Ages pass
and
shells of resistance
shrivel up and die
leaving a fresh new chrysalis
resting in their place.
Like a shiny newborn baby
wiping the crust from its eyes
with tiny curled hands
fingernails as small as sand
and
love of life
has wedged its way
beyond all hints of
**** negativity
and
the only way forward
is found
before the sun even rises.

Waking up
Is the best thing
a person can do.
Milk and cereal;
Empty-headed thoughts.
crunching,
With swallows.
Humanity
At the beginning.
Scribbles made
By one fine woman
Who knows who she is.
Waking up
Is the best thing
a person can do.

there’s something about the gentleness of reality
that makes falling for you
infuriating to the point  of mass extinction
of my greatest type of fear
calling contemplation
seeing stars align through the
spaceship’s giant hull of glass
are you my han solo counterpart
and I, princess leia, bound to
work and toil closely
in tight spaces
our vicinity getting narrower
not spacious in its
unresolved awkwardness
clenched hands and thighs
heart beats ******
pumping and secreting
a pressure sort of steam
while fixing mechanical parts
our bodies framed so close
and every minute to the hour
we somehow work together
I wonder if and when
you’ll kiss me
letting our paths converge
into some sort of cosmic wonderland
beyond every galaxy of
acute comprehension
distinctly aware of
this ****** tension.

It takes all I have

to control

each action sluiced

and sliced

into little round cubes

burnt by internal fire

soft ash dust

sparse windy air

pocketing my desire

for you in pieces

just waiting

for the right moment

to leap into unknown waters

feet first

so frozen and

the river could be cold

to the touch

but your skin is warm

and gentle

heat rising

searing my arm

tingling my senses

scrambling my brain

to mottled bunches.



I have too much



self control



(and it's eating me alive.)

Becoming something of a legend
cast out from far away
alone in a castle upon the darkened hill
lives the person of today.
Trapped.
Long ago you vowed
to become something grand
one day you shall release
slip out without a sound.
Cursed forever loner
you live within these walls
invisibly Confined
and break away you shall.
The corrugated gates
of your own sharp sexuality
awaiting the clerical moment
when the barren gates break open
by kiss you shall be free.
And spill forth forbidden riches
whatever they may be.
But you are a vastly legend
alone
kingdom come is your only home.
Blackened night is your frame of mind
color buried iced sublime.
A ghostly haunting
in tight black leather clasps
in cold clipped metal chains
you snip your way
you slice your path
though through the peril
grace is slain.
Past the autumn winds
winter seeks its call.
You are a complex monster
who loves it most of all.
Confined inside your castle
you might hear the call.
Collecting cobwebs
Collecting dust
Collecting heartache
Collecting rust
So the edges start to fray
and in each corner that you find
lives a hope that soon one day
you’ll have some piece of mind.
To be loved beyond what mortal words can say.

It is not folly to be sick
bodies breaking down
stripping flesh from mind
separating the viruses and germs
from taking over
like a plague
devouring health
like a sick game
of wit.

But wit came and went
and determination stayed
like a whip breaking
receding
dissolving
into the earth
all pain vanished
the moment love came into the picture bringing a sense of sensitivity, sensibility, belonging, grace, peacefulness, and harmony. The balance of nature is to be mature not unlike like manure becoming compost for flowers.

Something like sickness
or suckness or swiftness
can only be surface material
marching forward
getting stronger every day
weakened by germs and viruses
weakened by wanting
weakened by longing
to become something greater and grander than ever imagined.

To be sick
is to surrender.

Is to lie in the wet dirt
called mud
and be covered by rain and leaves
becoming mulch for the trees.

Wet. Withered. Weak and surviving.

And once the sickness passes,
bodies grow sturdy
become thick roots
winding deeper into earth’s crust
the inner and outer layers
changing dust
into mud
into mulch
into compost
into sprouts
into plants
into gardens
into parks
there unto infinity
back into dust
and the beautiful cycle
starts

all over again.

and the seasons come and go
and the sickness comes and goes
and the flowers and fruits and vegetables grow and grow
and grow and grow and grow

into someone to be proud of.

Flubber inside

filling out the cracks

you and that

insipid hat.

Wolly sweater

boatload of pins

find out when

our love life begins.

It's quite awkward

when I get so nervous

like hot liquid

boiling in a pan.

It's really kind of funny 'cause

I can't figure you out,

man.

Grist and marrow

you're a stringy

kind of fellow.

