In essence we are pure desire. That desire is an expression of a moment and that moment becomes a series of moments we call life.
Suspended on the hands of an evanescent ticking. Pending on the beat of a vein woven drum. Fragile and fleeting. Ever mysterious and expanding.
My outer life was full. My inner life was like rampant Boston ivy and aspects of my soul were more akin to cities than archetypes.
Deluged with words and pulses, in poetry I am but the result of all those who came before me. I represent more than I am able to comprehend.
My expression is the result of all those who slain me and all those who heal me. Thank you differently and the same, for the hues of my emotional palette only deepened and multiplied like the cells of some thousand galaxies.
Pent, it was time for my expression to vent.
He has emerged
He has risen
He hath grown
Beyond mere wisdom
He has entered
The human schism
He hath flown and
He hath run
I should know
I am his mum
He has grown
Yea’ He has risen
Knowing that life
Be not a prison.
A hymn style song about my 15 year old son getting up in the morning.
Start, like another
End, like every other
Alone, UtI, spinning web
Like I believe I'm the spider
The weaver, weaving, tearing down
Under the influence for years
I'll never pronounce it wrong
I start like another
I end like every other
While I wasted the time waiting for you to leave
I never once thought I would commit arson
Burn the memories we made
(Though, I did)
(I saw the start and new the end)
Was lost, my heart so erratic
Split, drowning in thought
Never found, he emerged pragmatic
Shut, he paves through my struggles
Hidden away, We are systematic
"I struggle and emerge"
I'd share the sky
with the clouds
but I had to grow my wings
but I had to lose my skin
I dared to reach
but my brothers took my skin
but my brothers used my skin
and I couldn't let them win
so I had to let this in
now it's tearing us within
and it's the fruit our sins
cause I had to grow my wings
but my brothers used my skin
I made them crawl
took my time nice and slow
feels so good to lose control
like a witness, watched them fall
now I'm free to flee this skin
but I will not shed this sin
and I cannot be complete
I'm not going to lie to you -- this time
Your look is the gravity pulling me down
Body by self, smell hair in your armpits
Books on the shelf stare back, bare backs
Maybe stretched out, two queers in a **** affair
could be lovers over distance, for instance
Rap time's door wanting to find love in there
We're both too busy. Fat by pelvic bones,
Butter on the hips, love means nothing
to the moment's dissent. Get your grip, too
a palm to the face a squeeze on a ***,
how does it feel up and down a woman with a ****?
You're smarter and harder than all of
my experience. Tattoos in ChiTown, pierced
lips -- upstairs -- ******* cancer on the waterfront
Who's carcinogen? Whose carcinogen crush
on a T with a blunt is worse than the other one?
I got plain Jane I got ground game
while you got the stratosphere. I got mono
You got amory. I want bite marks, I want red neck,
I want dinner of insides with a held head
I want four legs opened up
I want bodies shared in trust
I keep trying to shut this ******* voice.
It won't work
emergence is an act of rebellion.
our eyelids peaking open like rusty curtains
as we steadily count backwards
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
climbing from our morning covers in one swift movement
like the bold musketeer ready to pierce his opponent.
allowing the cold to wash over our body
towards the to do lists and outdoor morning mist.
legs miraculously sprung to life from our dreams
seconds ago resting in a field of sunlit streams.
allowing forced smiles to emerge in the mirror
if the natural ones forgot to attend our morning ritual.
allowing our own smiles to send butterflies down our spines
if our lovers forgot to play their part.
our routines steadying us on the road
outside the house
into the yard
outside the fence
into the deli
out of your mind
into the grind
all forming like some rapid fire kiss of motion
where emerging and departing
become inseparable lovers.
and we cherish this sort of alchemy
where our paints emerge as paintings,
where our words turn into poems
that string along
the pulsing of life echoes within
from the gilded cage
we are meant to burst open
*** holes dressing street . . .
Bombshell puddles angels left,
. . . Bird baths in the road.
For Michael, a warrior and an inspiration*
You look at me like I'm weak
Weakness is bending
It's how I show my strength
You look at me like I'm dark
Darkness is brightness
It's how I show I'm light
You look at me like I'm ill
Illness is health
I call it the illness advantage
It's a mad, mad world...
— The End —