I've bent my mouth up to my ear
Believing in the stuff belief is made of
Milk replaced by silky biers
Losing my fingers to the Barren Baron Dove

Hurts to admit I'm stealing away
A curly knife held to my ear
Simple, crimpled, waning days
Throw unto the heart of the pier

Lark and tumble
Bark and fumble

Still those tired eyes of dust
I have found the beveled rhythm
Among the pristine clouds of rust,
Entropy's daily rhythm

Wake away the roaring morning
Rising heat in waxing dawn
Spend the many days adorning
The beating pulse of the fawn

Stupefied, nullified
Numb and in crumbs
A stump to the vein
A lump of sweetened pain

A little stone
found me on my way
she took me in her hands
using my hands
and she whispered
using the sound of the wind:

My gift to you
she said
is the moment
that makes you be
these endless landscapes
I’ve crossed
until our ways met
to touch this way

We exchange to purify
without being attached
no thoughts – no visions –
no appreciation of time –
no expectations from the past –
no intention of the next and after
shall trespass

This is a message to be delivered to you
that shall come in handy sometime
because it’s no mystery that
there really is no one out there
but a technology of
‘when you are not
the will suffers having not
initiated my mud
to sculpt ‘
then
the following is a swamp

Come lets walk hand in hand
stand on that hill and watch
while the wind blows us through the blue
rounding red yellow curly hue
of high rocks

look inside
and sing now
one as I
*
then you will see
then you will be
you do not need to touch
pick a stone just
call it mystery
call it technology
all the same
when all there is
is is
not the eyes
but my presence
that which illuminates
sees
sees to dance
and correct postures
sees to be  
the very object
as clarity
eyes gets better
if it were blurred
posture straightens
if it were crimpled
you become the sweetest
shape  of the wind to a bumblebee
an ever expanding
harmonics of a
song unknowingly
for a moment just
for a moment maybe
but such a moment of
a celebration is
comparable to a
lifetime only

Crimpled and beaten they walk to their grave
All alone though no one can save
The grim comes creeping slowly and near
So say your goodbyes, remember my dear
We all will leave and meet again
This cycle returns one more to the end.

These days they are the crimpled up
Wings of moth nights, warm moon
Flowers of valley, mesa and mountains
Through layers and layers of soil no
Wonder they are attracted to
That eternal flame of desire, trembling
So far away.

Around in a space
Suppose I'd be somewhere else
If I could
Though I can
And choose to think I can not
The brightness
The addiction
The cloudy, spacious cell
I'm in, and out
Of my mind
I'd cry if I'd see me from another's eyes
Sitting alone, addicted to loathing
Crimpled in procrastination
And wanting the world to align into place
When the words I write are what distract me tonight
Though seem to help the most
The work I should be submitting
Shouldn't be here
It should be to the tasks around me
That I neglect to hear
It should be to the aspirations
And to my bodies needs
Like cleansing my face
Drinking my tea
And oh yeah...
To stop ignoring that I have to ***.

No, not clever, just
Some truth.
We may all fall susceptible
To a procrastination loop

Mascara streaming down her face
Crimpled plane scheduled
Bags sitting to be checked
The arrivals boards left her confused
Crying out Mi Novio
A flight attendant offered help
The pilot left her crying and the plane was delayed
another day at Kennedy airport

C@Rainbowchaser2021

One Thoughtful March Morning

Along the avenue, awake
To the tall, strong old wood.
Wise in the bright wonder of dawn,
I walked with her.

I miss the pleasures endowed by your smiles,
Faint now in the clay pain of a memory
As another clump of mistletoe
Grows in glory spherical upon a twisted apple bough.

New beauty in ancient form,
Daffodil bright in this tepid haze
Brings me again to Love;
Eternal youth smiling at a tainted, withered man.

My dear poplar companions-
Faithful to my end, hardly changing, locked
To cyclic seasons’  quest,
I bow to your spired, quiet wisdom.

In the grey sag of my painful limp,
Unworthy for her I felt-
And felt the same impulse of youth,
Unchanged by life’s casual decline.

Inside a yearning synchronised
With young joy; immortal smile.
Crimpled skin supports long dying,
Crying into a dreamed of coffin’s womb.

Love, you were always here;
Sometimes hidden, often present,
Never aging but forever young;
Alive in light for all living.