This is how love
flies through a needle.
Forgetting about the past and
running around the world.
All in a single leap.
This is how love
dies,
gasping for air in a fish tank.
Forget the future,
punch the mirror until it hurts.
Glass shards falling on the floor.
Reflecting on the all the world's sins.
There can only be one.
Sacrifices.
Betrayal.
Laughing at the clown,
that tries to tame the lions.
This will blur the lines
between forgiveness and anger.
Which will help you survive?
The Prince and the Pauper.
Oh,
this is how the fire
becomes a flame.
One wish at a time.
Innocence.
The lions are hungry.
They have been caged for the last time.
The music begins to play.
Mozart.
Dance to the beat of
a thousand soldiers,
flying into the sun.
One day,
in the very distant future,
this will still not make sense.
Hear,
touch,
taste,
electricity.
Please,
take solace in that fact.
Falling into mythology at break neck speed.
It is wonderful,
knowing that everything can fail.

The living come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
“The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay.”
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can’t help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.

(By Brook Ilges and
Sverre G. Holter)


There's fire in it. Chestburn. Lungs
And lava, heart in heat; blood
Boiling. When I move,
Steam escapes from between
My ribs.
They cage a dragon's mouth.

Our edges cauterize
Unable to stabilize this searing
Electric firestorm
We coalesce into colors
Streaming through our nerve
Endings
Pulsing the rhythm of ages
Into the space between our gazes
Your scalding hide sets us apart
A rough reminder of the scars that
Stitch beneath

Sometimes.
Sometimes I find myself.
Sometimes I find myself
Biting down on
Whatever is left of myself
After the vulcano sighs and
Withdraws its black; its
Ashes; its pieces of planet's
Core, just to hold onto
Something with
Something.
Sometimes I wonder if
The memories of surgical
Sutures are all that keep me
From falling apart.
Take my mouth; I'm saving
My hands for
My heart.

Darkness falls, low light lingers
I trace the confines of your cage
The lock rusted and still
A key exists, the heart resists
Too damaged to offer naught but numb
Cutting through pumice walls
Fiery thorns thick, penetrate with ease
Such paltry designs of recovery
I'm fading fast
While you still burn.

And while one of us fades burning,
The other burns fading, and all is as
It all should be, as two stars
Decide not to form a solar system, but
Instead to brush themselves into a painting
Of a dream that a child that has yet to
Become just dreamed; awoke from
And whispered: "I want them to
Be my mother and
Father..."

Now is but my finest hour,
as flowers spray,
Mine is that of scented roses,
wound round trellis in my garden,
such delight,
My years.
they are  just flowers in the sun,
loaded with seeds to multiply,

Mine,
are buddlea blooms on bushes,
bright blue,
enticing butterflies,
or dried lavender,
freshens costumes for work and play,
blouses of pure chiffon,
cotton and silk,

As age passes,
so,
so does my style,
Once was decadent and hectic,
now dressed with serenity,
I'm just,
Just still a hippie at heart.
(C) Livvi

Without a doubt
The faith was lost
Below the salt.

Dawn's eyes
Not so much Viridian,
Slightly less...
Herbal.
Dusk swims up its favorite tree
And collapses
Dead as death.

Dragon's Breath
Cascades the mountainside
In
Red fury.

The Sun sweats
U.V. afterbirth,
Drought frenzy,
And carmine fissures.
Flooding eyelids,
And my minds eye.

Ethereal starkness
Sunbathes in the
Sundries
Of a maniac.