.

Love just like the dark night--
   scrapes its' cool wind across the
tossing face of the sea--
   Eyes on fire, so full of far away starlight
cast millions of years ago.

   Let us paint the world in lighter tones
to appreciate the midnight blues.



.

.


Impaled with sunken eyes,
hung out to dry in the sun.
They crawled up the living crucifix,
struggling to be the first to see heavens' gates.

Wrapped into submission,
Bacchus prepared the crystal
wine glasses. His finest hour.

Temptation's seed hath scattered.




.

.


Fusion--
a mastermind might find confusin'!

An obtrusion,
a tree that hides a mouse from an eagle.

Jumping into what you believed was a river--
an illusion.

Sanctuary...on Monkey Island.


.

.
I peek through the keyhole
and try to smell
freedom drifting on a steel breeze--

My window vibrates with distant echos of laughter
and the lone moan of a rusted lawn mower.

The cool, trickling creek is once again hidden
by the emerging tender leaf.
Silver quivering shards of light
come shooting faster than bullets and
raucously ricochet around my room.

Gravity works on the melting snow on the distant mountains,
little rivulets race to satiate the wild flowers in the valley.

--If you open my door, I will go there with you.





.

.
There were certain tea--chers--

that came crashing through my mind
like a herd of Buffalo,
New Yorkers.

Peeling, pointing porkers.

Try--ing to remind me--
the atmospheric city,
is not the alphabet, Oh!
Should I move out of Ohi--o?

(Oh me, oh me. Oh, my--O!)

I --
was dissolving,
certain rainy days sort of
had that sad effect on me.

And-- I-- was suspended--
high above a swaying bridge,
holding back the water.

Like old comic books and thunderstorms
crashing down like gravity...
And--
I smelled the smell of moth *****,
made me think of someones' grandma.

The empty corners of their closets.
The empty corners of their closets.


And still...
I dream of fly--ing--
high above the alligators
wrestling in an open pit.
While...

an anaconda
drops in uninvited and
squeezes both of them, Oh!

I am not complaining,
just because it's raining.

There were certain tea--chers--

that came crashing through my mind
like a herd of Buffalo,
New Yorkers.

Peeling, pointing porkers.

Try--ing to remind me--
the atmospheric city,
is not the alphabet, Oh!
Should I move out of Ohi--o?

(Oh me, oh me. Oh, my--O!)

I --
was dissolving,
certain rainy days sort of
had that sad effect on me.

And-- I-- was suspended--
high above a swaying bridge,
holding back the water.

And...










.

.
Eternity still holds a firm grip on my gaze--
my wonder.

It lead me down meandering streams,
Beneath the lofty willows,
Washing me upon mysterious shores where
Time is just an ancient notion.
Where day and night melted into one--

Running like a liquid wax beneath the castles' foundations.
Seems the sun and moon were all the poets ever dreamed of,
Or they would flood their dreams with only their light.
I remember walking by the old cemetery, counting each picket
Of the mile long whitewashed fence.
It was at that time in my life that I began to ponder eternity.
It had such a cold, icy feel to it then.

I remember.

My teeth would chatter
As I'd analyze the stars light
Stretching and criss-crossing into
The far unlit blackness of forever.

My favorite colors were always the blues and the grays--

Eternity still holds a firm grip on my gaze--
My wonder.

.
Miranda Writes


Miranda has the right to write in silence.
Anything you say, she will use against you
because you're moving your jaw.
Come knock on the door of my friend
Tom Sawyer. Especially if you cannot
afford a real lawyer.
I was trapped inside a rusty clock,
now I'm running out of time.
I'm gonna buy a tall, tall drink
and rub the rim with lime.
A pinch of salt, a pinch of skin,
just one more step and you'll be in.
These bottomless disturbances
quell my quivering quill,
I'm running out of time,
I've no time to ****.
Where voracious flowers whirl
with the movement of the moon,
and the lyrics won't be written
if I cannot find the tune.
In a dreamer's deeper darkness
remembering the womb's trembling throng,
keeps me merely existing just
to write your favorite song.
A piano intoxication is like
being chased by bees.
The more you drink, you'll drink more.
Let's go swimming in the keys.
Illumination's clear,
music is distressed.
It's time for me to go,
so, please don't be depressed.




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