Immaculate dreams float through my mindscapes
eyes of liquid love washing over me
Strong arms embrace me just to let me go
you fade in and out like a welcomed stranger
you find my heart strings
and gently pluck most beautiful songs of love out of me
A sideways glance captures your full manhood ready and wanting
And as I turn, you no sooner dissolve into thin air!

An intangible love...

your thought prints lay all over my body;
my soul wraps itself around yours
only to twist myself into nothing.
ever dependent on these dreamy whisps
of visitations upon my request
my lovely ghost
A thought  here,
a whisper there;
where are you dearest?
Please come to me,
I ache so much to
love you now.

Ephemerally yours,
a love that died a thousand deaths.

I'm not taken aback by the beauty of the sun or moon.

But that's okay, at least I've learned in time that there are very little differences between objects labeled mine and days considered wasted time. Entitlement is a false concept paralleling a religious purgatory.

That's not the point anyways. I'm left with unbearable heat and a pool of thoughts best resembling some sort of molten pudding left out in the sun for weeks of stifling inattention.

Let it just be known that the smell was not my intention.

Regardless of what fills your nostrils ephemerally, keep in mind that this stench haunts me perpetually. It's apathy towards my sensitive skull stifles me. It's as if I was able to just shake off these shadow-inducing invaders like a bad habit. But no matter how much you try to **** a shadow, it's always there following you. Breathing on you. Casting oxygen upon your neck until there's nothing but sweat and fear left to expose.

With such an affinity to what darkness lies behind me, there are few words to authentically compose.

How can I continue? How can the beat stay in rhythm and my words stay in tune when I'm a butterfly stuck in a cocoon? If these hollowed walls could speak I bet they'd entertain the idea on meaningless entrapment.

Go now. My words for this horrid state of mind have run dry. They do nothing but mask themselves and then exponentially multiply.

So leave me for the beauty of the sun and the moon. I'll never wish anything more than a simple, concurrent release of everyone from his or her respective cocoon.

1.
Late-spring's dilemma
Is unabridged and sweet;
Beardtongues and fuchsias peer through grass blades:
Blotches on the bristly canvas.

Camellias? Still in April.

2.
Slices of rye shift on my plate;
Miramar’s war machines whip overhead;
My mouth opens into the Gulf of Kuwait;

The toast becomes
Moldering lips of Pendleton.

3.
There’s a single-story house on a hill
That to helicopters
Looks like an easel.

Great canyons open
To the south and west; the street clings to time—

A pianist’s metronome
Waltzes crosswise on an eardrum.

4.
The eucalyptus bends the deafening breeze.

Are you still dredging Coronado's cradle?
(The tide
Disintegrates the illimitable skyline.)

5.
An unlit Anza-Borrego beats about my ears,
Stars piggybacking the horizon.

The cacti shrivel:
Glitter in a hurricane.

6.
End-of-spring guesses
Prey upon a betrayer’s conscience.
Stilted, they flash ephemerally.

innerself potentially decides
between wrong and right
in a jiffy,
that stays eternally.
poetry that sprouts
from such a bud
remains green
as a falsified desiccates
to elope ephemerally...
when poets become thieves
and thieves poets
poetic flow
even then,
in its riverline
travels to unknown
away where beauty
in thought and action
reigns
as thieves write poetry
and poets the theft, dismally.

Liberty perched on a pedestal
balancing progress and evil
Holding high the palm of peace
over those who hold it so dear

But peace comes dropping too slowly
with all due respect to you, William
An unsettled and urgent promise
cloistered within vows of possibility

Willing victim of romantic culture
betrayed by the keeper of souls
Romance is no idle distraction
Intimacy, a vocation

Long afflicted by...
the sounds of music
the scent of linden blossoms
the taste of sea salted skin
the feel of sultry midnight air
the sight of sun through closed eyes...

