how i have ached to walk amongst the evergreens
encased by dazzling quaking aspen
in my rocky mountain home

i yearn to fall again while skiing
and catch a wisp of icy sky blue
snow powder crystals
on my tongue
******* feelings
rise and fall
as they melt
and disappear

i long to breathe in your scent
sitting on the peak of wooded ridges
amidst slate colored boulders
sea salt combined with cinnamon
laced with wildflowers
crisply filling my lungs

i hunger to once again
behold again your red rock formations
creating tender hollows
through which timid coral sunsets peer

i crave hiking at dusk
into your jagged emerald forests
and sit wistfully mid the columbine
while darkened sunflowers juxtapose
against the jet black emptiness
enticing the stars
to etch enchanting paintings
on inky cobalt skies

hankering to be at the sundance film festival
coyly peeking into restaurants
covertly spying on the movie stars
on old park city main

itching to experience waiting patiently
for a moose to cross the street
its majesty splashing gingerly
sending chills throughout the galaxy
magnificence abounds

i pine to have memories gently cradle me
like worn out patchwork quilts
warmed by incandescent fires
wrapping me in soft colored canvas
the past craving transformation
by an echo that’s now dim

faintly crying out for
an old familiar artist’s brush
that still lingers
to snag times gone by
and paint the future in

amalgamating the antiquated
with the present
luring in
my destiny

i dream to don my fringed leather jacket
and hear my cowboy boots
fiercely clicking
against charcoal shadowed midnight sidewalks
while i watch the harvest moon

i’m parched too see your autumn chestnut leaves
against the bloodshot auburn sky
as cardinal hues give way to glistening winter
melding into tender spring

your summertime birthing
tingles down my spine
as chartreus aspen leaves
morph to golden bisque
enticing ute country
to blow in
copper colored indian summers
with cherry fragrant wind

yutaahih you were called
by the apaches
their historic essence
somehow ingrained within
my every cell
thirsty to lie enveloped
like a long lost lover
in your rugged western terrain

once having left your presence
i return to you now
my heart flutters
with wild anticipation
to see your precious face again
utah

©2016janetaylor

I forgot what it was like
to stay up past the point of exhaustion,
just to see my phone light up
with your name on it.

It makes me feel special again.
Like we're the only ones awake
in this bustling world.

A secret kept between
me
you
and the atmosphere.

Thinking of us and the asphalt
and how amazing it felt
at 3AM.
Streetlights dancing on our skin,
tracing your ears
and shoulders
and other places I like to nuzzle.

The pavement
reading the traces of your fingertips
on my back
like braille.
Every breath vibrating in the air.

Using each other as a blanket,
wrapping my limbs around you.
Scarfing up and down the road.
Sinking into this.

This is a poem for Rachel Corrie. I am not religious, and a far cry from spiritual, but I refuse to imagine Rachel Corrie insentient and six feet under, slowly amalgamating with the soil encasing her. Before her death, Rachel Corrie said “I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my co-workers. But I also want this to stop.” In the words of contemporary Palestinian poet Suheir Hammad “God has a better imagination than all of us combined” in either God's words or my own, I will not imagine in/on the same ground in/on which I maybe soon will be and more words from Suheir “What do I tell young people about non-violence when they can see for themselves how even orange bright and megaphone loud and cameras and US citizenship will not stop your ******?” what do I tell young people/anyone even myself about “non-violence” when every single thing I've seen presenting itself/perhaps even masquerading as “non-violence” has been in my face and /rude/harsh/unavoidable and most of all, violent? I do not believe in God and humanity is pushing it's luck, but I believe in Rachel Corrie. This is for Rachel;*

I should study a she-wolf's prose
she wanted to write about death
but life would frequently
weasel and wheedle it's way in
there’s an overhanging image
a smaller
yet
infinitely larger
organism
continuously broached
by each word
I only want to study
a caterpillar’s motion
backward/forward /onward
across arms/legs
of this deer/dear
[her] surname/
[my] given name/
separated by [semi/totally] circular VOWels
***** blond hair
dirtied by dust /
rubble /
rhyme /reason/
whatever/ in compliance
with a rep/RESENT/ative democracy
several shades lighter
literally
figuratively
whiter
than she
need no permission
pat benatar
would/should croon
to your moves
every
boy and girl friend
i will/may/have/had
should be yours
entomo/insecto/[social] phobias
I never would’ve said so
I never
would’ve/
could’ve
told the caterpillar

to go

50 shades of ****** up,
let me explore you.

Allow my demons the delectation,
of amalgamating with yours.
Let’s connect our hearts as one,
as our spirits intertwine
and our demons sway.
sway to the a tuneless feeling of euphoria.
sway to sounds of two hearts,
beating as one.
yours and mine.

tbc...

- d.b.d.

There was nothing ahead
but the blazing red
brazen brake lights watching
for the likes of us,
with somewhere to be
besides the whipping chills
of concrete and ice
spliced into our state,
uniquely white.

