pour your aneurysm into my palm and i will love you so hard
be glad. this love is nothing more than tremendous, however
you might have Doric columns, where i have Ficus
but you're a ***** stone, a-swarm with ivy
a mind reading astronaut
i ought


and a
cat.

Oh, but it is *****!
--this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!

Father wears a *****,
oil-soaked monkey suit
that cuts him under the arms,
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
(it's a family filling station),
all quite thoroughly *****.

Do they live in the station?
It has a cement porch
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a ***** dog, quite comfy.

Some comic books provide
the only note of color-
of certain color.  They lie
upon a big dim doily
draping a taboret
(part of the set), beside
a big hirsute begonia.

Why the extraneous plant?
Why the taboret?
Why, oh why, the doily?
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)

Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe.  Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:
ESSO--SO--SO--SO
to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.

if I could propagate
begonias
bright burgundies
would    F
        I
                            L
   ­­                L              my pages
if I could seed my sages
savor flavor
in my soils’ *****

baby read my mind
out LOUD
s
  l
        i
                    p them off your
                                          lip

quick tip:
a 3” snip and d  them in d
                         i                   r
                         p               i
                                             p
                                           s
line them
in white powder
beg them to           f
                       L      O      W    
                           e        r

cake is fake so take
your time to
dnuinw

the kids will be just fine

s                               e
    m                      l
                  i
you’re
       ­                                           a
                    ­                              l
                                 ­                 l
                                              ­    r
                                                  i
       ­                                           g
                    ­                              h
                                 ­                 t

i’m lost my (chain) of thought
cost too much i bought
cheap seeds
their screaming bleeds
bright burgundy
in my bed

i said
Indigo Snow come home
to set (me) free
lay me          to sleep



           down



                             W,I
                           delet

Maytime romance under the vernal lamp
of creation
Wrapped with invisible arms
Under the spell of sylvan charms
Appeasing lanes embellished-
with pink Begonia and baby-blue -eyes
Catalpa trees blushing in the marmalade sky
Strawberry thoughts , young lessons-
from green pinecones
Brandy freshwater branches fill river neighbor-
saplings
Nuthatch mothers sing of the day in sunflower gardens

aix, beck's, becks, blech's, checks, cheques, czechs, dec's, decks, dex, eckes, eques, ex, fecks, flecks, flex, heck's, hex, jex, kecks, lecce, lex, meckes, mex, necks, nex, next, peck's, pecks, plex, rex, sheck's, shek's, specks, specs, sphex, tech's, techs, teck's, tex, treks, vex, whelks, wrecks, x, x. amex, ampex, annex, apec's, apex, armtek's, avtex, aztecs, berlex, caltex, cemex, centex, cmx, comex, complex, comtrex, convex, crownx, defex, dissects, duplex, effects, ejects, entex, execs, expects, eyetech's, fanech's, fedex, finex, gatx, gtech's, inmex, intex, latex, memtec's, metex, natec's, nobec's, nymex, nynex, objects, onex, opec's, paychecks, paychex, pemex, perplex, pewex, playtex, portec's, projects, qintex, quebec's, railtex, rednecks, reflects, rejects, respects, roughnecks, scitex, simplex, starplex, steinbeck's, subjects, suspects, syntex, telex, telmex, tenrecs, timeplex, tridex, trintex, triplex, truex, vertex, visx, wall-tex, wedtech's, westtech's adaptec's, ametek's, atx, banamex, between decks, biotechs, bottlenecks, cineplex, cybersex, cytotechs, datarex, discotheques, equitex, eurochecks, gendrisek's, genentech's, govpx, hyponex, intellects, intersects, kaisertech's, malcolm x, medarex, mediplex, megaplex, memorex, methanex, metroplex, middlesex, multidex, multiplex, neorx, oraflex, pillowtex, prentnieks, rolodex, stratoflex, superx, symantec's, teleflex, turtlenecks, unisex, ventritex adaptaplex, ameritech's, audiotex, begonia rex, ****** simplex, solar apex, videotex, tyrannosaurus rex, regression of y on x

Tras la ventana, el amor
vestido de blanco, mira.
Mira a la tarde, que gira
sus luces y su color.

La begonia sin olor
sus verdes hojas estira
para mirar lo que mira
tras la ventana, el amor:
la primavera, surgida
del pico de un ruiseñor.

Early morning, adorned
in a cloak of cerise and viridian,
roams the dark of a seashore
through waves of obsidian.
Summer in pearly decorum,
the harbor blazed with multicolored sails.

Noontide aloft on sundrops
of saffron luminance,
traces the rows of begonia
and shading cumulus.
Summer in amethyst mantles,
the meadow doused with flower-laden trails.