Dreams once silently withering
liberated to wander freely
Uprooted from the stagnation
of emotionally depleted soil

Transplanted to aimlessness
where all roads lead to roam
Preferring the role of explorer
to the vagrancy of a lost soul

Strolling through this beautiful city
as having traveled throughout life
Observing without participation
part of a whole yet not wholly a part

An accomplished failure on a quest
to achieve simplicity of purpose
To savor those moments of stray peace
that ephemerally cross this path

...all the whilst searching for that bee loud glade

Distant It's heard
The nomads
guitar hum its trembled
arias

Its whispered strum violates
ephemerally
ragged
plasticine walls
It penetrates
stale pine
Punctured by
rust-haggard
nails

It travels
through pebbled hearts and
Nestles
in hidden cracks
Coercing
suffocated crumbs
of life
into the night.

Known across the seas as an adrenaline ******
Back home he was an academic flunky
Made famous for his seemingly infinite luck
Those who made his acquaintance considered him a schmuck
Owner of more scars than there is time in the night to tell
Females from his past pray for him to be swiftly dragged to hell
His only consistent lover resides in the starry sky
Even through the dripping blood, she still stares him in the eye
There are times where he simply and violently loses hope
But for this, his lover's cold embrace puts his heart back into pace
Although he is on his own for the waves running down his face
The brain behind the two sockets is stuck in an emotional rut
Ephemerally protected by a revolving door that he can't shut
Shielding the public from all these feelings by living on a whim
The sea quakes when it sees that horrifying grin
Seething with convulsing ire that no crew's captain can match
Heart reeking of despair from years chasing a feline he can't catch
**** it all back in, it is no longer he; only I
Apologies for the temporary eruption
The long term lack of your sweet fragrance often causes this corruption
If it is what you want, tell me to get lost because I know you aren't shy
At the end of our once in a moon meeting you can barely say goodbye
I'm not offering to be strong for you, but to be strong together
Side by side, there is no storm we couldn't weather
No force needed, our hearts will simply dance
Just once give our love a chance
No longer do I want to say I, let's make it we
Be my pirate empress and together we can sail the sea

Her hand slips softly, into mine,
Her eyes glimmer, with reminiscence.
and this moment is ephemerally divine
divinity, drowning in Dissonance.

The sky is turning grey,
like my love.
Her incandescent beauty, as immortal..
..as the fire that burns within my haranguing heart,
fueling perennial passion, that shall slowly fade,
like the gut wrenching ire, that obscures my gaze.

the trees, reveling in the glory of spring,
in full bloom,
pushing away the recurring gloom..
the setting sun and its sedating sight,
fills my soul with seraphic light..

As the seconds turn to hours,
and I shower my love with a thousand flowers,
the moon maketh me feel, her luminous presence,
and I drown myself, in her ethereal essence.

That slice of night,
When I keep you later, much later,
Enforcing the paradox of my concern for you;

When your lips find my cheek, my forehead,
My other cheek,
Averting the origin of muttered "I miss you"s;

When our eyes are full of shine,
Not because of the crass light of the moon,
But because we've hit the peak of silent interest;

That slice of night
When loving one another is permissible,
When all eternal sin is ephemerally sacred.

amazing when miracles
suddenly manifest
beach-birds rising and circling
high above the Audubon
mystery steeps in unfurled wings
we slow down
for a smile and a sigh
passing gracefully over
barely noticeable steps..
close and hollow..
ghost ***** ephemerally longing
for a moonbeam's generous hands
a universe dispatches
a casual touch
conflict, contrast..
each mating w/in its own species
the spirit is migratory..
eternal as we coexist naturally
lines are blurring
and separation becomes less apparent.
We are woven into the fabric
of the Universe.
we slow down
for a smile and a sigh
and you take my hand
And, yet, somehow
in transcendent moments

we are the miracles

The cruelty of the the human mind-
To lose, to keep, to hide, to find
Half our life be only true
If somehow the mind allows it to...

To forget; well sadly nothing truly competes
for it's the most merciless of our minds feats:
Nothing can be real
if your memory can't on cue:
Regurgitate information,
ephemerally true.

To perform, to recite, to repeat, and understand-
through blackness- pathetic, forget it, regret it
Oh how the mind cruelly demands.

