What does it mean, now,
To understand the colors we can see –
To become cognizant of what details the boundaries between
Man and woman
Woman and girl
Girl and boy
Boy and man –
And your freedom blows away
The wind pulls it,
Without a word –
Not a sorrowful goodbye,
But a wall of dissent –
Of once clear streams
Of dwelling time
All to say, approach the soil –
The seeds are now planted –
Your perspective, is mine.

In a dark, liminal space
I placed you
For your eyes blissfully violated the boundaries of my own
And, opened within me the words to speak –
To make myself vulnerable
To the flux of threads and ties and rings and strokes
Of his heart, of your heart, of their hearts –
Mindlessly binding together what I thought,
To be,
The omnipresence of arms, hands, limbs, thoughts
Artfully peeling apart your own blue sky
And placing above it, your dissent in words:
I know you.

Laying in the golden wreaths of endless fields
I felt you paint your words
Telling me my own destiny
A river flowing in harmonious cries
Sit still, you said -
Feel the crawl of your own hairs -
Feel your soul prickle away –
Be quiet, you said
And, there,
Tears flowing and ebbing -
Feel the water on your toes, you said
The brushes of silk paint and the stars of our skies
Close the ramming windows of your hands on my chest
As the rhythm of your fingers slam away
To the striking of time

Gazing my eyes through the silver, frosted window
I allowed myself to descend into the abyss of my youth –
I watched the twists and turns of black pavement and lost footsteps
Dwindle away behind me.
As I sunk into the leathery seat holding me,
I allowed closed eyes to burn cavernous holes in
The back of my neck.

In a fearsome wave, the length of my arm streamed out below my nose,
Letting free the familiar rhythms of:
Swings at the park, static on the television at dawn, and,
Disappearing into cold, quiet water without even a
Scrunch of the brow.

As I sat there, my mind turned at a speed akin to the wheels below me, and,
I looked back at the breathing current on the road –
How it disappeared behind me, and said:
Run.

The Olive Tree;
Growing in harmony with his caged lungs,
It grows, twists, turns,
But cannot breathe.
Though its roots trenches, the sapless tree
Cannot – will not – does not
Come to fruition,
For its open-air cage still bears lock.
Its dense breaths stagnant, like air, whose quiet strokes
Yet ebb.

As his pen scribbles away the birds above,
The motorcar rumbling,
The curtsy of flowers and flowing blinds,
The pervasive winds that break through his skull,
Two white eyes on a black canvas scream.
They envelop the world and allow him to forget –
The price of life in gold.