Thank you: for a life not to trade blessings, in spades tight spaces behind laundry doors packed closets and open drawers gator tails, tarnished brass cracks in kitchen sliding glass wet towels, withering plants foundation filled with carpenter ants buckets piled with shoes and tags village clothes and saddlebags peeling paint and broken walls ****** seats in bathroom stalls clogged pantry frigid rooms table scribe and carbon fumes comfort capsules empty tanks broken limbs from children’s pranks **** finger double tongue long goodbyes and sidewalk dung cluster flies chavie’ clique accompanying the hypocrite cracked back and hidden smiles chalk on board with mr miles atomic wedgies closing doors wrotten eggs and open sores jaw jack nasty folk dinner calls for pig in poke penny pinchers double dip yellow mouth and silver tip brown nosers thick red tape paper cuts and pimple nape gallivants so out of norm the joy of life… in basic form
i'm shaking apart over you your countenance a cascading dream moved to tears of adoration your limitless yielding like surrenders caress an infinite communion with fragile limbs silky wrapped spools innerness of desire veiled in a shroud a faltering star that glistens crimson nymph of purgation ash volcanic cells en-flamed with tongues that bite subsumed in scented vapors a confection of **** and *** waves embrace ineffable shores passed the discontinuity of life
I have the most immense feeling of love for you am i not the saint death quietly following you through life's labyrinth innocuous waiting humbly in the wings
i am all ache for you a vice of kisses a brief encounter that eats your sight and senses ushering you to immortal freedom a swooning garland of fire that enlivens the body electric a mist of molecules
your tears intoxicate i am new life with in you budding embryo that consumes its mother for nourishment and saturates like dew drops as it echoes through oblivion
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ****** If i where a film maker or a novelist you would see me telling a story, and yes i admit to my paraphilias. These poems are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive impulses we all share Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
Pieces of me thrown away like trash Never consulted Never asked The direct result of another’s conviction or more commonly seen consequences from blind ambition
Paranoid The fix is in But no invitation for me, former me or forever me and all of my imitations beset by my limitations
Forwardly I lean step in between lines upon lines hidden; can’t be seen Falling ill Now trapped by its machine And from my vein; My blood I spill
A still surface with sticky sheen amber tones from which I glean a reason Thrilled What it might mean A hunger that can not be filled
Nothing but lies giving me chills A shell with values not instilled Instead it’s dread Their words I’m fed Nutrients to fill my head
My outer skin Its layer thin Not to attacks No single act or prayer could patch and fill it in A hole that’s black is my first sin
A game in which no way to win and no ending once it begins With opened eyes begin to see The dorsal fins surrounding me
Head starts to spin What could have been? It doesn't matter in the end because there's nothing here for me A demon-like reality
Where what you seek Placed at your feet The icing; sweet Choices; not three Have cake or eat One choice not two But want to eat and have it too
All efforts to retrieve the treat; An outcome that ends in defeat A princess swept off of her feat But this feature princess; a creature Spirit of a soulless seeker
Deceitful speaker Flames; he’ll eat ya Offers pain Can’t heal; life drained Then reaching out to use life-line but with each ring hope further wanes
An answered call done just in time The chills running all down my spine Stand tall just like Douglas-fir pine With racing thoughts filling my mind I will be saved Free from it all God must exist No time to stall In battle warriors may fall but no man's ever left behind
Only to find With said spent dime A dynamite kind of answer - A type that might cause strife Can't plan for Needed answer Plight like cancer New chance to live Worldly romancer On planet Earth A tiny dancer
A romantic thought to think fight fought Instead a sinking ship just dropped This life? If could an ‘OUT’ would opt No more can take Just make it stop
I can’t wait to be a hundred turning over the thoughts and plots of Caledon floating on zimmer inserts and dusted florsheims three steps forward in a dream woven summer afternoon
through the barn doors and bee keeper flats assimilating voices from Sachems and Forbes and Hope Healers coming and going as the countryman comes and goes
you can feel it in a place like this the 3 in the tree memories from Allis Chalmers to combine parts of Sundrim poppers to shallow carp fields the patterned lawsons and fading caulk (with ripped and rolled frontier seats)
it’s a wishing well for the peddler and bold hydrangea... both seeking their way through the rusted grinders wheel
On the very edge the living earth dared to replicate Queen Fathima The Queen of Heaven’s footstep. That way is graced by thousands of the prophets of God!
In the name of Allah she descends on the Night of the Ascending. From the odd night an unnumbered zone The Night of Measure unlike the rest it doesn't geometrised is a transcended location.
The earth steps in the gap making way for her: The only asymmetric Golden Ratio. Slips out to the symmetric prophet flock! Sequenced in symmetric phi she moves on in the veil, exposes her unique divine closeness her golden spiral reaches out closer to God!
So pretty she is the paragon work of art the sunrise amidst the eternal night. Her beauty in her shadow is burning fire. She is 'Zahra' pure light the luminary dynamo the only one woman had no shadow!
The great women flock mirrored the earth. Treading across on every atom on that angle perfectly aligned down the Moon. Until those beneath the skin atoms bang, explode on approaching the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!
The seven seas billowed up floating on the clouds. Choreographed like a little dew. Hanging low on the rose just to drip down on that hot spot like a cool honey drop.
Even the Moon on the horizon fancies to sip from this drop. Ah, the lunar punter rowing down. The sleeping beauty wakes up eyes on the silver dance. Eying on every star in the night. The Moon is floating down slices of the moonlight pushing the boat. Full of fireflies rolling over to the cup of this pretty little drop. Poetry in motion is a sea on the ground the same is known as the Moon in the sky! The storylines jump ever more on that way over the shady grove. Painting the colour of the winds the sky rains down on that spot singing the sweetest title song.
Never were a woman prophet of God nor was paradise hidden anymore to one woman it was the open shore! The heaven turns upside down turning for the earth the last stone.
For the rest of the rocks it was the stepping stone. As many times more the earth may try on it will still be tangent fluid until the very one woman The Queen Fathima steps on.
Her presence connects the dots the nadir and zenith perfectly line up intersect into one grand perfect circle. She will close it with the pi once for all without a gap spilling new decimals. At last putting it all on the map ‘as above, so below’, all in all, a pure scientia scenario.
The heaven will open its grand door where The Queen will stand on. No more reverse engineering physically the original, Fathima will step on, on this last turned stone. Paradise starts from here on. From the one great woman from beneath the mother’s foot!
The difference between actions and habits, is often measured by the person you're asking. One bump, one line, one half ounce... All shared by people you don't even give a **** about.
These chemicals make me sick -- Limitless...Why quit? When it's only ten bucks for a hit like this? Even Jesus Christ would have gotten addicted, if drugs in his day were half this good.
"Yeah, I'm smashed -- but I promise I can drive fine." Walk and push the limits of a real fine line... If I don't **** myself, or someone else... I'm happy. Stare death in his eyes, wink, and start laughing.
Gasping as I swerve lanes -- Stay safe, get paid. Mundane daily. Living a-live.. Eat. Sleep. Dream. Get laid. Chase feelings.
Please, just feel me now. You know me, right?
Please, just feel me now. You love me, right?
I want to melt with you -- let our souls collide... Dissolve the boundaries between students and teachers. To bridge the gap in the great divide No secrets between us -- bleed into the speakers.
Feel the air in your chest, and ask God for a reason... To stay or leave Him. He makes excuses...