I am not my body

I am not the freckles scattered across my face like mismatched constellations
I am not the extra cupcakes that find their way to my thighs
I am not the shade of my eyes nor the hue of my skin
I am not the dark circles that come from lack of sleep
I am not the imperfections that appear on my forehead

I am my soul

I am a sad song on a lonely Saturday night
I am cute movies at midday and romantic comedies at midnight
I am the moon and the sun and the stars and the trees dancing in the wind
I am love and heartbreak, art and music
I am the clothes I wear and the people I associate with
I am the eye of a hurricane

My body is just a fragile house for the memories and dreams that live inside me.
And I refuse to be defined by that in which I reside.

Strangely timed
like a midnight rose
but this baby's breath breathes life
vibrant, visceral, vivacious
a requirement in this environment
for corporeal sustenance
maintaining and sustaining subsequent substances
and for which
no substitute exists.
nor should one.
for if this is that
without which
anguish persists permeating the vastness
clearly packing voidish absence
reminding that reciprocity not animosity
makes connectivity the activity
then why bother with formality?
or try to deny reality?
Grateful nostrils more easily discern
Scents that sting and scents that burn
Aided by proximity to incense intense senses
lives sweeten with flowers' presence
sweet airs and flowery essence
but there's hesitance in this instance
careful to engage or allow mental enrapture
one must gauge potential fracture
for roses have thorns
And I fear morning glory's scorn
despite wonders of its consumption born
that of which misgivings warn.
But know this
Golden lotus:
Let us lattice.
Let us, lotus,
Don't pass thus.

Thoughts, ideas and words
Have always been corporeal objects in my life -
Things, with weight and volume.
If you could see them, stacked precariously one atop another
Pile after pile and stack after stack,
threatening to bury me alive, when the balance is destroyed someday
when I try to remove the wrong item at the wrong time -
Well, If you saw them like that -
The way I see them –
You would, no doubt call me a hoarder,
A hoarder of ideas, thoughts and words,
Living safely in my own little world  
Surrounded by the waste products
Of an over active mind,
Unwilling to part with even the most useless thought -
Secure that someday they will all fit together into in a grand poem
That will free me at last.

Happenstance to the melancholic gives leave the sin of pride.
Inbound reconnaissance tells not the bearer of influence.
Squeamish at first: a foreshadowing of calamitous bonding.

A space between the mark of corporeal and the ethereal; a stringent hiatus
That which rattles the concrete foundation of morality is scarcely a malleable recourse.
Regret stains the unfounded soul: an enigma of ephemeral perforations.

A separation of the unmitigated humanities; misandry topples the writhing snake.
Impact; a cleansing of the maker's flaws integrated solemnly.
Complacency arrests the administration of the abhorred; unbridled is the autonomy of a guru.  

Ambivalent giftedness burdens the reliant and haughty.
A flick of the tongue brings forth the cinema mortem.
Castaway: alone to wade in the sea of obscenities.

A temporal causality allows no mourning to abscond.
Negligence is not the enemy, but indulgent wrath.
Hesitant: a stroke of qualia begets the end of a maiden.

from the limits of my white cocoon
fine spun dreams,  predilections
and myriad desires
I perceive the world
and sadly it ends at the tip of my
nose
O how I long to rip off these
wretched mummy wrappings
and not have to listen to one more
funeral dirge
or see a tear fall from a grief
stricken eye
my anguished soul flails
wings clipped, bound hand and foot
inside a corporeal coffin

while a delicate butterfly prays for the strength
and faith to live if only for a
day in the bright expansive
colors of its True Self

The exquisite taste of iron
Lingering enclosed
A sanguineous river
The bequest of mine adversary
A purple mottled blossom
Burgeoning forth
Flowerbed of
Battered frame
Extinguished flame
The corporeal battlefield
Ravaged

Iniquitous intentions
And dominating force
Unabated terror
Reigning forth

As with every new bloom
It claims new ground
A daring boldness
Possessed of strategy
With motives unsound

A brink battled raged
Body consumed
Lost shattered frayed

Within and closer
A planted cerebral seed
Rising forth malady

Nevermore unchanged
Though the body heals
The mind retains
Lasting casualties
Slivered charred remains

Honey moon
Wild free nectar racing through
Late July veins like rain
You are that razor edge
Awareness of the separation
Between corporeal and physical
Melt through, right on down
To the event horizon
Twisted molecules braiding
Memory
This is alive
This is
This is you
This is me
This is now

*let's not waste it

my blood plays in the dancing embrace of my bones
ribbons them with a gifted chaos
that the serenity of your lines subdue
and before your form-ethereal
i convalesce corporeal