beneath the star-struck, eternal vast,
    painted black, blue-grey black -
voices blister of the past.

haven't felt this way in quite some time.
    the restless nights. this cold, empty bed.
unrhythmic breaths flood my chest
    as I watch my mother die
                         for the second time.

it's moments like these you never forget.
    find yourself waking in a cold, hot sweat.
mind tracing every syllable, every breath;
    remembering every word you should have said.

with eyes like a beating heart;
   smells of daisy wanderlust.
soul-fire like passion's spark;
   worn-out smiles like last night's luck.

Round of twin *******,
Circle thighs, hips, moon bottoms,
The round of my palms.

Making love in first light,
Softly, she flowers and quakes—
Ripples on still pond.

Fullest milky moon—
All the stars and luna dripping,
She bathed in bright night.

Two prideful lovers—
In cold lips empty chamber,
  .  .  .  Words wait to be said.

Take this vesper and drink to glorious time,
Smolder and ride on golden chariots of fire,
Run with burgeoning seas, of child and wine,
Have your fill of flesh, plays among the stars.

I could speak in the tongues of men or angels
but do not have love
so I’ve a voice unfrequent,
low and lacking form, the colder undercurrents
particles diffused unrecognized into dark
syllable vibrations fallen dead in the air
dark things in black waves with sadness in their hands
their weight too much, their form too great, too awful
to leave the vast, the silence
to be understood

couldn’t say, couldn’t tell
I turned, you were not at my side
turned, I was alone

quiet quiet
twisted tortured by a dark thing anguish
midnight in an empty lay, colder than the ground and felled
smoke between my dragon lips I suffocate
the earth’s last forrest burns to the ground inside my chest,
I beg, at last
I break

the summer sun sent down flames to lick their skin
and the auburn of the trees in the morning made them consider the end of days
and the bird and bee found refuge in the wood
and there was a lightness to the morning air that
sent them down in to the lake

     with the snow came their unending dreams of fault
and the dead were buried under the white
and the ice cut their lines
and their breaths were drawn short because of
the lack of atmosphere

     shards of multicolored luminescence paved paths down their arms
and the scars shone like tattoos on the moondust
and the sidewalks crumbled underneath diseased limbs
and their motionless silhouettes down the hillside proved
that there was more to death than dying