Evening, abliss in the cape
of sunning indigo,
wades in crystalline waters
as the plazas overflow.
Summer in sienna streetlights,
the taverns filled with sentimental tales.

Wisteria perfumes the morning vale as piedmont sunshine accentuates oak grove dales                                                            ­                                         The knell of dawn church bells travel while azalea , hibiscus an begonia color a town square guarded by black granite warriors*...

Lying in the begonia field of my mind,
an answer to "One Simple Question"
is hard to find.
That " One Simple Question" put to mankind
that leads me to believe that some are blind.
That "One Simple Question" I heard her ask,
for which the a answer is a simple task.
So why is it so difficult to put on our gloves
and answer that " One Simple Question"...
simply with love?

A ghost lives in my mind
He haunts me at night, when its dark
The ghost consumes my thoughts
Like it's his last meal
He forms goosebumps on my skin
He burns me with thoughts I otherwise couldn't
build on my own he takes responsibility of the actions
I am to a coward to admit to
He kills the begonia flowers growing inside my ribcage
And searches for the ghost of my former self in the space between my left and right lung
He is lost but he isn't trapped
He has an option to leave but he chooses to stay
And builds a cemetery inside my head.

And of your eyes, begonia skies like a sleepyhead



There’s things I haven’t been open about. In truth there’s a lot. Some may know how I’ve gotten here, but I can’t say a single person knows why. I don’t completely know why myself. Wearing your heart on you’re sleeve is a good way to remind others you have one, and a better way to get it broken. I always say I’m an open book, and I like to believe I am to those who ask the right questions. How can I expect a question from somebody that doesn’t have any context? Why post something like this on a public wall?
Maybe
Just maybe
Deep down
I want someone to ask me why.

There are days when every move she makes is laced with anger
Days when a potential lover cannot make time to accomodate growing feelings
Days when I cannot differentiate disinterest and stress
Bad days filled with friction and fighting
A wish that I could run away from it all
But suffocated by millions of thoughts as to what I should do
And confusion as to what the problem really is

You grew onto me
You rooted yourself deeply
Within the gardens of my soul
But you weren't pigweed
Nor bindweed
Oh ..No Dear..
You were a crimson red Begonia
Glistening so  beautifully
In the rays of the morning sun..

Yellow & Green
A summer so serene
I wake up to the chirping birds
Go out to the vivid light
Beaming onto every life
A Begonia standing firm
Beneath the amber horizon
Waiting to ambush the hopelessness of the world
A lazy breeze whispering along
The blooming hedges will do just fine
Sun & shade in the forest glade
Reap & sow a light so profound
Hopping birds bring life to the hidden grounds
Scribbling an aubade, we look all around
Behold & rise to the beauty unspoken
Summer is here, all burning & all mine.

Intricate flower fleeting in the center of the sunlight,  
A Rose that wilts with sufficient water,
A dandelion that fell from its journey,  
A sun flower that escaped the gaze of the sky above,
An Orchid with torn petals,
A begonia with an unpleasant bloom
An Ageratum that was crushed by age,
An Anemone that learned to grow during summer droughts,
A lonely  Aster,  abandoned by its worshiping friends,



Why did she keep on blooming?

¿Qué interroga
el girasol más alto sobre
las rosas?
¡Mudo
espanto del jazmín! Las ampulosas
dalias retuercen su violenta
envidia. Una begonia
extiende al sol la palma verde
de su mano. Viva, ojerosa
flor: el pensamiento.
Pero tú cortas
un clavel.
              Los alhelíes
recobraron su aroma.

Having a hard time in spring makes me think it is my least favorite season. My paleness frostbitten from eager pedal pushers and my hairs luster lacks gone away with the beanie I lived in. My face loves the sun, but it was too much too soon and the burn remains. Oh and death is spring because babies can’t care for themselves yet. The first buds of bland blooms, backdrop for later’s begonia. It is not exciting to see this life struggle out of sleep when the season of sadness spills over. Spring, she’s bipolar a bit. The warmth is hit or miss and she takes so long to get out of bed. Get out of the fog, get of out of the grey. She takes the moments you hold your breath the longest before plunging out of the horizon and runs her finger along the film as to slow it down because when you’re sad in Spring you feel as though winter is forever.

a. Nocturne
Behold a heart full of stars,
a skyful of cyan grains
where we’ll watch motorcars
tracing the begonia plains.
Reflection of the pines so serene
in a pool daubed with turquoise and green.
An existence held by hands of elysian mould
paints the sundown with sapphires and gold.