And every time I see

your stupid smily face

I get this rubber

in my tummy

a fit I cannot place.

beauty
peaceful
joy
fragile
vibrations
lifelessness
damp
comfort
­breath of relief
looking in the water to see who she really is.
Feeling the cooling of the peaceful water
to find the beauty of herself.
loving
caring
kindness
the taste of difference
look at the world in a different view.
love medicine
pleasure
soothing waters
breath of light
power.

Going to sleep
is the best thing
a person can do.
After a long day of work
just slip under the covers
clean, wrinkled, soft and daring
the night a comfortable pillow
in which to rest sleepy tired eyes
while finishing a dystopian sci-fi movie
taking place in the desert.
Furiosa takes the night
across her shoulders
black engine grease smeared
across her forehead as Mad Max
rides shotgun
before the heat consumes them.
Enjoying every sand crusted
machine cranked thrusted
water tank bomb shell.
She is the best kind of heroine
taking complete control
of the current situation.
But sometimes there’s a break
when the dusk becomes depth
merging into the white halo of moon
slivered like a cut thumbnail
just hanging there, lifeless.
And this is when
the truth becomes
completely apparent.
Resting one’s body
after a tough week
of physical and emotional sickness
becomes first priority
where relaxation nods its weary head
to slumber under a pile of blankets.

Something about you
draws me in
from higher depths
I sway in disguise
to the pulse of 90s music videos
displaying on the screen
remembering the pulse
of my heart
as I look upon your bright face
vibrant with taste
or concentration
pouring coffee
precisely
right after the buzzer beeps
your new haircut strenuously
framing the corners of your
maleness
each strand a cut
into the interworking of
your hazardous blue eyes
rimmed in ribbon spit
a sci-fi adventure
daring to quit but
it always gets better
somehow
somewhere
deep in these depths
I no longer despair
but three plump days
stand in my way
after the promotion
after your life
getting back into motion
will you remember me
will you miss me
in any way
on hallows eve
like the brush of a sleeve
or the bunch of tight buttons
securing so fast my feeling that
I ache or admire
bind or perspire
muck in the mire
just to hear your handsome voice
as cheerful as sunbeams
cascading up and down my spine
like the thieves of dreams
bounding inside so merrily
hopeful for your attention

and isn't strange

that i'm sitting in my car

in a parking garage

thinking of you and missing

your stupid plumb apple face

or maybe it's carved from soap

or shaved glass

fragmented by pieces

collected in bindles

followed by bundles

of the joy i used to have

of the sleep i used to get

of the energy i used to take

and isn't it strange how

i have no desire to have you

all to myself for you are

an automous being that

breathes and thinks and acts

wholy different than me

but i can't help but miss you

and your kiwi colored eyes

with the seeds cut out

dipped in a ring of gold

and like smegal i yearn to

hold that precious ring of gold

in my shriveled hands

even though i know

it'll corrupt me

but i'm drawn to mordor

all the same



that's what it's like

missing you



wanting to go there

even when I shouldn't



and isn't it strange

that my world is shifting

complicit and complicated

a deficit of the senses

a pull from the void

a shake of the head

with such filigree i am sated

but blinded by such yearning

to touch your hot skin

feel it rest

against mine



again but



maybe i'm too addicted to sparks

Been a while
since I’ve written
a little itty bitty ditty
talking ‘bout life an
all it’s fears swirling down the drain.
Been a while
since the mermaid lady
dressed in darkish green
sat and saw me here again.
Spit! Spat!
Been a while
since I’ve typed
nonchalantly
mini tiny teeny poems
on my phonie
like a stuffed beanie babie
bustin’ it’s seams
typing away
makin’ me stay
putin’ it’s pity till three.
Spit! Spat! Splat!
Been a while
since my gullet done drink
down it’s shakin’ hatch
a slimy chocolate pepperminty
flavor favor so minty
and fresh it could’a fooled me
in bein’ thrashed an trashed
but it’s not ‘cause p!nk is playin’
and I’m just nut **** sayin’
it’s been a while…

Sunny day
Sunny sway
See the green weeds thrush
hear the warblers and Chestnut
Striped Chickadees chirp.
Feel the equipped hush
of bright Spring’s push
to uncover anew, if only to know
like knew the new leaves, green
as they speak in sunlight
as it drifts, in peak, in song
so swift. Smell the hot sun
gallop, resting on blue sky
as wise as truthful lies.
Grasp shadows streaming off
gleaming off, preening off
Black-eyed Junco’s
call that echo in the in the
outside field, so yield
and breathe such nature
as it believes to crouch in,
crouch out, near road,
near sound. White budded
Baby’s Breath tickles the
green field, green earth. So
covered and fresh. Flowers
so sweet they choose to
peek out of the grass
and weeded leaf.
Sunny day
Sunny sway
Pine trees chuckle
in the blowy, breezy heat.
Never in their own defeat
but capturing carbon dioxide
(unlike wheat) letting pure
oxygen seep through thudded
bark, so brown it shells
their delicate rings. The clouds
dissipate to cornflower blue
so intoxicating it fills the
street, next door, with
glistening light or heavenly dew.

