.
                                                           ­  smile.

She will return to me
Just like the shadows of spring;
And I will know her, truly,
Just as the shadows of spring.

You glowed; I was the moth.

i smell your breathe exhale.
i inhale the mixture of airs.
yours and mine;
and hold this breathe as a memory.

i feel your lips mark this statement
with a clearly perfect cadence,
one which i adore,
as if god and time were in cahoots.

"no more", "that's enough"

i felt your lips speak words, without movement,
which remain so foreign from your tongue.
i smelled your precious air
which has superseded my memory of memories.

your eyes have become my ocean.
your kiss has become my folly in water.
i swim well and fear our earth but
i say now, "more; always. never enough"

the sun sets over London
where the sky is clear
and experiences are new.

time has shifted, GMT +1.
ahead of me,
a future i'm patient to know.

aglow in electric light
you stood before me;
ahead, a future i long to know.

cartoon confessional
*******, comical profession
my honesty is not your priority
my honesty is not worldly morality
you won't read this and feel anything.
you won't know me and change your life.
you'll hallucinate belonging,
you'll produce surreal existence of coded transponding

******* for real.

im drunk af and don't give af
continue to spoon yourself the morning grain
and laugh a mouthful of motherly milk
spill abreast your leather cushion
spill abreast your taste for plastic ****.
i could confess my most intimate secrets
and you'd declare fake news abound.
so *******, *******.

i'll spill my guts
sober as a bird
or
drunk as dirt is *****.
ill create cartoons cohesive to my creation
and **** the karma of cautionary tales
and scream ******* till i die.
because regardless of what i say
or how honestly i say it,
you will continue to **** yourself
and enjoy ******* those around you.

this is not a joke.
*******.
language is so much more than words.
don't read me with hopes for inspiration
don't read me for a glance of transpiration.
words are merely symbols of existence and understanding.
read what is written and you will understand
that we've been ****** since the first translation.

i can't translate my emotions into words.
i can try. but you will never know.
i can tell you why
but you will never grow.

love is lost and life is futile
but we'll argue over value
and we'll exit with arguments in our blood.
we are ****** and god is gone
gone with a capital G.
god is just the next best thing since apple sauce
and wonder bread in the morning.

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

being and not being,
siting and laying there in front of me
the reflection which jumps into my eyes
with a matted finish portraying its age
of being and not being.

heated air swirled 'round
my barefoot toes
the grass sat wet and dull
i heard the birds chirp confused
and my heart fluttered like their wings
tress budded red
only to be frozen
false starts and heart attacks
after the groundhog saw his shadow.

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.

my memories are not papier mâché
wrapped around my face,
they are the masked collage
that i do not wear.

my thoughts are not a cohesive train
riding on my skin,
they are a parking lot
filled of empty bins.

my words are not a hammer made of sickles
i carry around with me,
they are a set of locks,
each letter is the key.

my hopes are not the mourning dove
perched and singing songs,
they are the future flight
on top of warmer winds.

my fears are not the passing night
when darkness reaches peak,
they are a fading day
before my sun is done.

my dreams are not the crashing tides
where sand and salty seas will meet,
they are the day
i stand and feel this
all beneath my feet.

my days are not eternity
feeding an endless mouth,
they are the ache of hunger
for the beautiful feast of life
i cannot live without.

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.

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.

"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.

the saddest game we play
is saying that i love you
than walking the other way.

i can feel the ocean
and how it keeps
you from me;

make me into water.

so i may evaporate like mist in the august sun,
rising high above our land,
swiftly passing over the active Atlantic ,

to wherever it is you are.

so i may form again
above a Parisian sky
and fall onto your comely lips and say

"j'ai besoin de toi plus près que ça"

show me careful construction
and the time it takes
to shape these surely joints
of this thing we're building together.

i'll reveal the careless destruction
and the childish naiveté
of those that have not loved like this
and the lessons left for learning.

hello lovers
*******
go die

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