On stygian seas,
the solemn moonlight smiles
as lighthouse turns
and tides caress the scattered isles.
Our dreams fill with saccharine desire
to cast melancholia into an astral fire.
Waves of warmth brush upon the gilded shore
of a pure euphoria we’ve wished to explore.

b. Island
The fires of your rainbowed tresses
endure the teeming tidal waves.
You’re dancing with starfish upon the seabed
and mingling in labyrinths from light overhead.

The mast is towering in summer air.
The sun is showering your seaward stare.

c. Nocturne
Our fantasies collide
upon a love laden tapestry
hung upon the universe
and doused in cerebral majesty.
Chameleon stalks in moonlit white
as the din of thunder quakes the night.
Old troubadour sings for the crumbling skies
and paints a floral temple within your lapis eyes.

d. Lullaby
Night’s dark halo o’er the city
showered with diamonds / veiled with gleams.
Sleepless labyrinth of gold lamplight
floods with ardor from empyrean dreams.
Night’s dark halo o’er luminous streams.

Laced in stillness, ghosts of the river,
a fog of nostalgia pours ‘cross the plain.
Silence wanders with cold shadows
trodding the orchard away from the rain.
Laced in stillness, our misty domain.

Song for slumber, a nebulous reverie
painting the valleys of our kindred minds.

e. Aubade I
Birdsong cradled on whispers of air
darkness engulfed with aurora.
Light pours across the emerald vale
and cascades upon sleeping flora.
Foxtails waver overlooking the shore,
blush skies fade to blue.
A caress of sea upon circle stones
as the sky dons a novel hue.

f. Aubade II
Dawn unveils dew swathed green /
sunlight parts the white-clad screen /
branches clutch foggy plumes
as river splits the forest womb.
We’re doused in rays of opaline,
a shawl of lavender rose,
and as our eyes fill with the morn,
we’ll paint our reams with loving prose.

Chrysanthemum fuschia marigold lobelia begonia hibiscus frangipani poppy

                                Some unnamed wildflower
By the side of a mountain path
In the rain

Smelt once
Never forgotten

And wild garlic plucked in
Fevered hunger

O god

I need your
Earthly connection with
Color and narcissistic
Flour-

Manna from heaven

A tuckered bucket of preening primroses,
satcheled over the left-hand shoulder,
eyes hooded like awnings over bread tinged luncheons,
its been eons since rendez-vous took your shape and form,
perilous verbosity rots away on my tongue,
my eyes are a hostage on your figure,
the gentle malice is almost imperceptible from here,
or it is but an illusion of my grandeur,
that you and your majesty had ever broken down my door,
moments leave us as prey to the day to day,
the regretful palm out gesture is unrelieved and we part,
like the single stem of a shredded begonia, petals astray and seeped.

blue eyed ginger snap
sixties kid in modern day
scarlet begonia

bronchitis treatment
used to treat dysentery
begonia blooms

In the moment everything is still
like a humming hornet in a begonia of irascible
misfortune, made glorious summer.
all the worlds engaged in fluorescent play.
the opal of all agonies
displaced by all the ghouls
of rabid faith.
our epiphanies are random
but we define the sojourn of-
our solitary Togetherness.
as our every kingdom is an abandoned kiss
where the stars; all falling-
are falling for you.
and all the worlds, some sort-
of hemisphere
of destinations
on all
sides.

Soon it is over and dust covers pages.
You come to the page with blood on your hands.
When you turn around its always the past.
And rain falls forever somewhere.
Inside we empty the minutes to hours,
And the days are horses running the hills.
I wait by the door of unknown tomorrow,
And gaze at the past's unsettling dream.
This ensemble draped in scarlet begonia,
I breathe night's intoxicated hour,
As all the days have fallen to dusk.
In days of dripping sinks and emptied vases,
As the hours used up are spilled from the cup.
A sheen of rain falls on the living,
As the dead dream of Heaven no more.
A whisper of wind scattering pages,
A church of words built from the ground.
Where's my specter, the color of silence?
Caught up in echoing air?
Where are the Exiles, they're hands smeared with berries,
Do they witness to a choir of clouds.
A lute of dark birds gathered in shadow,
As wind stirs the dry husk of leaves.
A void overtakes the yellowing pages.
A dark house consuming my winter of words.

This garden has grown wild.

Here the marigolds choke,
There the thistle blooms,

Here the tulips suffer,
There the daisies revel.

There's a ******* with a waving cloak
Here to there, and never home
To answer for this lazy show

Here the roses luster;
Blistered, each begonia

Ivy spreading readily
Dead, my rhododendron.

Whenever time is fertile you should seed or you should swallow,
Depending on the moment.

And when you know it, you know it.