You are still waters that run deep;

a challenge some may say.

But to me, your closed emotions

are like a test to see



if I can crack you open.



You're not one to spill your secrets

yet every time we talk

whether it be cellular device

or heart to heart in person

I notice



(for intrinsically I notice everything hidden and important not seen with the naked eye)



I notice you slip

some of your most shielded

vulnerabilities

and I catch them

with soft cold hands



(because for some reason or other my hands are always cold)



with soft cold hands warmed

by your toasty rough ones warmed

by your sensible muttering warmed

by your discreet aspirations warmed by your witty attitude.



I like that we can be waggish

together like two jesters

high strung.



My facetious view on life is somewhat wrought with doubt.



My senseless family drama scaling backwards for months on end.

Return is what I want; a sense of peacefulness whereas I'm pulled into the flighty nature of my parents' inconsistencies and my aunts' finicky nature when all I want is for everyone to get along.



You have your barriers drawn and  sometimes and I don't mind it.



We are emotional opposites, bouncing off each other like ping pong *****, but in this scenario it works because we've both got paddles and are willing to play.



That's what I see in you.

An ever-eager possibility;

passionate in your politics,

loyal to your friends,

leader in some circumstances

when I am at a loss for words.



And you spark a sort of electric chord within me, plugging right into my frontal lobe, sparking my interest, lighting up my receptors.



My neurons have never been this happy before; I have never in my life had a romantic reciprocal relationship like this before.



Nothing has prepared me for this.

This floundering of feelings, sloppy, spilling, leaking out of the cauldron every time we speak.



You are boiling broth, a frothy drink I've put up to my lips and sipped from, a drink I did not order but delightful all the same.



You are still waters that run deep;

a sensual spice of parsley or dill that can lighten up any dish;

and it doesn't take a genius to see how much I need a person like you in my life to challenge every predisposition of romance I've seen, read, fantasized or imagined.



Caught in the slipstream of figuring out my future after the new year has yet to arrive. There's still so much to work out; there's still so much hope I have brimming inside me even after my confessions, even after I've asked for forgiveness and complacency.



Where there's hope and forgiveness, there's also peace.



Maybe all it took was the repetition of swimming pools in dreams this past week to understand where I stand. I'm not drowning anymore.

I'm on the edge of the pool looking into clear waters, finding the wise guide of my blue water dragon

and his humongous whiskered face

staring straight at me, into me, telling me that I have all the strength I need to overcome the obstacles. I need not cling to fear any longer. I need not hide away, like I've done in the past, behind thick curtains to blot out the light.



My only constant now is the sun rising and the moon waning.



You are still waters that run deep;

a sure-bound belief



that everything will be okay.

Stuck between joy and rage…

What's more of there to say?

Free fall with that sputtering sound

return to the place so thickly bound.

Where weapons of words strictly slice

a frigid sort to roll the dice.

Clashing, clashing always clashing

an argument still throughly thrashing.

It's a consort to delirium

silly little thoughts that hum…

Take my heart out of the gutter and shake it ‘till it bleeds.
That lonely mother-****** can’t breathe
unless the sinews stitch back together
like the veins of leaves,
all smooshed by heels and debris.
My heart can’t see.
Laying in that gutter; it can only believe.

Pressed perfect leaflet papers
printed in black-and-white.

Squares of thin tree bark
scattered on the table.

Your warm, rough hands
fitted in tight gloves.

Your wide smile
teeth like pearls all
clustered nicely and

I can't help but swell
a bit inside

admiring
the twist of your lips
and the flicks of your eyes
with a nose that changes
shape in the light.

But it's not your face
that intrigues but
the ***** in between
the space of skull

called a brain

which you use, delightfully so
expansive and ever expanding.

You have an eager fondness
for learning and retaining information

and it arouses me.

