manifesting an ephemeral destination,
we fools hasten to the west
where the sun sets opposing everlasting
a whisper of grace
pierces through the cacophony of death

a hardened heart pressures spiritual detritus
ashes make charcoal I cling to for comfort
flammable riches,
my pride a stockpile of darkness
enlightened and lit from a spark up above

deign to enter my soul with footsteps made ******
palpitations afraid of the weight of Your presence
I tremble and wince at transgressions made malleable
what I thought were good bones,
brittle calcified sins

buckle and give to cleansing by fire,
almsgiving of flames burn me straight to my core
an allowance of dwelling I can never repay
save my corporeal mortgage from defaulting to form

fog of spiritual warfare,
nous blinded by soot
biding time, I pray for mutual abiding
gasping for breath and grasping for life,
I flee from the perishing smolders of self

she's beautiful the way she flies
with time upon her wings
a sussurus of sand elapsing
a due date for heartstrings

I'm afraid I'm your
origami imitant,
your paper tiger.

I'd like to work up the courage to ask you
if it is a cultural thing
to dress like a plushy carrot
that I'd like to passionately julienne
and sprinkle on my bed sheets.

prolifically infused with Life:
a steady seeping,
prophetic weeping,
climbing from the depths of strife.

rivulets of repentance
carve streams in my cheeks

assail upon my sorrow
comfort he who seeks

fall into him
while I fall into You
a romcom encounter
in the absence of pews

ambient roses
martyrdom's smile
mariposas aflutter
to stay for a while

I asked, "Should I shave?"
You said that you didn't care.
I said, "I love you."

map our trail in starbursts
kaleidoscopic eclipses in the sky

cosmos dripping from my paintbrush
stroking "what"s and stippling "why"s

questions, chromatic aberrations
a twinkle dancing in my eyes

a pause in time
my lips profess a parting, not goodbye

prodigal son clothed in cerulean
adrift atop my static soul

a tempest stains gray areas red
put to death the man of old

let bedrooms crash
what bones we question
feel sin from complex commotion

crossing over umbrage
on a bridge towards heaven
shading our eyes through fields of grey

through dappled eyelashes
look for promised remembrance

clamor to put away clamor
day by day

resplendent ripples of bedewed flames
cast upon my darkened soul

an anointing of grace
lays buoyant atop my shy understanding

warmth waft, arise to dry my cries
gradient radiance bless my life everlasting

deign to meet me on my knees,
my head cast down with hopes raised high

shield my weakness and bless me to shine,
praying for a peaceful departure

two from a chrysalis emerge as one
a monarch born to glorify The Son

a crowning of glory,
a martyrdom beaming
ahead lies the kingdom
awakened from dreaming

clowning around juggling rings of fire
entranced by dichromatic sunbeams eclipse
an annular event set to bloom annually
petals unfurling on a time lapse of bliss

a range of emotions shines brightly in daylight
barred from the sparkle of candlelight's kiss
cheekily dancing around a bonfire burning
cardinals alight on a preordained niche

She kept laughing
even though it wasn’t funny,

shrinking in the presence
of two men sent to interrogate her
about her purity,

the red brand hidden under her tongue
that she tried to hide under nervous giggles,
tried to mask with inappropriate joviality.

She tried to desperately communicate what had made her
choose the wrong side of the road
between laughter and sobbing.

She tried
and failed
to make them understand
what had made them think of her as a hysterical and trivial woman,
the stereotypical horrible driver,
unable to stay in her emotional lane.

Your caress is silky and creamy like butter
And my darling, I'm afraid that your lingering touch will give me diabetes
Your heart crumbles like flour when I press mine against it
And beads of sugar hang like dew upon your lashes

Maybe if I blended you up into cookie dough
And baked you at 350 for 15 minutes until you were golden brown
Then I wouldn't be afraid to stroke your resplendent face

Perhaps I wouldn't wince at the thought of pressing my ear against your chest
Just to hear your confectionary heart quiver
And there wouldn't be the slightest trepidation when I kissed your intoxicating tears

But I'm afraid that I'll leave you in for too long
And your saccharine core will harden and reek of soot
And with the slightest touch, you'll be reduced to ash
And your cremated remains will get frightened at the accusatory wail of the smoke detector
And they'll seek refuge in my oven's crevices
Never to be seen again

the gift of presence,
an appetizer to share
cheeks chubby with words unspoken

a fresh clause seeks independence;
ellipses follow and question
an epiphany of aloneness

take butter knives to butterflies
alight mid-flight in a *** set to simmer

a concentration, clarification
dressed in Sunday best, their golden wings glimmer

settling susurrus, a flurry aflutter
a conga of monarchs one after the other

taste buds taking two-steps to make room for more
the doe-eyed processions march in counts of four

Not all I am is transitory and ephemeral,
a bundle of nerves tangled between the dotted lines.
I ripple and undulate,
echoing off the walls of my expansive ribcage.

