it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

—turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
  the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
  filled with sleeping birds
thy ******* are swarms of white bees
  upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
  of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song

my love
thy head is a casket
  of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
  innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
  with victory and with trumpets

thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness

thy lips are satraps in scarlet
  in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
thy wrists
are holy
  which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
  of silver

in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes

  thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

Watch carefully as the rain gathers
in the crux between a broken shoulder
and tender neck.
How the footsteps fall as if from the sky
in tandem with the falling rain.
But it’s not something one must be told to see,
for it is easy to crucify the self
amid the muddy steps
where faith must be found.

God hears you.

In the drops on the hair on
the head as in your head
in the clouds
as He is.
So must you be.

It’s time to kneel
in a way which has never been attempted.
It’s time to recognize the conception is whatever
you conceive of Him to be,
and that it matters not the form.

Eliminate your suffering as the Buddha has.

The water exists,
it soaks you through and
comes from within without.
But there is always warmth,
it only must be found.
As such the four noble truths
set to a path known for years.

The time of ingesting poison must
come to pass
or death must come sooner.

You can’t do this alone.

Like a home without a family,
plans mean nothing
unaccompanied.

And did I tell you
about how the
sunflowers
you painted on my skin
crave for you
every morning
yet the winter
never ends.

Where are you, my sunshine?

I've got a crayon in my hand,
a color for every lost syllable
There's a brightly scribbled drawing
to make my mouth and head reconcilable