Inside, the air
surged the song out
and over our bundled bodies
thermal anomalies
in the amalgamating night.
Music
wrapped and coiled,
covered the lazy silence
like insulation commitment
to keep us safe,
deployed in case of a conversational
head on collision,
curtailed with soft sounds,
in amber lamps
simple.

Your particulate words
freckles in the face of ill
conceived ideas of entitled
Sirs and Madams,
my van Gogh brush
damning them all to hell.

The formulaic mist of several aromas
Both sweet and strong
Hovers within the space
Asphyxiating and amalgamating every new smell encountered
Sanctioning an intoxicating bevy of delicious sensations

Aquamarines
Hues unseen

Velvets and
Mercury retrograde

Projecting lines
Of constant course

Meanders and oxbows
Hinting at future and past

Dancing to songs
Unheard

An effigy for love
Unseen

A garden of tears
Unwrapping the present

Pistil and stamen
Awaiting

Pollinating
Ones and zeros

Bifurcating from binary to analog
Or amalgamating the two

Becoming one
Reprogramming matrices

With personal
Trinities

Everything looks neo
Through this lens

My purple iris contends
U2?

Something in her eyes
Took 1000 years to get here

Something in her heart
Something in her heart

These words that flow
Around my mind,
I try to appreciate,
I try to confide
These words with
My dear ones,
But often they are toxic
And burn
At the corner of my eyes.

These words that flow
Into my ears
Slowly fade into
My love and fears
Melding with the foundations that prop me up
These foundations constantly amalgamating
With the words of the surrounding world.

These words that flow
Into my eyes
Slowly pull me... aside
Deeper into
The darkness of my fears
Slowly into
A cold
Cold abyss.

And where your light shines
I'd hope to smile
But my smile is hidden
In the words
Left unspoken
Floating around my mind
Flowing in the cold of my eyes.

when poems are carved
on flesh of a sprawling night
by ubiquitous drops of rain
slithering seep into crevices,
through each pore and cavity...
they stutter and gather pieces of
halos abandoned by fireflies
on dismembered petals and ferns alike
while hesitating strokes define
scribbles on a soggy parchment
ridden with nostalgia
exclaimed by a crooked white stream
of moonlight betwixt eyelids
and far across faded sheets of grey
through magnetically opposite lives
separated as lips parted in amazement
in a hearth amalgamating memories
obtusely incessantly
you coerce my heart to throb
lodge in womb of wispy breezes
frequently, unspoken.

Darling, you are so hot you make me melt
Love your fragrance, liked the way you smelt
Have got me dripping, you are so very thick
Certainly do admire the length of your wick

We are both sweating, dripping wax, and a lot
Want to hug and kiss you but your'e far too hot
Last night our flames only flickered then went out
But as tonight goes on the flames have more clout

Before I met you I lived in a monastery with a nun
Was a boring life sweetheart and definitely no fun
Used to spread her legs and slip me up her spout
Yell and scream, near drown me then fling me out

Was sold at a garage sale, covered in dust and hair
So glad to get away from the nun and get some air
Soon met up with you and I'm now a lot happier by far
Have a new home here with you in a lovely candelabra

As the soft breezes blow we look at each other and snicker
You bring heat into my body and the flame starts to flicker
The hotter we get then the juices really start to flow
Melting away down our stems, amalgamating below

Our new owners are jealous, every morning without doubt
They come in with a smile and blow our loving flames out
We spend the next hours cold and waiting for days end
At night we'll be lit up once more and start loving again

Sure you love me too from the messages you send
I will love you forever dear or at least till my wick's end
My wax is so shiny these days I guess you are knowing
Youv'e really lit me up and you can see how I'm glowing

Paint layers walls
And walls layer houses
Uncarefully placed
In our carefulness
Comforted in perfection unreachable

And what wisdom lays
In a world that wreaks destruction
On the weak foundations that we sow
And the even weaker plants that we reap
Fabricated
Cheap
An amalgamating mess
Painted onto
Thin fragile walls
Holding up
Thin fragile houses

Oak trees mount mossy slopes… graphing the thin-shrub, need not much light.
Fallen comrades stretch out up the valley, their armor soaked with dew-mist and stuck leaves.
Dry foliage rings around their plinth, daubing their place in the social order.
Dark shades cut short, amalgamating a bond between what is and what can be…

Willow wood leans forward, observing last year’s crop… its focus grounded by fleecing strands.
Bunches shivering in the cold wind, undulate neighbors to tripping the light fantastic.
A swaddling creek serves both life and death, kissing the feet of giants above.
The water flows white off the human path, babbling past a lean-to, set on the lea’s bottom.

Flaxen wood guards the gate of Stygian timber, dark as its cousins ‘round.
The house sitting with the wood, dormant in its lot, thinks nothing of the past.
The forest soon to sleep, they Shiloh* amongst themselves… Next to the graves of the first to go.

