And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.

The empty air made buzz
Thin wings of a dragonfly.

Forgetting someone is like forgetting to turn off the light
     in the backyard so it stays lit all the next day

But then it is the light that makes you remember.

Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.

as i did evolve
aware some how
of things working
beyond, uncontrolled
in some matrix still,
demons became angels
then the giants, pygmies
all evil unharming,fazed
the least humanity a guru
from some faith undefined,
aware still,blessed,I evolve!

My reveling friends having left,
As I sweep a home disheveled,
The aim a single minded cleaning,
Reaching that nook and this corner
Found are nuggets physical, forgotten,
A pearl from a necklace torn,dusty
and hidden,A scrap from a letter of love.
As the dirt is ****** out, as sets in order
Somehow even the mind gets orderly,
Cleansed,My focus singular to catharsize
the physical,strangely turning spiritual,
Into a nirvana just sweeping!

A tree has grown very slowly in my bones
inside my fingers dark paint thicker than my fingerbones
a mess of sticks inside cloudy bushy leaves
brushing the ground from the top
long strong pieces inside creak
it is the foundation and strength
sturdy pops in the musical hearts of old pianos.
the oldest things are trees
you can hear their waists without hipjoints standing in the wind each year
they always sound hard and alive
wood is lightly round and around and thick
the color of coffee and light cream
they are oldest because of the new leaves
significant colors from ugly knobby wrists
the wind in them sends a slow s freshly
a strong lullaby that touches low height
grounding the air and my legs.
A tree has grown in my bones
my legs curve in heavy waves and gravy in the ground
and my face that twists on the trunk of my neck
is the back of a chair for a bird's pillow
the sight of a bird looks like it's free though it belongs in the sky
so while it sits
is feels like it's free though it belongs in the sky
so they are free on the sides of my house
whispering into my mind
on my branches because only something
with foundation deep
and brown
can have ears where wind blows through
tall enough in the air for the mind to breathe
my mind bending up from pressing out to breathe for me
a nest where bones and milk press freely through the leaves

deleting collections of creativity from the internet

silver and white
it's gone
the flash went while spilling its growth
the more in it graceful as water
it came down carrying what looked like backpacks filled with even more
it's face is a bottomless house of levels
I've been thirsty for the trunk of a tree while it filled my mind
I finally felt bark like the neck beneath the leaves
and now it's the packs watering the streets in shades of silver for discovery
but a broom is sweeping them
since they look like trash
and silver shrunk its glitter after the sky said only he can hold a sea of lights
without having to carry each one
now I love beauty again
it used to be so catching that it would fall deeply against the ground
the rain in snow
the wet dew in and over photographs
sliding everything
but eyes down without music
in one song I am stolen
only one
the visual game is wood that burns by sight
I've spun in circles
But my eyes have slept in a bed not in a palace
Emptied their pockets on the table and my face
after some of the silver tried to form an elephant in my room
it is too much
I got away
and now I love beauty again
it's face used to be a blinding rocket peeling off more space to see
I finally stopped trying to catch up with it and watched it leave
leave me with all what it left me in bags
But a broom came by and is sweeping them around my legs
since most things look dim in the rain

I’m not the one,
but he still is
I’m like the second
Not even a part of this
I’m not the only
And I’m not the one
Now I’m sitting in the darkness
While he walks on the sun