My breath is barbed;
skeletal strings shift into smoke,
drifting into the shadows
as the darkness will choke.

Pearl snow stuffs my skull;
my grandmother in an earthern womb,
sleeps under it all.
A tombstone the last thing we bought--
a report card of her life:
She is with Him in Heaven, In Paradise...
With Him, Without Pain--
is speculation but turns into thought.

The icy steps do not deter me
as I sit on the crooked concrete spine;
speaking to her, hoping the snow
does not make her cold, any more,
'I can stay a while longer...
I do not have to go home, yet.'

-

Eco-friendly light spills from under the door,
forming a pool as yellow as diseased skin.
The brass doorknob is like a girl I once loved:
******* the outside, hollow in the inside,
unable to be moved and okay with it.
Fury from a faucet fills the bathtub
and rings my ears with its intent:
to fill a void and go away when cold.

She lays in the water
the city treats better than us,
wading in a wealth of watermelon wash;
her body flushed from fading flesh,
pores swim and stretch around
cursive carvings, kissing cursed curves--
and I sit upon a bone-white curb,
stirring my finger in the soup of her day;
watching the drain ****, wondering
if she'll, too, drift away.

In this tightly interwoven
tapestry of
           silks and cottons
softness upon stems
an intricately-*****
                     journey
manifesto of life
        I find myself in
patchwork landscapes
of ochre and
rust turning
           turquoise
earthern shades
of cumin and cardamom
cloves and coriander
piquant red of paprika
alighting the senses
My fingers reach out
to sift the powder
to crush
fragrant fronds
of fresh basil and oregano
upon the blueprint of tips
allow their scent
to permeate my skin
and infuse tissue
                of tongue and lips
and I seem to be
in this
           bustling marketplace
my blood afire like
dried ghost pepper
searing and brightening
all flavors
fenugreek and asafoetida
to soothe the ache
of emptiness
chervil and chive
to get juices flowing
I want to slit open
vanilla pods
get at the beans
revel in their essence
wear it all over me


In this realm of spice
and paradise
I am flying,
a magic carpet of dreams
unrolling before me
like an unfurled flag
of new existence
The sounds of hagglers,
fading in raw visons
of shiny apple colors
olives piled high
textures of smooth cherry
budded broccoli
of walnut wrinkles
aroma of guava

Music takes over
I am in a cloud of
oud and lute
syncopated tabla
bells and rumbling
taut skin drum beats
Or is that long low whir
simply my heart purring
to the cadence of
       freedom's call?

I only know
that in the whisk
of a second's split
I will savor the flight
and also the
                fall

Upon each step as I walk this earth,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
Weather climbing a rocky mountain,
to admire a far reaching view within horizons askue.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
weather running as fast as I possibly can,
after the last train as it departs the station,
under concrete platforms.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
weather walking fields of plains,
within sun kissed meadows on a summers day.
Mud lies deep beneath  my feet.
weather rowing a small boat,
within the cradle of the river.
Under silty bottoms spilling fresh water.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
Weather climbing weathered branches of the mighty oak.
Standing strong upon the valleys edge,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.

Weather running cycling flying or gliding,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
Weather running late or running on time,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
When my steps are smaller and less than few,
mud lies deep beneath my feet.
As I draw my last breaths  then placed within this earthern ground.
Mud lies deep beneath my feet.
For all of eternity back to the earth,
from which we were all once born.
Mud runs deep beneath our feet.

Sometimes the world comes
too close
Swinging less gently
trying to crack my skull
with its earthern armor
Take over my black holes
and fill with
tree roots and wormholes,
dirt.
The soil that will cover my casket.

I need air.

Taller than I, assembly of faces;
Said greater than I – too is my vision:
Gather round me as I lift into grace;
With me, this unto there; companions
unchanged will secure my rule in bright bloom!
Bring me to dragons, I’ll prowl neath gold heaths;
Fell sinners, tear ’part quick my slow virtue:
Bedded I, sore stinged ***** bleat to spry sheath.
King I am. All else is transient, SAVE I.
By stone and peach I am edged off my bed.
Friend that follows, that rids, nimbly closed my eyes
with careful, frenzied, bound blade I have wed.
Earthern army abord to uncharted
Dew, time, faceless therewith, I was yearning...
Rows of you, helms of safety, you guarded
To be shepherd and sheep not returning.
Be still, I reached mourning; by last breathing
I hushed; lucid thunder: youth, embrace me.

One strange movement
stops. You won't conform
an angel's thought dream.
And I will not give in to an epithet
for paradigm shift.

Unblinkingly you stare through
me weighing my
dewy eyes. They had spilled the ink
of heart. Subatomically, a mass
becomes a howl of unheard scream.

I want you for all the
pores of my consciousness. On a
blank paper you will write a betrayal
of cuckoo. The small songbird
cries in joy.

An earthern lamp burns
tirelessly. I cover the flame with
my palm to give you a handprint
of my waist.

I dug the holes
and covered the acorns
with the disembodied
spirit of hope

Maybe in death
life would live

I hold on tight
to the frozen
dawns of winter's
demise

The days grow
in rows of  
interpretude
Collecting
pole dancing soltices
and bi-polar
equinoxes
chardonarily
intoxicated
in literary analyses
from southern France


Ah , but those acorns
so full of promise
Maybe they will oak out
and I can someday
be the earthern
reality infusing
the return of
spring again

gain filled with loss
we go before the toss
reaching to the element of a discuss
travel behind the coast

The pusher man's request
shadows in disguise
busy as you glide
a horse within its quest

a thought out visible test
he trips out on ******
swallow in the corned belief
to touch the common debris

love is in the duration
toward a midnight spill
shackled to the brigade of what earthly spell
down the earthern peddles of ringing the bells

The Pusher Man keeps up with a common goal
to neet each other in the outside swell
shattered glace out on the parchment patrol
leading through its desire a plot at which shall shine

at each corner stop it pays to drop a line
in which they will open up
through the nature of glass
one can only gain a free pass