A girl curled up so tight
she ricochets like a pinball.
A kinetic confusion caught between frames,
bouncing around searching for meaning at the periphery.

Sometimes I forget that I'm the owner of my body
and I'm not just housesitting until the person whose home it really is gets back from vacation.

Thankfully whoever lives here always leaves me a roster that includes a list of the people in her life
so I don't embarrass her with my social ignorance.

Yesterday, she left me with the person she had labeled as "boyfriend" in her reference contact list.
And even though I didn't recognize him as mine,
when I stole glances for intel purposes,
I felt this surge of emotion
like she had left the electricity running in the room she dedicated to him.

You can’t See the Sea--for the ripples
Your Eyes--fogged--with the thick sea air
Are Stumbling into the ocean--Fickle--
Blinking uselessly in the Absence of the shore

The water is flooding into your crevices--
Its brackish tongue lapping gingerly at your Shores--
At your Sores--
Giving you solace--
And Reminding you--
That existing isn't a Chore--

bibelot of Babylon
put to death or dearth

precious precocial Person
born on the world to unearth

take butter knives to butterflies,
pump my cheeks with air to cushion their stay.

the views from the rooftop of my mouth
cloudy with bubbles of champagne laughter.

a flurry aflutter beats back the haze,
hoping to catch a glimpse of forever.

I'm hesitant to tell you that I love you,
because the last time I left my heart on someone's doorstep,
she left it out in the rain.

So pardon me for finally nursing it from its two year bout of pneumonia.

Because even though there are shots that prevent cooties,
I'm sorry to say that modern medicine has yet to find the cure for heartbreak.

I like my colors uppercase,
thoughts diluted,
worries muted.

Colors so loud they make you see shapes and swirls.
Colors for all of my multifaceted girls.

Colors so warm like a loving embrace.
Colors unafraid to take up space.

Colors that complement.
Colors for compliments.

Colors for me and colors for you.
Colors for the days that we want to see through.

This is the most emotionally present
that I've been in a long time.
And now that roll has been called,
I'd like to go ahead and strike my name off of the roster.

I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion

In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain

And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream

For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week

Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?

I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit

Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems

So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream

This feeling is familiar,
though you know her all the same.
A wrenching, tugging once removed
goes by a different name.

a tangible taste
transference of grace

a snake forsaken
for old times' sake

look up
keep watch
a vigilant face

arise drenched in mercy
sins erased

guanábanas y piñas
le digo a las frutas: te amo

newly illumined, agua de vida
estoy aprendiendo como me llamo

cleansing drops of saline
weep over salvation's tome

brace my sails to brave an ocean
afraid I'll combust if I go home

there are ants crawling in and out of my hollow eyes
they're having a picnic inside of my skull
they've invited all of their cousins and brothers and sisters
aunt kenneth is punching holes in my rotting brain
because her hormones are out of balance after the operation
rambunctious young twins cassie and brett just knocked over the potato salad which intermingles with the mush in my head
did you hear?
yoana eloped with a beetle
left her ailing mother all alone to raise two kids
and she's just shown up all alone with a dismal pack of beer and a sagging demeanor to show for herself
sandra says that her lover must have left her
and who did she think she was,
leaving everything she's ever known
and now she's come crawling back--
back to my rotting skull

pray on your wrist a wistful wish
shut your eyes to a bloodshot hue

born to fulfill a transfigured niche
umbilical grace shining through

They say that you're too inept,
too immature,
too young to know better.

Don't listen to them;
you're exactly the shade of green that I was looking for.

dip my toe in the mystery of immersion
dabble in dappling with dew

a cog in the wheel of cogitation
a mustard seed will birth anew

I think I'd like to pick pocket your heart,
though the jury's still out on whether or not I'm keeping the contents.

Because I'm only reaching in there to confirm that your feelings are still home,
that somewhere in that torso of yours, your heart serves as more than a ****** conduit.

But before I could even brush against you to distract you,
I saw the "For Rent" sign stapled to your chest.
And when I knocked on your rib cage to place an inquiry,
I saw the fine print that read:
"Tourniquet Not Included".

But didn't anyone tell you that if you dam up your emotions,
they'll leak out and poison your brain?
That's why they say love makes you do crazy things,
and I don't know if I can stick around until you're certifiable.

a pensive suspension aloft in mid air
wings ****** in for brevity
short on breath,
scared of heights

a compass spins wildly
in the face of misdirection
riddled by parachutes
free falling in flight

i've realized that my poetry is far too bombastic
as if all of the big words will distract everyone
from the fact
that i have nothing to say.

spiritual striation light my path
a focused array too hazy to grasp

my grip soft like putty
sand slips through the cracks

my hands unaccustomed
still grace everlasts