Like a wildebeest
The commotion within me,
Unsettled,
The anthemic rhythm is unruly
My carcass accommodates an anarchy
Transfixed by an enticing temptation
I am gullible liquid
Falling into your shape,
Absorbing into your creases, willingly
Do with me as you please
I’ll monopolize your monologue
Engage in every lie
Like it’s made of gold
I am your ever-lasting prize
As long as we don’t volatilize
I’m yours to mold

Let’s visit dream worlds on a daily basis
Hop a train away from reality
Take my plane with me – it flies where no one sees
And anything is possible there

The tide of my mind flows in and out,
breathing out then in,
Dryness in my mouth
There's ripples in my heart and bubbles in my belly
I thought I was drowning, but
I'm sorry dear earth,
I must have drank the ocean

My hands reach out like branches to you,
dead parts of my past
fall off me like an autumn day
you've built your nest upon me and I hear your song
I thought I was falling, but
I'm sorry dear earth,
I must have ate a tree

I hit rock bottom at the base of an obstacle
I started the climb,
You latched your rope to mine
Pulled when I was slipping and relaxed my heavy breaths
I thought I wasn't budging, but
I'm sorry dear earth,
I must have stole a mountain


But I am no robber.
Then is this what it is to feel love?

I haven’t the slightest clue
Why a clover, running vast and tall
As the large oak is to me, as it is to an ant
Why the four-frond need not be seen
But to be as grand as gold
A lucky little forest undergrowth
A measly being with a great purpose
And a lesson to behold
When it leans upon the heel of your boot
Or settles near your clambake quilt
Even unnoticed
It lives merrily, dancing with an extra limb
Though no one will look down to see
It holds its gaiety in quietude; in still

Why are you glowing red hot
But cool to the touch
And send heat through my heart
But chills down my spine
Goose bumps on my arms
And sweat on my palms
What temperature are you, exactly?

Tomorrow will be the blanket of today
The one that makes it more warming and comfortable
Because today was dreary and cold
And tomorrow will vanish it away
It will no longer be an importance, although it never really was
It will hide the gloom away into the attic of my head
To never to be visited, and never have to be

"What is beautiful about a woman?"
I asked history.
And he said:
Juno Lucina
The miracle of birth.

"What is beautiful about a woman?"
I asked language.
And he said:
Mami, Morsa,
White flower, white dress.

"What is beautiful about a woman?"
I asked society.
And he said:
She is the good little mother
That I ask her to be.

When they say beauty is on the inside,
Did they mean in the ovaries?
Why is there beauty where babies are made,
But not in the woman that made them?
If she behaves like the perfect, practiced wife
The world cheers along.
But what about her,
Is she beauty alone?

"What is beautiful about a woman?"
I asked art.
"She is beauty,
She is beauty,
She is beauty", she said.

My eyes are a gift
             And so are yours
And too often we go unseeing what should be seen
             Ignoring what should be analyzed
                          Searching for what isn’t found
Because you can’t possibly know what you could be missing out on
             If you’re missing out on it

The wind blows but I know it means well, not to sneak into the crack of a sleeping baby's window, but to tickle the trees, and to give me a peace I can't find in anything else.
And what I can't grab is how it dances, because I could never dance like it and if I could I would grab at the stars and be one with the clouds because thats what the wind can do
I would sit on the tree tops and have picnics of falling chestnuts
I would pet the backs of squirrels and give life to the wings of the birds and everything would be okay because I would have no broken home to go back to, but a field of flowers waiting to sway with me and hear my songs
You know when the birds sing? Yeah, well they couldn't do much without the wind, it's a mere imitation of it's beautiful sound.
The wind means well
Let it carry your hair an inch from your face and close your eyes and you may fly like the bluejays it lifts
Let it blow your clothes in a rhythmic pattern like waves on the sea and feel the ocean beneath you as you glide above it, as you fly
If I were the wind I would laugh as I bounced from kite to kite making the young ones at the end of the string happy
I want to be wind
To do all of these things
but mostly to be able to touch all of you at once

Catastrophic throne,
Fermenting underneath my bones
As I sit above the chaos,
But as long as I sit motionless,
Focus on ahead instead of what’s at loss
The rocky remnants of your regret
Will crumble,
Go to rack and ruin
If I sit above the chaos,
It will all be over soon

I looked at the circle
And it was a square.

Friendly emotions
Are divisible by small numbers,
But crowds give me a bad taste.

