When the air shudders
and the air is thick with
onyx pressure, dunes of war,
muffled gusts and stubborn iron --

A tree sighs barren,
unable to support their own leaves.
A giant of reverence,
testament to love,
time's lust and an intimate rot long gone.

The bucking of future's specter,
the manic hoarse thunder at silent soil
and patience lost to rain's unbent ear.

They who died with a full belly,
remorse only for wind's kiss and Earth's embrace,
laying with demons,
open door, dialogue honey, a bookcase full, sore legs.

opulent hearts

-- Heaven's ******* and Hell's divine,
the Hummingbird of West Berlin,
the mortal's roach and the stars' first undead

with taut bones and ragged flesh,
amongst carnival lights
and eldest fire's pride,

returns to the World again.

they come
for me in the
summer

sweetness of
the moon rains down
on the last bus
going home

all the flowers
crushed beneath
the sky

cry for the
mother tree

it's not that hard
to mute the violence

for she was standing
still when I met her

now she's part
of the crop

I don't know what
else to tell you

I've never known
what it feels to be
someone else

I wear my skin
more drunk then
others

my bones pierce
through my veins

the blood rushes
down the staircase

spiralling into
the circles

circling the end
of times

I wish I'd known
you better

but you don't
exist inside these
walls

if only I was trying
to build a better world

we could've known
each of us

there's nothing
else to succeed our
thoughts

there's only so much
you can feed the insides
before it eats you in your
moment of silence

it's better to burn the
rest of you than keep
living the lies

maybe the fire will
cleanse us of our stagnant
despair

nothing moves without
a herculean effort

is this how you feel
when you are sober?

it's better I don't
wake before the end
of another year

I've never felt more
alive when my mind is
blank

so let them come
and find me

I'm waiting for
something to happen
anyway

I'll trade all my
fantasies for one
moment of absolute
nothingness

I can't even tell when
the summer begins and
where it ends

I wasn't born to
count reality

the pain rampant to my emptied faith,
showered upon a cautious bed of weeping lilies,
loots a once blissful child
whom begs to **** the relic sun...

as I am numbed in euphoria by
the closeness of his embrace,
the eclipse which held me in paralysis
slowly bleeds in the sky
as it anchors a crescent light of passion.

oh, he has held the disaster of my body
in his palm and has laid me naked upon him.

tucked neatly among the webbings of his fingers
is a whispering lily that sings me to sleep.

the sphere of black,
fixated upon the sky,
is melting...

I weep to see his loving eyes
pour over the deprived valley
that is the entirety of my being.

yet...
It is as if this man,
and his exposed nakedness encompassing me,
is the coming season of warmth
which teaches me nourishment...

he has viewed me as
a feathered dune
in the quiet desert.

as if my body
were to constantly pile
and brush away
in a romantic dance.

this wild,
yet golden,
landscape seems to be
a panorama of the summer deity.

I fear,
though,
he will push his
whisper upon me,
and I will erupt
in grains of misfortune...

Birds of a feather,
On an isle of ladders;
Here now, together.
Climb to nowhere,
That just gets ever higher;
One way up, straight and narrow.
Rain pours in,
Maelstrom showers;
Prometheus cowers.
Overhead, stars twinkle;
And at least the view is beautiful