Like the frailty
of those printed papers
my tenderness

for you

envelopes, caressing
your knowledge like
a streamline submarine
diving through dark waters

slippery and unafraid

to get wet.

There’s a time in the heart
where all things go to rust
and to forget
is not the path
to forgiveness.
When one hand claps
the world falls down.
Little strings
old sheer tissues lob off and peel away
creating a raw clean mess
that can only be healed by a new love.
So for now
the heart only feels what it wants to feel
empty as a plastic cup.
Clear clouded calamity.
So far away is the future
murky as the waters that puff in the wind
away they go, singing out into eternity.

I feel terrible and terrified of the future extremely turned on and ***** with bodies changing and that still scares me and losing and gaining weight scares me and inconsistency scares me and passionate love still scares me.
I feel terrified and terrible about the future but also terrific and tormented and terrestrial and torn.

Sparkly like strings of

red garlands

there lives a little

dustball man

in my lower abdomen

rubbing his tiny

warm hands together

in complete delight.

Always singing

the silliest of songs

his round chubby cheeks

flaming bright pink

just thinking of our kiss

last night behind the dumpster.

And on the bough of grate arrest
Sat a lady with toweled unrest
And with it a notebook
Black as soot
Parched and swollen
Stomped, a black boot
And through the Pandemic she wrote and she wrote
About fears of her body being crushed by the throat
With it came sorrows when her family was good
Surrounded by friends online and much food
Surrounded by parents by brother the like
Still she felt trapped
Still she sought light
In a dungeon of her own making
Born of sweat, slime, and drink
Harrowed and shaking
Ghastly to think
That this isn’t the end
Nay, only beginning
Stuck in her bedroom like a warped castle hanging
Velvet ropes shuttered her eye
And garden troves shuttered her thigh
And brains pumped by news
All of the time, er, all of the time
So she shut out the world
As impeachment enclosed
Across the country
Dead justice rose
Not zombies nor corpses not copses the like
Send her the script of a worn phantom tike
She once was a child, now she airs thirty
In ere few years, will she be worthy
Of the spite and malice
Of the spit and chalice
Of the whirlwind that adulthood becomes,
Leering its awful tight grin
Pale teeth embedded into her skin
She wishes, oh she wishes she ere a child again!
How many a time now has she dreamed of escaping
Lockdown, social distancing, shelter in place, resisting
Once a grand circus, now deserted incased
Once crisis inverted, now heavens did race
The lady waited
The lady prayed
The lady wished, and hoped and brayed
The Albatross which was wrapped round her neck
Not by rope but by feathers
So weary and pecked
The actual bird wrapped its corpse round her throat
But she slayed it, sliced the dead bird clean off!
And let it sink into the dirt and decompose to rot
There goes the rhyme
Blessed and recoiled
Well in her prime
She feels so old, so boiled
But the Albatross
A great wanton flight
Unusual, still
That mates for life
And carries no strife
Still, she swung in the knife
And released its rolling sore
Now it burdens her no more
And then the lady mariner saw the light!

I am a cobra,
spiraling upwards.
Curling and slinking.
I am a cobra;
dangerous.
fangs dripping,
head dipping
lower
and lower
and lower.
Until I break up
and tilt my
forward.
Forked tongue
slips out.
I hiss away
all my doubt.
Folding my lanky, tall body
to fit my lengthy  personality.
I am a cobra,
and I do a sultry dance.
I will not shake or dodge or prance.
I linger after every thought,
slip my way into the cold spongy grey tiled dance floor
until you cannot see me anymore.
I am a cobra,
you’d better watch out.
Sparkling white scales,
they shimmer softly in the moonlight.
A young
destroyer of worlds,
I take over the floor
and curl inwards,
then up,
then lift my floppy head
bristled all about.
I smile and sway,
then lick up the blood.
I am a cobra,
(so you’d better watch out).

in the desert, she waits
for what? no one knows

she has sand in her long brown hair
which sparkles on the setting sun’s rays
she wears a necklace of large white shells
and long flowing green robes
over her naked body
opening to show
two pale hairless legs

in the desert she paints
scenes from her brain

full of color and glitter
pouring a bit from the edges

of every person she has ever encountered
with pointed ears and gossamer wings

she wears a crown of sea ****
and ***** sleep at her feet
she listens, alone, as the ocean speaks
its vibrant blue waves a lullaby so sweet

her eyes are two clear crystals
reflecting the light
as sea gulls caw and mosquitoes buzz
she buries her toes in cold sand
and leans against the craggy worn rock
painting, silently, crying salt water tears

