to kindness, to knowledge,
we make promises only; pain we obey.
Marcel Proust

I was born into this world
of people without
guardian angels but
loveless pockets
no body to see how
pain was incessantly
turned into tombstones
a carousel of masks and
defeated laughter
blinded by deceitful colours.
triumphant sidewalks not afraid
to be crushed by the weight of
humiliated bodies.
-he was secretly dreaming
how vanilla ice-cream would taste
on her lips-
people got used to bringing their thoughts
to the drug stores
as if walking their pets
weeping was incomprehensible
forbidden by law.
-she was secretly dreaming
of him smelling like tobacco,
white musk and cedarwood -


this world survived because of
all the hidden dimensions,
perhaps.
I was handed over a disembodied world
to dream of but
the metaphors were of
no use
to moonless people
their hands paralyzed.
oh, can anybody see?
the unspoken terror
that time stood still.
-I was secretly dreaming of destroying
this world with fresh words, with
the craziness of feeling alive-

I inherited the secret passion
of some unknown promises and
never-whispered desires
the only teacher I could find -
my manic heart
unbearable the pains of
growing a mind.

they wanted to keep it simple:
to cry, to speak, to fall in love.
muted seagulls
loveless alphabets
into this world
waiting for the sun to shed
its hidden self
of blindness

The swell
of cedarwood, deep in the burrow
Ambrose waits, and he is risen

where winter rests
in a bed of water, soft smiles
pale faces

blue babies in golden reeds.

swollen still
in the stillness of tomorrow,

of yesterday's grief, to be
reborn every morning
in the pineal quest of
nirvana, the navel's bud,

to grow yellow, languid
from the icy bloom
of self defeat

and smile, smile.

How do you explain
The notion of a breath?
Would you describe it as the ease
With which his cedarwood undertone swirled
In and around your nose? Or the satisfaction
Of having him set off every nerve in your core?

Perhaps a breath is simply the eagerness
To take him in; to be completely consumed by
His trace of leather and oak;
To inhale the taste
Of merlot and cigarettes
That dances on his tongue.

You crave
One more breath of his sweet
Perfume to ease the poison now
Filling your veins, your heart;
A wild fire in your lungs grows
That only he can extinguish.

He is the sweetest air and
You gasp for him,
But he does not answer,
He merely lets you consume him,
Selfishly, until he is nothing
And everything,
As your lungs continue
To reluctantly swell
And depress in perfect rhythm
With his beating heart.

betrayed czar
tsunami
ear cut off
free fisherman forced back ashore
prince mumbling revolution
forgotten ice age
driftwood stagnating like a forest
on the ***** of a mountain
sound of a harp slightly out of tune
carried by cello’s of cedarwood
envy of a ***** teenage girl
dreaming of love but forced
to stay with her hardworking parents
shy painter of nudes shivering
and hoping to fade himself with paint
seed carried to a new continent
by a lost bird
catching the penultimate fish

these things decide our humble history
before we perish

driving past the
dead grass
against the grey clouds
my heart turns to metal and
my lungs begin to deflate
as
i get farther from you
i feel the sick start to continue
without your scent to fill my head
and
with out your eyes to steal my dread
i become a boulder
rolling down a steep hill
to be a boulder is treacherous
i hit the small rocks
that
wreck my exterior
breaking off clumps
im losing pieces of myself again

its a mystery
of how you wrap me whole
of how you give me worth

my throat burns
from holding in the sobs

im electrified
when im given your attention
my metal heart melts and
becomes warm
while my lungs inflate with
what smells of sweet cedarwood
and sweat
your skin is hot against mine
and i love the tickle of your body hair
the moments where you squeeze me
are when
my entire being is awoken
shocks of energy
convulse my nerves
and i feel alive
you are my sun
because
without your warming rays
and without your light
i am left cold and blind

Apollonian vs Dionysian virtues
imperfect forms storm the acropolis
in temple halls the dreamers wept
for the old gods to bend
their icy paws once again
saws cut through the logos
in lieu of cedarwood we got cement
now only short stints of sunlight
descend from the heavens
and the gods pretend not to notice them
but i'd like to take you on a trip
through my thoughts
and around my mind
between my skin and my spine
and define words and feelings
archetypes, images and concepts
that have barely begun to surface
to the light i rise again
beyond sighs and fears we fight
for our right to awaken them