I click the metal counter,
I’m at 26 questions starting with “why”,
And my memory
Is a dish of expired food in the fridge.

A figure of many
Futures
Stands at my front door,
But I don’t answer
To unexpected guests,
And my mailbox is a
Pocket of regret.

My attempts like dirt on buckskin,
But the moon
And sun
Both know the time I put in.

If only they could speak for me.

When the life inside my head
Infiltrates the life that others see,
I am the servant to emotion.
I am the sleeping circus lion behind iron.

When others see the best in me,
It’s unrequited.
How can we reside in a place we’re uninvited?
And we pretend we like to fight
For the issues we birth.
The hearse we take turns driving to the cliff,
To **** it again.

I look at my window but not out
And I’m looking at its unprotected-of-weather surface, blue and wet
Crying
And pebbled in drops of the rain that has been falling all day
And I feel like it
My surface blue, and wet
Crying,
And pebbled in drops of the pain that has been falling on me
For a while now
My window and I have a lot in common, it seems

Nothing pleases my eyes more
Than your face so close to mine
That they can’t even focus

When I die,
I’d like to be buried in my PJ’s
For I will not be dead

Forever lives the things I did,
And all the things I said,

I will still be quite alive, I will linger
In the grass you picnic on,
In the dust upon your finger

And so my body, buried,
It is sleeping,
But I’m not gone.

So put me in my pyjamas,
Because forever, I’ll live on.

The fractal rays of the light
Through the frozen window,
The furious wind blows
My curious thought echos
The storm will not cease
But my mind is at ease

The smoke of the chimneys,
Fierce howling of might,
The fright of the whistling branch
The snow in a fury; a dance
The storm will not cease
But my mind is at ease

The latch rattles, wood creaks
Dust emancipated from antiques
My heart speaks
To the williwaw shrieks
The storm will not cease
But my mind is at ease

The right of me stays,
And the left jumps.
The left holds on to a fleeing thought;
A candy apple haze;
While the right stays.
I mount the rusty carousel and I want to go straight.
When circles repeat a darker grim;
A haunting I put myself in;
My fate.

My limbs stretch thin.
My ticket to ride; the unforgiven sin.
But the clown grins upon my feverish state;
My fate,
That I put myself in.

Let’s save the epitaph for the grave
And sip on our tea while it’s still hot
The spiral stair case looks daunting from the bottom step,
But I’ll tie your shoes,
And I’ll wipe your cheek when it’s wet
And when we hang our flag parallel to the timber,
I’ll gather the arrows of your quiver
And each one sent to the sky
With a well wish
Like a wishing well dime
As the weight on your shoulder decreases
I’ll flatten the creases of your coat
And remind you that the climb is behind us

It was a snowflake
Six sided, white and fluffy
Caught it on my tongue

Caricature of a truth.
I lay down my wheat and fire iron.
In smoky mirrors, I spread my tail feathers
Alongside the peacock.

When will time be fated to wrist restraints;
When will the Milky Way dance?

If we pick the leaves of the blueberry bush,
Should we ask how she feels of it?
I will dress her in new garb
Before the rooster crows,
If she so wishes.

Why must we play riddles with the unknown?
We poke fun at the things we should practice.
We don’t know the invisible barricade
Unless we paint it.
If we paint it.
Will we paint it?

And when eyes fall,
Of royal silk red,
And swords collide,
Will all be sought?
Have we learned already as people?
Have we forgotten?

Sharpened knife,
And quarterstaff.
The dermis artist before you,
Decorticating all who disobey.
All who fall astray,
Or choose a better tree to climb.
How do we not see?
How do we not see that we are blind?

And when will we learn?
When will we be taught?
Will we ever know,
Will we ever know of what is true and right?
Will we ever know,
The things that we should change,
The things that we should fight,
The things that don’t belong?

The rooster crows.
The rooster’s song is sad,
Because the rooster knows what’s wrong.

The silly butterfly;
Before it born, thought it died.

You have fare-welled and planned on never coming back,
And said you knew your place and mind.
You have come back so intact, and so sure that you will stay,
And tell me you’re sorry. Well, It’s fine.

You have yelled and picked apart parts of me unpickable by others,
And you’ve tied our love into knots.
You have said such sweet things and refuse you’ll ever raise your voice again
And say your tongue was just caught.