Quiet heart
Gray day
Rain falls outside
And the memory
Of the rains
That came on so fast
And lasted so long
Returns

And yet
Peace
So long elusive
Has been returned to me
And I, blessed with solitude
Examine these memories
Of the rain
With my magnifying glass
To find
The rain does not mean anger anymore

There was a past
There will be a future
And both have had – will have – their hurts
There are scars
Real and imaginary
But they paint the picture of the whole
They are my reality
And reality, scraped and bruised as it may be
Is greater than fantasy

The remembrance of old dreams
In moments like these
Once a burden too intense to bear
Now becomes a comfort
Like a cup of coffee
Or an old friend
A favorite sweater
The knowledge that the person I have been
Somehow – is still
The person that I am.
That, despite it all, I have never stopped being
This person, real and flawed and whole.

And to say that there was never pain
Or love – returned and unrequited
Unspoken –
To say that there was never heartbreak
Or longing
Or a moment when I would have given anything
To lead an easier life
Would be a lie

Humanity – I have it.
Life – I’ve lived it.
And there’s still always more to come, but
Perspective
Is something I’ve been needing for so long
And have finally found.

So I sit here
Alone with the memories of the rains
And I listen to the voice of a younger pain
But I don’t return entirely
I never will return again, entirely
To that place where I have been.
Love has been.
Love will someday be.
But the peace comes from knowing
That love is – that love exists
Ephemerally, unknowingly, unwittingly, unconditionally
Now.

Close the curtains.

It's not that I'm not ready to see the crowd yet, it's that they've paid their hard earned money to stare straight through me. This facade doesn't have to be; the curtain call is nothing to see, and the shadows have always provided such well-articulated shade.

A facade. A facade.

A charade. We are all poor players, but do we symbolize the dreams of the wealthy?

Or does it signify nothing?

There's no applause, and suddenly I'm no longer there. The senseless tension doesn't deserve determined attention. Besides, there hardly ever seems to be retention or a momentum that carries us easily into the next sunrise. At least, that's my most honest surmise.

And I can't say it's a surprise.

So visualize-there's a hole in your heart and it slowly gets patched by white marble from the dam. ****, what a thought-so much calcium carbonate and still so much relentless nausea accompanying dendral rot. I've had just about all I can hear on the subject of everything not falling apart.

Are our hearts so ephemerally wilted or permanently jilted?

I understand that I've had no filter. But you need to understand how sick I am of winter.

This room of mine; temporarily,
ephemerally inhabited with my presence,
mingled with the shadows of chai, whiskey, and cinnamon,
in the clutter of my discordance.

A dimly lit chandelier embraces the darkness dancing along the windows absent of moonlight.

Rivers of cold spirits and hot tea flow into images of paths taken and not,
cigarette smoke billows into shifting semblances of possible futures..

and my eyes close to hear the whispers of my mind,
(Telling me to build something)
and my eyes close to listen to the desires of my heart,
(Yelling at me to run away far from here)
And my eyes close, unsure if I want them to open again,
(Knowing that if you were here, I would know where to go).

they shine from afar
those tiny globes of light
beacons in their own right
they last on through the night

Guides in the dark
They're always there
Sober or drunk
Quietly waiting in the dark

Streams of words from your friend
Advice she gave
Friend-to-friend
Was always made to bend

Words never set in stone
They twist, yes, they turn
Like the tiny lights
Ephemerally exust from time to time

A wisp of floating smoke
Is carried blindly into my lungs
And embraced warmly
By the clammy bruised hands
Of a girl I no longer really know;
A girl whose chapped lips reek
Of two-year-old chap stick
And the ephemerally tattooed
Moments of mine

But then I exhale
And the smoke dances up to light
From the almost new moon

Cobwebs and dews
The creak of the white fences
Of ruins long forgotten
Of places names unknown

This is the road for the wanderers
For the wanderers to be lost
For the lost to be forgotten
For the forgotten to be unknown

To pick up this dream means to forfeit
But never fear
Monsters are long gone from here
In this ruins of unmarked

The road is long
Twist and turns, may it bound your bones
Creaks run rampant, wild wild things
To rest means to drown

A man will ask,
For your most important woes
The price of the answer
Will lead you through