I feel its indubitable presence
Lurking beneath wispy shrouds of darkness
Drifting towards me from a path that begins
From the less traveled route which my footprints adorn
But I cannot run from my fate anymore
All I can do is stand still, lest I fall
Into the many unseen chasms of regret
And here again I find myself
Waiting, always waiting, fretting, dreading what may come
I retreat into the pitiable cloak of myself
Though its frivolous pretension fades away
Amalgamating with the wistful night air
And all that is left is a lone and fearful shadow
Of subsistence, no resistance lingers in my spirit now
As I feel the creature approaching me
I wade in the sea of its soulless eyes
A culmination of hopes and desires
Gone awry and heaved back to realities
Of envy, greed, and hopelessness
And now its hand of savage bleakness rests upon my face
Draining color from the cheeks once florid with new life
To where hath such vitality escaped?
And the flowers which wilt, and the meadows that burn...
Where are they now?
Must I die within my sleep to see those empty dreams sequestered?
And as my spirit falters, I am certain I shall see
That very place in not so distant times
As I whisper a reverberating goodbye
Leaving silence likely deafening the poor souls that may hear
The silence of the truth that could have been
As a dark new day emerges from the mist

I am sitting by a shore
watching the waves come by and leave
I want them to touch me
dissolve me into tiny molecules
mingling and amalgamating
with each of theirs
dancing into a whole new universe
But the waves always miss me
By an inch
reminding me of all the things
i "just missed".

raining from the sky
no two of us alike
crystals dancing in the night
perfect as we are
bright as the Sirius star
diamond dust
cloaking bridges
towers and mountains
eyelashes, noses, lips
building nests in hair in strips
powder babies amalgamating
over ponds skating
billowing and swirling
boys and girls hurling
compacted spheres flying
through the air
and lying feathery down
on the satin ground

Piano plays softly in the background of her expressionless face; eighty eight keys wrapped so unforgivingly in her hair. She fades to nothing, intertwines herself with the lowest key, played pianissimo; so quiet we need to lean forward to hear past the building struggle of the other chaotic eightyseven; she is supporting an amalgamating masterpiece without fear in her eyes. I have never been given the chance to respect as much as her. I wait for the day she snaps. Repetition tinted with the smell of her blood tells me what exactly stains ivory in the quiet of the definition of the word “over”. I wonder when she’ll be so over. I’ve never seen her once break character as pain crossed with envy around her, I hate that she watches the children of our world starve, whilst she eats none herself, so I am in no right to be mad; it’s so hard not be mad these days. I wait for a day she looks down, a day when her eyes brim with tears of her own, heavy and useless after being so statue. It’s because it must be, must build to something unachievable at the top of the ribbon draped tree so we strive and forget the conditions we sign when we fall. I imagine a world where she taps her own keys, keeps no time to her own will. I long for a day when she can spell the music with her screams and my concept of monarchy is marred by the pure beauty of undoubted chaos. She is part of no background and she taste the wind on the tip of her tongue when she tangles her hair, and she can once again learn to smile; what on earth is so expected of her that I dare need to ponder this? I’ve spent every night and moment praying to gods I don’t belive in to give her wings; so scared to fasten one’s of my own in case she falls. She needs no net to fall. We’ll smash the keys, chip the ivory, learn to breathe, leave our shoes stray on the floor. We’ll feel the sand on our feet and sing to guitar; I am none the wiser than she. Let’s forget from whence we came and feel the elements of the moment in our heart racing chests and beg our brains to breathe past our laughter. This is the year to be reborn; I’ll speak when i’m not spoken to and break the fourth wall, love how the sky tells me to and smile at night. Together, I love the feeling of summer. Piano plays low like pain in the back of her head both diegetic and non diegetic in her storybook world; I dare you to teach me how to open the pages. She is background; rethought.

Cn: self harm,bulimia










i bled yesterday
after porcelain
tasted bile; how vile.

blade upon flesh, steel
amalgamating with skin
tears and undue fears

battered, skewed
the way the cookie crumbles
not a top class view

It was a beautiful day. Some might say 'perfect'. Others would disagree, as they always tend to do. I say 'WAS a beautiful day' because as these words are read, the moments they describe have long passed. Not only that, as I experience these moments they immediately become the past, since the present moment is partly an illusion, partly our liberation. The only moment most people are ever able to experience in our dimension/universe is the present. Yet the very structure of time becomes the ideology that binds us most: segmenting and amalgamating to create a false perspective of continuity, but more detrimentally to us, of finality. Reggie Watts once sang that:

"We're only living in the memories of our future selves and its funny to think like we're here right now, but we never really are 'cuz we're somewhere in the future controlling the options, giving lots of hints to ourselves in order for us to understand that choice is still important in a world where we gotta figure some stuff out: yea".

That's a pretty consuming thought, but most don't even have the self-awareness to figure out the most basic concepts so hopefully, this alleged shift in consciousness better brings some swift wisdom to those it can and solace for those it can't. How did such dark thoughts come from such a beautifully perfect day? Because beauty is pain and nothing is perfect in life except perhaps life itself in/or the multiverse we inhabit (potentially). Always full of ups and downs like waves... of sound... of light... of energy... aka EVERYTHING! That's enough pseudo-philosophy for now. Take comfort in life's uncomfortableness.