A Butterfly flits, bathed by the wind,
sparkling vibrancy tingles within.
Its mystical beauty catches the eye,
baring ones soul watching it fly.
Delicate wings, a colorful display,
softly touching my life this day,

Infectious temptations inspired by this,
wanting to capture this perfect gift.
Not in a cage but with a loving touch,
to hold it for a moment, would mean so much.
Aware of the dimensions within its life,
awe inspiring expressions describing such flight.

Perfect magnificence churns the mind,
while comparing this spectacle trying to find,
complete pictures endeavoring to explain
such passionate feelings I’m having today.
Flowing from the heart this melodious expression,
my love for poetry is butterfly perfection.

Grievous

I hold you as the chameleon with his spring-trigger bone
Holds his tongue
And I will catch you as a fist
I will lick the stench from your odor sacks
as a skunk

All those creepy little fragments
bugs in the system;glitched codes
they are shackled souls in a microsecond arc-length
of the universal
Prodding the dirt
and the worms
as stars

How about all the spice trees?
The many different species of food glitter
they make the buds sparkle, they are thinking of the taste
of umami, of sour, of patchwork gaze
the cooked vestibules of bone
the marrow, seeping into the stew
The pepper trees are smoked
equinoctial bonfires
You and I are yet to be cooked through


A taxi in the trader joes parking lot
Big repetitive 7's splattered across its paneling
I won't forget when i'm drunk or inebriated somehow
The tree in the center of town is lit up with LEDs
Branches curling like worms

You are Pharos, you are the great celestial beam
you are the crescent moon, thin as a sleeve
and the hot taste of batter on your breath
the way you let my Guinness cool off next to the space-heater
and give me yogurt from the local townsfolk
Everything is creamy, you said.

But i don't like to hear that
It's a steel rod into my brain, that.
I am a simple Vishnu Hare Brahma
I do not have any purpose but to be enlightened
and worshiped for my powerful odors
and a four-chambered bowel
that makes the turn easier for worms.

2

Pitiful

You are the hopeless pod
the many wildebeest, crossing their annuals
through twirling water-crocs,
Lion Prides
Leopards shifting within the brush
Bacterial infections from dirty tusks
Strange metal boxes
No 7's on this side

I want to blow the fucking skulls off of anything
that aims for you, sweet mare
45-70
Will literally send chunks of it into orbit
Lion or Turtle or window or Children
The most godly thing is a bullet
And the streams of blood that will seed a new ravine
and seep the next feed of riverrun

Will you be mine, then?

IF it all ends with you I shall extend my hand
and pinch time into two butterflies. Do you see
the orchestral skies? It is teaching the stars
a new dance for the world’s coming funeral
and the eyes of mystery are now weeping
for the blue-white jewel. The Sun knows
and she is aching. and every bird. Sings one
less song each day.

The phenomenal gift called death.

:: 10-06-2018

Snow like embers to the skin.
Been searching without and within.
Fragile as a flower start cringe.
Blinded by storm wicked dreams begin..

Then the cardinal lit the flame.
With her voice a glorious aim.
Only one of it’s kind.
Only looking forward and behind.

See this is also true of passion and love.
The kind of heaven that is sent from above.
Only way they can have love.
Is to receive what they lost, freedom of a dove.

Only one can have the gift.
They say with a grunt, a dirty gist.
They return every season.
Only for mating, a certain kind of reason.

They guide my way.
Through the storm a certain way.
Only to be left behind again.
This is the kind of love I send.

Sometimes we run.
Sometimes not fast enough
to escape our problems.

But sometimes we run so
fast we we forget to slow
down and enjoy our gift.

You're a gift to my life
You're a rare sliver of light
You're a beacon of fresh air
And you could be the one to make me feel something

Have you
ever noticed
how beautiful
the clouds are?
they are the
ethereal
breathe of
dreams,
I wish, I was
not the only
one who saw
their once
hidden strokes
revealed only
to the eyes
opening for
the white
ocean,
holding
one sliver
from their
day to see
the beauty
of what they
are a part
of and
becoming
the idyll,
what they
had been
seeking
was found
in one
moment
in time,
reader,
I will tell
you now
how the
clouds
are as
the simplest
touch you
treasure,
the holding
of hands
you wish
to keep
forever,
the first
kiss you
share as
the petals
of roses
caress the
wind of the
moon, and
you will say
to your loved
one, as you
would whisper
to the clouds,
“the existence
of you is my gift”

your gratuity
is not sincere
if it is balanced as a pendulum.
the anticipation of return
counteracts
the authenticity
of generosity.

it is acceptance that brings humility-
acceptance that a gift
is not equal
to inherent necessity for reward.
you cannot define "gracious"
while using the words
"owed"
or
"deserved."

allow every inch of your heart
to be a gift.
to be opened
received
and valued
for it is not in balance
that we show love-
but in the counterbalanced abnormality
of sharing.