as her thin paper wings
lie in a tattered heap
ripped at the shoreline
getting ****** in by the ocean’s strong pull
disappearing into the froth of waves
while the sun’s bald head slips
into streamline

in the desert, she waits
for what? no one knows

she has sand in her long brown hair
which sparkles on the setting sun’s rays
she wears  a necklace of large white shells
and long flowing green robes
over her naked body
opening to show
two pale hairless legs

in the desert she paints
scenes from her brain

full of color and glitter
pouring a bit from the edges

of every person she has ever encountered
with pointed ears and gossamer wings

she wears a crown of sea ****
and ***** sleep at her feet
she listens, alone, as the ocean speaks
its vibrant blue waves a lullaby so sweet

her eyes are two clear crystals
reflecting the light
as sea gulls caw and mosquitoes buzz
she buries her toes in cold sand
and leans against the craggy worn rock
painting, silently, crying salt water tears

as her thin paper wings
lie in a tattered heap
ripped at the shoreline
getting ****** in by the ocean’s strong pull
disappearing into the froth of waves
while the sun’s bald head slips
into streamline

Mad at myself
Mad at myself
Why am I always
so mad at myself?
Cut clients short
time is but a construct but
this is my second or third complainant this week or last week and it’s like I’m impatient and cut their time short always middle-aged blond women maybe I’m projecting maybe I’m not so bad, maybe I’m just tired and lazy and being catty

I’m mad at myself
I’m mad at my actions
Waiting until last minute to register for classes got a way in but it’s becoming a disaster
I’m mad at my actions
I’m mad at myself
I’m no longer a child
on the fucken shelf
that needs to be helped
that needs her hand held
while doing every grown-up step
I’m mad at myself
I’m mad at myself
Mad at myself
At myself
Myself
Self
Elf
Am I an elf?
Why did I **** up?
Why did I **** it up?
Why am I stuck?
Why do I ****?

I can salvage it all
I can stop my fucken fall
So ****** I feel
It almost feels unreal
Work and School
I’m stacking
and slacking
I’m procrastinating
and waiting
I’m ******* up
and ******* it up
So mad at myself
So mad at my elf
So mad to be a self on the shelf
of childhood fighting adulthood fighting endless deadlines ending early making my clients ****** and not want to come back because they feel like they don’t matter because I’m cutting their sessions short or running late or taking my sweet **** time, acting like a shorty clown and in grad school I sent all those emails out but then go awol and have so many doubts that I’m making mistakes and failing just a little bit and I don’t get it

Why am I doing this?
Why are they so ******?
Why can’t I shake off my fears and fully fucken get into gear
until I work this work this out
until I forge my life with sound
until this mountain of mourning or sorrow splits like the hilt of a samurai blade splitting grain becoming fits of bulbous rage and it feels like I’ve gotten a bad grade in life not a C or a D but a big fat F

Full of strife
I can’t eat
I can’t sleep
I ****** up
I’m in heat
I’m in love
in my head
and my heart’s
full of dread
I’m upset
I’m aloof
I’m unaware
and a goof
I ****** up
I’m alright
I’ll make it all right
I’ll make it all better
I’ll stop straying off the beaten path
I’ll get wetter
and wetter
so soaked and sloshy I’ll
be okay and forgive myself
I’m no longer mad at myself
No longer mad at myself
I forgive myself
Forgive myself
Myself
Self
Elf

Before the year ends

there is so much left to

accomplish. Little grains

of salt tossed from shore to shore

Rogue One is my savior

Jin and Cassian are my guides

a bonding brotherhood

a bonding friendship

a budding romance

but ended as the imperial army

blew them to smithereens.

What is to become of the

rebel forces? They end up winning

but it's a long, hard struggle.



The Force is with me.



I am the Force.



I know this now.



All this power like

the Death Star

channeling green toxic energy

destroying all

that is innocent and good.

Before the year ends

there is an opening

not unlike the blue power shields

that the rebels destroyed.

Fear is my shield

but I have the Force within

and all it takes is some hope

that this next coming year

will be a new bright beginning

full of love and caring

bringing peace and relief and satisfaction and release

to my Brain and my Heart.

The first of any month

is strange like

the peeling of a

hard boiled egg

where the sharp shards

if shell get all

stuck up

in cold fingernails

and the rubbery white

sphere of molded egg

jiggles and slips

plopping hard

on the white tiled floor

but it never breaks

just keeps it's shape

staying whole and

rolling off past the kitchen

and onto the warm

living room rug

where it stays

stuck and melting

becoming one with

the ruby red color

like a round white eye

glaring up at the world

unable to blink.