You become oblivious to obvious things and lie about it truly,
And clear your throat afterwards to confess.
You sit and sigh and groan and complain when you seem satisfied,
And you tell me I’m much more when I’m much less

You scatter out problems and lay them out flat and you promise,
That you’ll solve them. But I always do.
You forgive and say you’ll forget, but you hold it against me,
And I sit while you hold grudges and feel blue.

You croak and hold things away from me, saying you’ve said everything,
But things in your head have begun collecting dust
You seek new ways out, new roads to follow, but you don’t choose one,
You merely sit in the dew, and rust.

I was once the color of the ocean,
Sad and alone, and eventually
Got sick of it all
Turned green
And I had the notion
That I should be happy
That I should be smiling like the sun
Turned yellow
Was dancing, with no expectations
And was always having fun
But soon after, I became pink
My cheeks were warm, and flushed
Had a crush, went crazy in the head
My heart expanded slowly
The feeling became stronger
Turned red

I feel all that’s inside me shake, criss-cross and tumble,
Ending up in places they shouldn’t be.
My feelings get confused and are unsure of how much
Of themselves to portray, or let go of completely.
I sit and stand and lay and think, but my thoughts do not
Know enough to figure things out.
And I know I should be using my head, but my heart is
What all this commotion’s about.

If you’re just here for fun and games
Count me out.

If temporary is your name
Count me out

If what involved, I’ve felt before
And familiar things are at my door
And routines will start to show up more
Count me out

Your topography.
Your body and its geography.
Lavish to lick,
Sensual, slick,
Fantastic.
I indulge with my hands and my mouth
As our hips, caught in a dance
Lift me into a trance,
And all I see is you,
And the star-speckled black.
Our aura outshines them all.
I tip-tap finger tips on your back,
And your breath,
And sighs
Whisper sweet-nothings to the skies
And all the gods watch in awe
As we crumble temples in our path,
And reach levels higher than Olympus
Decibels higher than the thunderous clap,
Anchored down by nothing
But a metal clasp
And hidden by nothing but a mask.
But these are no obstructions
To our naked odyssey,
We wander in wanderlust.
In lust, in love.
In you,
In me.

“Have you not any legs?”
“I do not”
“Have you not any arms?
“I do not”
“Have you not any eyes?”
“I do not”
“Then what do you have?”
“A heart”

Deceiving
Dainty,
Disguised
Delay

Achieving
Angry
Advised
Astray­

Rereading
Rarity
Realize
Replay

Evening
Eery
Edgewise
Erase

S­eething
Safety
Surprise
Someday

Death could be beauty
If you defined it; but soon
Death will define you

The peacock has made its home inside of me, feathers fanned out
Each representing a problem of mine
And I sit back and see the pretty colors
I can't see the trouble to come or the things I must do
And if I only did them the peacock would no longer have to be inside me.

Why is it that, when one thing in your life gets knocked over
A domino effect occurs
And all things come tumbling down?

Something I have learned
Is, you can't change a person
But you can leave them

Feel it drench us
Heart to toe
I feel the past below,
Let’s tread,
Let’s trek,
Let’s tottle,
Full throttle
Utopia ahead,
Your role model is a single thread
The one that matched us long ago
A single thread
That lies untied
Between our bodies in the snow
The single thread
And our life anew,
To utopia we go
Me and you

Your metal against me,
The cold edge of your weaponry
The manacles, your body’s debris
Against my face like the sand of the desert
Vanquished feelings you banished to dungeons,
But the bludgeoned internalized truth, burning like cyanide, will be a battle unending,
A horrific cry from inside
Be glad when the sun rises,
And light grazes the shadows ignored by your stubborn mind
Do what’s unkind if it means that dubiety will cease,
And fate will tickle my pride,
And tease fleetingly, the right direction,
The next step, the resurrection of cognizance,
For if we let a chance by,
I’m stuck taking steps in the devil’s dance,
I’m welded at stance; wallowing at the willow tree’s cry

The blanket-dust lifts like a sheet,
When I find my tatty chest,
Under lock and debris.
Yesterday seems as old as the wheel,
As I curtain my hair behind ears.
The key crepitates
within the metal juts and crevices.
With a final hissing crack,
It snaps,
And the golden hue
Of past,
It blinds,
With uninterrupted stares through beryl iris.
How something can disobey time and space
As it pleases,
I’ll never know.
But as it cuts through every age I’ve sewn,
And halves the height of grown,
And dyes my ego black and white,
I’m rerouted —
To a new me (or an old me?),
In every photo leering back.

