step into my shop of horrors
shack of nightmares not yet had
take in the aberrant, appalling aesthetic
i have dead sun flower
sundries that smell
of tangerine
i have the idol of
severed head and
exposed breast
i sell milk moon shell and
amethyst
incantations
ghost scrolls
student loans
buy my dreadful wares
and, please:

come again

an army of naked sycamores
like skeletons- they march,
for the porcelain forest
reclaiming their art
one leaf at a time

set up a chair
at the end of a tree lined street
not just any tree lined street
the street with the nice houses and cars
the street where the rich have "made it"
sit at the end of that street
with the cherry blossoms or jane magnolias
or whatever
and watch every one of those "successful" types
as they walk down their tree lined street
from their house to their car
as they walk by you, through their tree tunnel
watch carefully their faces
the trajectory of their gaze, tightness of their lips,
the experience woven into their furrowed brows
watch them hurry through the world's dream tunnel
a persons state of mind can be brought to light by a tree
the beauty of bloom, falling petal, hugging branches
it jolts excitement through human sensory
and so, when you read the lined, tired, hurried
faces- the dysphoric vacancy we've all carried
at some point
smile
create space
share love
just for a moment

my heart, a peach
softens
with each heart break
until it is too ripe
and it must be discarded
at least
i never
sealed it in a can
and kept it hard

thoughts are billowy clouds of
sky blue mind
spots of cumulus and cirrus drifts
cast gentle shadow
my mind gets lost
in cloud-storm
pierced by your
radiant presence
sky blue mind returns
you are clear river
perfect mirror
reflecting my clouds
unto me
you turn my sky blue
again
you are the place
in my forest of dreams
where i rest my clouds

White whispers represent chains
Preventing change.
The action of
Inaction,
Perpetuating that which we
Deny.
The sun of sin shining
Dimly through
The smog of society
Seen
By the few,
Not nearly enough.
“All lives matter”
Conveniently,
Fictitious feelings for a ‘flag’
Feigning support for
Social inequalities.
Politically correct where it
Counts –
Beyond the front door,
Not behind.
News headlines turn
Silent dissenting into
Violent lamenting.
Willful ignorance is
Deliberate destruction.
The true tragedy,
Behind.
Closed.
Doors.

maybe you're outer space,
maybe you're the ocean,
all I know is that
I have an unquenchable thirst
to explore you to the endless.
maybe its because of your vastness,
maybe its your seemingly infinite depth,
but like space and the ocean
I can't help but hold my breath
the further I go into you.

you are
flying dream
old growth tree
festooned in gold leaf
and rare gems
your rainforests noises
mirror my busy city mind
rising and ebbing
to shapes cosmic
all we hold
is the love
known amorphous

we grow together
quickly,
like juanita
like phillip
your plants,
we laugh at the sun
were kept up by the moon
we throw ourselves into crises
we burn oursleves out, until
we are just souls
were still kept up by the moon
we still laugh at the sun
like your plants,
like phillip
like juanita
quickly,
we grow together

red, orange, yellow, falling.
trees erupt in vibrant pirouettes,
like a geisha dancing.
the great festival's opening ceremony
begins.
we worship the trees,
as they strip through the season.
as winter awakens,
i am reminded of my own vibrant colors.
how they will fall like the trees,
both of us lain bare in december.

A bucket of freshly picked wildflowers
rest at the mud room door
the hum of washing machine
eases almost into a state of permanence
he wet himself again
he can't change himself
his bed is on the first floor
because fear lurks on the second
demons patrol every staircase
he's created his own Alcatraz
to keep himself safe
we do a puzzle
we read the sports section of the daily local
"I like this guy"
"go birds"
the only words i hear this day
the washer is still running
we look out the window
i see a fall day so beautiful
nature could not interact with itself
so harmoniously
he sees something else
something tragic and discordant
something evil that is always at his side
this ancient child
this hurt hermit
whose suffering remains unsung
saves me from despair
every time time i bask in the purity
that is his smile
and when the wildflowers are gone
and the washing machine stops running
a new meaning will be brought to
innocence lost

i sit and breathe
the world, becoming
shapeless
and i float
left to a whisper
scents of lobelia- soft
thoughts of you
like pressed flowers
between the pages of mind
beautifully preserved,
dead,
nonetheless

The moon marrying the water, at last
Sweet howling intensifies, our vision foggy
Is this death? Once dreamed for
Now upon us? In name and form

Moon white skin and hair
Marrying the flame,
becoming volcanic residue
The shelves newest resident

You’ve become the teacher
You always wanted to be
The lesson: life hangs in the balance
Wish it away and it will be granted


In death we live
In death we die
In death we are sweetly reminded
Death’s eye is ever searching

we don't know sleep
discard bedtime
daylight savings is canceled
this was when
our eyes talked more
than our lips

he/she/they
sits quietly
in front of hour glass
grains of sand in tempered sand
a cosmic distortion wakes them
from his/her/their trance
a wirey-haired dog
a cat just the same
speaks to them
a question is raised:
what else speaks
so eagerly, when i listen?

love inspires
10,000 beautiful visions
all shining through
my stained glass heart
refracting compassion, endless
10,000 beautiful visions
of wild spanish iris
vulcanized rubber
swells of prism
10,000 beautiful visions
all in the name of:
i love you

i sit and breathe
my capillaries & venules
scream-
seething and swelling
my heart becomes ensnared
torrents of adrenaline
drowning the roots
of this body, becoming
terrestrial
but i find quietude
again
in the experience of
i sit and breathe
the experience of my
body, existing

our time:

sweet as ambrosia
fleeting as dew
my heart, the tongue
our end, mid-morning sun
my heart, victim of mind
chases mid-morning sun
never forgets the taste
of the fleeting dew

you,
we're always more than me
but at least I was acknowledged
(by you)
I build you up, because I am less
sharpen your claws in my back
acknowledge me as the step I have become
for you, because I am less
***** me with my own passion
I'll bleed for days
just for you to write your lovers' name
you will always be more, because I am less

nothing excites me
like, the memory
of my slick palm
beneath hers

You are a walk in old growth,
The softest moss enjoyed by many stepping creatures.
As I grow weary I ease myself into your tall grass,
In the place where the wind takes it’s rest.

You speak to me in dream and river tongue
Chanting swallow’s songs and perfect weathered stone
I close my eyes and we exchange silk and furs
I worship the earth spirits that live inside you

As days pass, laughter turns to sugarcane
Tacit moon makes adobe pueblos
Here—my chest never touches the ground

I take shelter in your familiar terracotta
Like water excited in the kettle
Here—the bird of my thoughts sings