Bubbles gone brighter,
didn't know you could
delight me so.
I won't be pulling the plug
because all I've got
is this indescribable tug
that seems to go and grow.
Your energy is iridescent
sparking off your gangly frame
like cable cars rubbing
against the corbel train.
Mightier than all
I could ever contemplate.
Your rhythm to my rhyming
is a taste I can't complain
and all I want
is to see you writhing
hot and bothered
blushing pink
stark naked
fully pining
on my silver platter plate.
So awakens your arousal
eyes drenched black
by hungry pupils
I want your desires
to match my own in strength
until it seems you've flipped
the switch
and grasped the flight of fate.

so, here I am
and there you are

a wise man once told me
that it’s only coffee

and each day has its struggles
but when I met you
it all made sense
somehow

it’s strange, this feeling
of inner freedom

a clarity branched off from
the clairvoyant passage
******* skyward
******* lowered
to the ground below
where spontaneity happens
when least expected

I secured something of innate value
deep within these thrombin-riddled valves
the chambers of the heart
now pumping out fresh blood
like a healed wound
that the moon vampire would be proud of

so here I am
and there you are

a person well beyond what my
feeble writer’s mind could conjure up
on any given day
head in the clouds
just wishing for love to lightly fall
at my feet like footprints in snow or sand
and I wonder
why these heavy footprints
have not been blown away
by the chilling winds of winter’s calling
and I wonder
why I’m still waiting
for a look

just one look
that says it all
paired with words
of mutual understanding
bound together
a wave of pressure
between us
woman and man and
young questions
begin stirrings
rhythmic and pulsing
deep within my static brain waves
edging me closer
to you

so here I am
and there you are

The Hierophant
with your
gold and silver crown
leading me straight to

comfort.

Eager

the act of waiting for someone or something to happen soon

but the heart aches and quakes
to be rebutted or rebottled

and all is well if it decides to be.

Eagerness is not a miss
take or a strange break
from being alive.

It is a show of the nerves
to shut up and swerve
into the right kind of situation.

To be eager is to be aware
of every little hair and molecule
that’s riding through the air.

Even when you have no idea what could or should happen next…

It's a wonderment
to witness
deep green irises
with spots of amber gold
near the center.
It's cute to watch you
watch me
from across the room
with red curtains
and metal chairs
your leg twitching
your foot shaking.
It's a fine frenzy
to feel your fingertips
rustle my hair
as I hug you close.
It's playful to find
your smile and mouth lines
stretched out wide
as I flick back to bright sunlight
illuminating your eyes

still green
kiwi green

and it's nice
to see you again.
It's a wonderment
to witness
your presence
like a shadow
in my peripheral vision
but when our eyes catch

they snap together like velcro

for a few elongated seconds

and it's a quiet kind of bliss

that makes my toes tingle slightly

out into the infinite arrival.

Rapidly beating

your heart against my ear

as Han Solo's son

rammed a lightsaber

through his chest

I could hear



the beat-beat-beat

reverberating through

layers of blanket, cloth, and skin

sitting next to you

on the couch

thumping loudly and steady

without fear



so let's begin



on a star searched journey

where the spaceships hovel

and the robots swivel

in a galaxy not that

far away from reality



it's like swallowing starlight

or slicing through dark trees

heavy with snow

hearing them crack-crack-crack

from a buzzing vibration

of the blue lightsaber at hand

watching the trees crash, then

clash against red



a struggle unsaid



but when I rested my head

against your slight frame

something within me



melted.



(I guess my heart was tamed.)

as the lyrical string music plays
I can feel your arousal in me as it sways
burning so bright and hot like the sun
scorching each pathway
through the cold trees’ crisp dun
as your mouth opens
and I reach mine inside it
so soft and so warm
I attach my soul to it
and dive deep in the swarm
as the music lulls louder
giving no push
your hands brush my waistline
your ribs brush my bust
your nose bumps my faceline
and I blush
and I blush
rivulets of passion
muted and such
melody’s sharp sliver
of a sheer wanton clutch
after all that we’ve been through

I never oh never
thought I’d love you so much

Bliss
Is this what bliss feels like?

A sweet sort of satisfaction
sprinkled with humility and appreciation for what is

not for what will be.