Between hums of your lingering facade
And drums of the exhilarating subsequent of this
My body acts as a time-glassed compass
Letting the magnet pull
Letting me yearn towards the bona fide path
While I control time,
And the remedial effects of it
As I chant
“I am fine
I am fine
I am fine”

The sun greets me in pieces, through the evergreens’ needles and limbs,
Tickling bits of dust particles,
And air-born, fluttery spores,
Soothing my goosebumps.
But the wooded labyrinth has a magnetizing aroma,
One of eerie descent
That I can’t let go of,
Even with the subdued lullaby of warm, midday light.
I crave the unnerving mystery
That the tall, stoic, ligneous soldiers give without hesitation.
I want to be caught with my heart in my throat,
And my breath unattainable.
I want their twigs and wiggly things
Wriggling in my core,
And hear my heartbeat thumping: “more!”
And befall my breathy song;
My wail
That never ends
Until I find the forest center.
Where most are lost,
I’m found.

Things are knocking at my door, and their faces are familiar
Because I’ve felt them before.
Feelings are falling from the sky and landing in my body,
And it’s a bad night for rain, my thoughts are still sore.

Your face is plastered all over my brain’s walls,
And I’m just waiting for my heart to start receiving them too.
Your hands are what my body is waiting for,
There are prints already there because my body’s impatient for you

Come collapse beside me and come to the realization
That I come to each time we speak
Travel into my mind and down my spine and see what I’m about,
Your lack of contribution makes me weak

I trudge; sludge behind me⁣
I try to hasten forward⁣
But I’m fastened beneath⁣
With the bedevilled unending well of⁣
Water befouled,⁣
Water of my tainted travel⁣
I’m carrying buckets of troubles⁣
I have to let go⁣
But the snail doesn’t know that it’s slow.⁣

If I can’t assuage
The crave for rain
In rugged drought and dry,
I hope at least
To see the day
That Mother Nature tries.

My eyelashes are whispering to one another
Asking the same question to see if any of them know the answer:
Why do they feel best when resting on your face?

“Fear is a place”,
I told the hissing shadow.
“You can’t choose if you end up there, but once there, you can choose whether or not you want to stay”.

Fear was baffled,
And bellowed, suddenly, like a bronze cannon,
“I’m real just like you! How can I be a place if I’m standing right here”.

“Because a real person still exists if you walk away.”

The little monsters in my heart have begun to dance,
And they no longer feast on the blood pumping through
They feast on you.

Butterflies? Ha!
I feel dragons with wingspans of fifty feet
Racing through my entire body

I’ve been casting far off on my own,
I’ve been carelessly walking off the edges of the world,
Twirling, watching my dreams float around me
In the same rhythm and speed as I.

I am haunted by a thought I hold,
A vision that I can’t let go,
And words I’ve never told.
But I push on, I heave, I **
And I follow the wendigo
Of you and I

Assess me,
I’m frigid and bare;
I took the plunge, dare to join me?
Dare to fly without baggage and forage beneath?
It’s freeing
To tear down the wall
And let the outsiders crawl
Into the cavern of your ribs and the creases of your mind
Where there’s nowhere to hide
Climb me
I’ll show you the steps
You’ll wish there were less
But you’ll never grow tired, each stair a compass, each tread I undress
To collect at the top of the mountain
Drink from my river, your personal fountain,
Dig your toes in the dirt, plant your seeds in a line
Divert from nothing; my insides benign, lie naked, unafraid, unhidden, unbind

I have mountains to give the world
And I was waiting for the earth to unzip and open up a space for me
Waiting in line for a ticket
Waiting for someone to give me the signal – that it’s okay to go
But I was silly
I can just start whenever I want
My limits are only set by myself

I have mountains to give the world
And I’ll start right now

The drum – the beat reverberates,
the coffin-held heart still quakes,
between the time traversed, unseen
before it died below the green.

The hand who grasps at last resorts
and goes for throws the body thwarts;
the scathed and bloodied knuckle skin,
is not a hand that you can win.

Of kin in blood, but that is all,
your legacy and greatness fall,
and eyes will watch as you go down,
but none the lips will wear a frown.

Your ebullience — my elixir.
Your structure — my realm.
My charmer,
My frolick-footed, arm-in-arm,
My wintertide warmer.
My bicycle bell,
My penny well of unwary wishes.
You capsize my worries,
Choke the vexed fires,
And anchor my fleeting desires.