Do not fear, this ancient times will unwound
Pebbles made from time
A maiden left untouched
To tempt those whose uncouth

Justice, in this domain
Is straight as the lining,
Between the sky and the earth
And it will never be bent
For it is silver and they stay through

Thunders rumbling,
Will be your company
For the wind,
They'll be your enemy

Red poppies,
Grow as every step you took
Wishing you luck
For those who sleep in this road
will never wake up

Do be weary,
For sure the road will let you astray
Cause taking straight lines
Will lead you to not be found

This will be an asylum
For those who embraces
Let joy overwhelm
To let euphoria posses

There is a price
For utter abandonment
Balance needed to be strike
Their names will never appear in reality

But do not fret,
Crystal and porcelain epiphanies
Littered this road,
Glimmering ephemerally

One of them,
Will lead you to the end of the road
For that is the only way to go back

i crave for your presence
amidst the scents that **** me.

you exhale a cloud of death
and i inhale

you.

the nicotine hits
i close my eyes
the idea of you
travels through my bloodstream.
i am intoxicated
by images of me
giving you those marks on your neck.
you moan in the pleasure of pain.

smiling inside
my eyes open
i exhale reality

you walk past me
like smoke;
i am ephemerally and eternally
in love.

i’d light another stick
if it meant you’ll be with me

because you’re a vice i cannot resist
the smoke i cannot keep.

Farewell Leonard Cohen
whose every lyric was a poem,
Whose life, the wand'ring minstrel's song,
The Buddhist monk's meditative gong,

Courtly and earthy kneeling on stage
to his lovers, our servant,
In his dashing 70s, still the rage, more fervent,
At the last, asking if we wanted "it darker,"
Life still coursing, but starker,

Of his salad days, at the Chelsea hotel,
A place he met Janis, perhaps not yet in hell
and knew her devotionally and well,
Contemplative star with amorous groupies,
Passionate, ephemerally loopy,

His irony, sans derision or slight
Helping me me through many a night.
For you now, Leonard C, we
"Ring the bells that still can ring," *

And silently sing,
Staying in motion,

Letting go of the "perfect offering" notion,
Rememb'ring withal and despite,
Those fissures in all which let in the light,*

Your house is in order, a graceful good night.

there's not a pain like
an opened peony
ephemerally twisting a knife
of how beautiful and limited your time is
in its flourescence.

the pain of
preparing yourself
for next May, same time,
as the flower, paper-petaled,
a delicacy,
will be rooted here after you're gone.

this legacy you won't leave,
with its ancestors of the ants crawling on its buds,
to which you resign to yourself,
to the peony, the ants,
'that is fine by me.'

Today, I'm a little lost
A little aimless wandering
A little stuck between here and there
Drifting effervescently
Ephemerally
Ghostly, almost
Gone

Time pantomime charades the masquerade to entity acquiescence
Misty wistful wispish shrouds of ephemerally opulent quiescence   
 Evoke the mystic myriad with subliminally subjunctive quintessence  
Enigmatically adrenergic anecdote concatenational analogs the essence

Evocative emulation scenarios ecstatic
Intriguingly intrepid verve fanatic
Exuberant veracious audacity emphatic
  
Endergonically protensive integrations eidetic
Translucent transitive effulgence mimetic
Numinous noumenal ***** aesthetic
 Mnemonic’s nostalgic allusions pathetic
 Opaque obdurate emissions copasetic

Heuristic pantheism paradigm epistemologically metamorphic psychokinesis personification
Probity avaricious semantics inherently indigenous endemics edification
Satiation indulgence intrinsic virilities fertility inherency gratification
Vicarious recalcitrance adumbrates obdurately suborn temerities mortification
Irrefragable felicities tenacious intransigent taubla tapestry rectification

Erudite vexatious obstreperous existentialize venial corruptness
 Diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abruptness
 Psychic regalia panaceas astral projection seductress

Hope is a ‘thing’
That flies without wings!
She speeds us along,
Among doldrums and doubts,
Gives us a longing
That can endure a few bouts.

She’s summoned -ephemerally-
In times of distress
Could make one feel
As though she’s never left.