Bliss is the moment you find yourself in when you don’t question
and just absorb and act
like yourself completely and fully

you sing
your heart out
reach out and touch an arm or a leg without the other person flinching
because they are comfortable enough around you that you don’t scare them you inspire them and enlighten them and then bliss comes around when you least expect it like floating on a cerebral ceremonial fluid cloud or a mountaintop where the snow meets the sky and you are finally able to let go
and cry.

You are the moon
and they are the light

always touching
reaching
discovering
holding
loving
creating a new form of friendship
unlike anything you’ve ever had before.

Your ******* are swelled up from hormones, emotions expanded; all ****** is your crotch but you feel alive as ever drifting on this rock of a planet

bliss
is this

is this
what bliss feels like?

Can you stand it?

Accepting what is;
enjoying the journey as life unfolds;
enjoying life as the journey unfolds.
growing bigger and better
ever so slowly
into a certain kind of magic.

The kind of magic that changes, but still stays the same.

The Magic of Mountaintops.

The ocean crashes and I dodge jellyfish
carcasses, bloated, white and ****** like
loose spittle, drenched across the sticky sand.
I hop over this dead thing, so limp, so fragile.
Then, I see it. A black shine. A giant pupil.
Turn it ‘round in my hands and the rock is
smooth as plastic feels when wet.
Black, contrast, battered soft and hard
by the tumultuous waves that had
birthed it from existence into a sandy, shallow grave.
Oblong, like and oval smashed,
I slip the rock into my pocket,
sinking pink toes into mushy
wetness as the salty water laps at my thighs,
chilling them.

Back to the whirlwind of starting from scratch.
Alone in I sit and watch
as the world moves beneath me, around me, surrounding me and blanketing me with coolness.
Winter months are the best because they make me wonder and think clearer.
I'm waking to a fresh kind of birth where I can leave behind my struggles and venture forth into the great unknown.
And the white starkness of sky that was once bright blue awakens my true frozen heart, deep in slumber,
to pulse a red  purplish bruise that hurts, then soothes.
That's what this season is all about.

Preservation, hibernation, incubation, proclamation, prioritization.

It is the Root Cellar holding all that is dear.
It preserves the best parts of me so so I won't mold and crumble away.
I sit, soaked in vinegar, ripening.
I sleep, preserved in thick viscous jelly, not solid, but swishy.
I guess winter lets me breath as I try to wriggle out of the glass jar encasing my body.
It's hard, and a little slippery.
I am soaked in purplish red blood.
I am born to the rain soaked land, wishing it would snow.
But alas, it only welcomes me to a season so familiar that tears start to form in my eye corners.
Wet and shivering, I open the Root Cellar's door with a creak, and step into guerdon.

Love
a two-beat breathing
                                    Love
intertwined with a being
                                    Love
a wondrous freeing
                                    Love
you feel like fleeing
                                    Love
you need to start seeing
                                    Love
you need to believe in
                                    Love

Ahead
we tread

a year turns and

I scavenge,

I survive.

head pink and shriveled
wrinkled and leathery
shrouded in a gift of brown or grey or black,

cape or black feathers

I take death through my nostrils and
blow it out
eat it up
with no scent

(I am immune to dead flesh scent and have a weak nose)

I scavenge,

I survive.

No matter the circumstances or the star of the world

I laugh at a Global Pandemic

nothing can get me through this tough skin

I have seen death in so many lifetimes

it is a cyclical cycle
passed down through thousands of generations

people
plants
animals
minerals
the earth and all it’s beauty
purging itself
of disease
through disease

Ahead we tread

wary, hearts broken
but I will always be there
with my tar black feathers
and my pink, gray, wrinkled head

wise beyond my years

I say I am immune but I am not immune to fear

that eats away inside me like nothing else

It sits

right below my diaphragm

like a tiny crystal bead or stone

hard

shiny

clear and refracted
sparkling and always embedded
beneath my rib cage

And as I fly up into the bright blue horizon
that chilly, desert wasteland I
flutter and hover
staying between heaven and hell

Living in a sort of purgatory

cleaning up messes and sweeping under the rug

Like a garbage truck
Like the Liver

I dispel rot within my industrial gut
I eat zombies for breakfast
I chomp bones to white powder in my strong black beak
I cough up bone dust like cigar smoke
I throw up green poison
I am immune to rotting flesh
I devour the end
I unleash a new beginning

I am the Vulture

Ugly, yet beautiful at the same exact time

Scary and bold, I go where no bird has ever gone before.

I am not scared of death, I eat it for breakfast.

I scavenge,

I survive.

Ahead, we tread to a new year

and I know one thing for certain.

