The right hand that harkened to soothe thy brows
forsooth vanguards the left that spells thy ruin.
She came to thee in nakedness ‘ye saw,
thy yellow grin played her like a clavecin.

Whilom vase filled with posy gently care,
thy indecision maketh poison alack,
from its petals sith thee became a hare
thy hands darketh the ink already black.

A sweven verily haunts the fortress,
swith as the horns of a centaur bleed her
to her I swore fealty my naked mistress,
my lance revealed thy realms of plunder.

In the blood thee spilled, made mirror, there lay,
reflecting a portrait of vile beasts and a man.
The creature that ‘ye bade devour thy prey
is the wolf that one day shall swallow the sun.

thank you for not being accessible
that i have to run mountains
thank you for being both the run
and the mountain
thank you for being the pain
gracefully not inflicted
thank you for being both the pain
and the grace
thank you for being the light
that chooses not to blind
thank you for being the darkness
that chooses to see
thank you for being both light
and darkness

thank you for the cruelty
of your kindness

for that
i am forever

c h a s i n g       b e a u t i f u l

The rhubarb rubes hoo chose
across the damask must
aghast, in deed amidst the loss
now read without the malice
wsst

( can be read like it flies or it lands )





                                                          ­                              ’go…

                             ­                                               ’you have to’…

                                                           ­      when it says:
                                                           you have to let go,

                                                     like a bird
                                               treat my memory,

                                         wild and free

                                 like a creature

                  that thirsts

    …that lands only when you weep

I, pod
blessed of this age
that bequeaths me the power
to give each day a soundtrack
An imp out on a digital rampage
click
the trees barely had time to be leafy
click
gotcha! random bloggable ***
curled asleep is a poem
subtitled in dusty letters
tomorrow is another playlist
the unhappy will all dance
everybody is gonna dance
when I go out the door
to face my i-world, I, pod
hit it!

Once upon a time flesh was my lover
and I was wrapped in its sturdy density
    held together by the epidermis                      
                    made mobile by                          
                    
         my army of Vertebrates
to stand tall
       and strut
                    when possible.

Vain was the brain
                    the cerebrum conspired with the nerves
                     to move me to its bidding
to walk, to run, to coit


         and afterwards do some grocery shopping
                                    
                     the heart was worse than the brain
in its dramas and insinuations of love

         that made the poor gastrointestinal tract
a home
         to the alien and willowy creatures

                                                      such as butterflies
                  tsk

and I
         am shaken
                             to my very core

all my molars and incisors grinding itself
                             for its beauty is its pain
The brain was betrayed
                  by its own Amygdala he he he

Yes, I remember all the mechanisms working
                                         In their own tiny kingdoms

          serving the benign John or Anna or Sarah

even if it just a simple task of jacking off
                              if you could picture the neurons
                                                            stretching elastic to                    reach

                    that mental part
                                        where both ****** and fear reside.

Still in the end when the earth eats you whole
                    like the predator it really is
all that is left is me


                    bare bones


a proof of greatness or mediocrity
                    stark and irrefutable

                                        even if vanity denies the meaning of my bareness,

by inventing the soul.

( this poem can be read like its feather shape or horizontally to and fro )










              I
             go
             to fly                                                                                        so that I believe    
             so light                                                                           above
             with treads                                                          its plumes
               as wispy as the                                        so unruly shed                                                
                  feathers I collect along              an angel feathered
                        path cloven with grass    and mused mayhaps
                           autumn starts early for those angels