But then, again,
Being just and fair,
It seems there are times,
When she CAN’T be found-
NOWHERE

Do her feathers tire?
Or the engines run dry?
Might I win back her comforts
By again getting high?

Can I summon her, like Alexa,
To just COME BACK?!
Or? Why does she leave; at times,
Without leaving a track?

Can I capture her warmth
In an indestructible ‘black box’?
Found after disaster-
To explain HOW she was lost?

She must fly solo,
Adjusting to the winds-
She encapsulates ‘aspiring’
With her future visions...

Hope IS a thing...

La Vida En La Villa Strangiato


Wondering what remains inside this aged shell...
  are there any poems still wanting me to tell?
will the words still write themselves
  when I whisper sweetly inside myself?

Even as broken as i remain
  shuddering within this shattered domain
are there star stories still in these skies
  cuz I still see them in my inner eyes

Music is terrifying
  touches far too deeply and truly
My muse no longer clarifying
  i'm left bereft and too unruly

death hath touched me too many times recently
  continuing to steal amazing beings from me
and his evil cousin cupid
  keeps ****** me almost as hard

that verse was all about meaning
  with zero respect for rhyme
the thing is,
oh aseptic poem ****...
*******

blech blah meh in my maw
  hate the taste of pain this raw
days weeks months years ago
  none of it has the decency to just go

i'm tired
  inside
never been this tired
  even when hope first died

believe it or not
  i still laugh a lot
but it's a momentary meeting,
  ephemerally fleeting

why is limbo a frozen inferno
  how why does it burn so badly
and why does it ******
  at my emotional chasm

almost everything that's me is amiss
  mostly unable to miss this abyss
the one void i can't avoid
  the tattoo inside i can't hide

suppose i should be glad to still feel
  but i sure would like to finally ******* heal  
is what I want from and for me merely in purgatory
  or is my end game destiny an eternal empty

cuz, you noe, like i always used to say sometimes,

See all their faces
They all disappear
Then I’m here
Retrospectively
Counting the years
Where they went
Where they go
Never know
Grow apart
For however ephemerally
Had my heart
In their clutches
Caresses
Embraces
Misplaced
What we felt for each other
Like markings erased
But it makes
Perfect sense
Every time
Looking back
Couldn’t perfectly
Change
For each other
Exact

fortunately thwarted courtesy
mine tall tale telling flair.

Mine irretrievable brilliant masterpiece...
all for naught after mental cogs and wheels
I did apply creative juice metaphorical grease
regarding tour de force pièce de résistance writing
forever lost to the annals of human history.

So much for escaping to paradise island
(Garden of Eden) and experiencing zen
Impossible mission to earn untold yen
concerning prosaic poem/ poetic prose titled
The old battleaxe and her henchwomen
irrecoverable linkedin to sinking feeling
hours, days, weeks... all spent for naught
dharma *** - me got doled out unfair

injustice though scoreboard (tabulating
when yours truly acted immoral) oddly even
Steven after I repented against
marital infidelities nearly cost priceless
paternal love of daughters, whereby
their father experienced
suicidal ideations thought
to drown his sorrows
overdosing on fen-phen.

A transcendent awakening
occurred within noggin of one simian
a clothed outlier caged within human zoo
predicated upon his overactive imagination
inextricably favorable ratings did woo,
albeit ephemerally savored renown, and true
value viz his great Magnus Opus,
whereby riches couped courtesy
brief brush with fame and glory
found countless people lined in queue

(and moment of morning glory
subsequently slipped
thru gnarly butter fingers
symptomatic of nervousness
exhibited courtesy an aspiring Nehru
case in point my pal Joey, a kangaroo
dear reader pardon
tardy greeting regarding helloo
cuz decided against formalities,
a nonestablishmentarian he doth eschew
no ghostly chance I merely utter boo!

Unlikely I scared
the living daylights out of you,
nor would that be intent
regarding self taught amateur
practitioner of voodoo
I rarely if ever cast spells,
nevertheless yours truly
still under probation
and peer review
so breathe easy, cuz Matthew
Scott Harris would hate
to tarnish reputation of Guru,
that charming humble fellow
he taught me wizardry.