I am surrounded by white light.
My family is surrounded by white light.
My friends are surrounded by white light.
I am lucky.
I am grateful.
I am healthy and my family is healthy.

I know one thing for certain;
we will all get through this

together.

The White Buddha sits
like a soft-boiled egg,
shining rusted copper
in the snow.
Covered with
a blend of
powder and tears
the White Buddha
ponders
life's true meaning.
As people come and go
and winter turns to Spring,
the White Buddha
is no longer white,
but
green, green,
                   green.
The Green Buddha sits
a smile stretched
between
two copper cheeks.
The White Buddha
sleeps.
While the Green Buddha dreams...

Bitter and better

hands frozen splatter

dancing while the world watches

shimmy off their rockets

skimming marbled surfaces

and falling into pits of

pretty red haired young men.

Bitter and better

try sulking in a corner while

the pitiless fruits rot to the stem

and ****** trees collapse with

their leaves falling straight into

a pile of complete disarray.

Bitter and better it's been lately

bringing growls for empty stomachs gone crazy

while wrinkles in young

smooth skin crease around

the edges creating a sort of

dimple or smile line that's

indecent and secret and

sort of sublime.

Seeing your face

                  is like diving straight

                                              into a bowl

                                                       of Lucky Charms cereal

                                                         ­                    that's only the marshmallows.

It's been a while

since time has left

be blinded



Rain lightly pelting

on the stone table

outside where wet and cold

is all there is



It's been a while since

my feet felt like screaming

wanting to loop them off

cause of silent pain from

well worn broken shoes

with insides that slip

and whip blisters together



Rain lightly pelting

on my well-being

when work becomes life

and nothing else



the price to pay

for paying rent

wishing my time

was better spent

picture waves and waves

of golden condensation

swimming in this inner world

of velvet contemplation



bubbly quibbly bits

inside throwing fits

tossing and turning

continually yearning



not at all

what was expected

from you

a slurp

a gulp

a saucy stew

this tingly feeling

if only

you knew

resting gently

inside me

if only

you knew

pressing lightly

against me

if only

you knew

but who knows



maybe you do

Boom Boom Boom
my top beats shutter
becoming blush capades
Boom Boom Boom
my heart blasts blank
out every audible sound like
a rupture of the
greatest strum
you were a bass player
and that sounds like so much fun
Boom Boom Boom
better clean up the remnants
of this room
‘cause when I’m done
there’ll be puddles
Boom Boom Boom
my sphincter holds
then releases on tune
turning sparks on par
to quell the gloom
Boom Boom Boom
I’m so fucken into you dude.

Back to rainy poetry on a morning full of possibility.
Back to layers and winter breathing down my neck.
Back to shivers and cold feet in blue flip flops.
Back to the smell of fresh dew on wet grass, gleaming.
Back to scribbling down my feeling. Back to excited heart palpitations.
Back to new romantic relations.
Back to the beginning or maybe it's the end of summer officially past fall's complacency.
Back to hope fluttering like tiny fairies lifting off from my chest.
Their little smiles and pointed ears possessed.

You are all I ever longed for

in a friend. Thank you for

responding fast

and giving me the mend.

There's something in the

way you smile

and lace your fingers

through my own.

Relatively speaking

through our brains

I've found a sort of home.

Chipper as a wood chopper
doused with kerosene lamp oil
at the start of the chilly winter
all bundled up in a fantasy getaway
deep in the wooded forrest lies my pride all cozy-like.

I feel like someone just squeezed me alive!
The rain is now pelting down by my side.
Somehow I was let go from my job.
It's nothing personal I guess I'm a snob.
I feel as though my life is closing to an end.
There's no future here for me, my friend.
As an adult I pay my dues.
With no money in my account I am barren blues.
I kind of like a boy who I don't know very well.
These feelings inside me are making me swell.
Should I go hide or burry my face in the dirt.
Or is this a sign that when life really hurts
and the grey skies pour down
and the heavy clouds unburden
their sorrow there has to be meaning
in these wet tears to swallow.
It's kind of like a bittersweet revelation.
A complete failure or a filigree contemplation.
Somewhere deep inside, I weep.
In silent pity I lay to sleep.

Within the living voice

I have found

redemption.

Was it ever really dead

or just minimized retention?

The deepest depths cannot
hide the light
it cannot ***** it out.
The light is stronger than the darkness.
You are not alone.
I am here.
I will always be here.
Deep breaths and sound mind.
All will be alright.