I'm up with the down,
Friction of the chi,

    Balance in the chaos,

Spoken like

WORD

     Prism  owl
Moon shape
Blood shot
And words just speak,

Spoken

Like the wings of a flutter fly,
Clip the wings,
          Utter die,
******* I
     Am feeling
Like a mad Lora Lee,
    Inspired cordially,
Notoriously Ded and risen,
Hate it love it,
    Specters of the prison

Self .......help

And I'm feeling me,
On my feet
Life not kneeling me,
Onion layers,

Words

Peeling me,
Dealing me out
Because I'm poetrys *****,
Yea I said it,
You read it,
Never regret it,
Fetish for word.....spoken,

Feel me.

loneliness sits like an island of cold feet;
loneliness stirs like a maelstrom
of hot knives;
when I am touched
either gently,
or forcefully,
all of my ‘heart’
flees the blanket of intimacy.

It is much easier
being alone.
It gets much harder
most every day;

but today
a stranger
with a face like an alabaster rose
walked past me, smiling coyly,

and I wept,

unraveled

to be ravaged,
to be loved.

(explicit)

**** my soul
        with poetry
           scream out my gracious name
             slay me with words
               that peel my layers
                and simultaneously
                                   drive me
                                           insane

finger me slowly, hotly
with just the right rhythm and rhyme
    push me past my
                 tender limits
                       into tongues of syntax,
                                                      sublime

a­lliterate my senses
   (in swift stac
                    c-at
                           o)
until my mind is but blank verse
    mess up my stressed
              and unstressed syllables
in unsung language, versed

I will speak to you in vowels
(the only sound
       I will be able to make)
as you stroke
   my iambic pentameter
             in the heat of frothed-up
                                                     ache

we are this heroic couplet, you see
        even if the meaning seems veiled
           no need for simile or metaphor
               as I feel your chest rise
                              in deep inhale

we are a natural paradox
       so many ironies abound
         discordant harmony
is our synaesthesia
     in visible darkness found

and I love this delicious enjambment
as your aura invisibly slips
                               into mine
our lines have no beginning,
                                 no end
    as we undo
          the boundaries
                      of time