there are so many places to hide,

in my home at 17th and South screaming death threats at my roommates laughing diabolically playing  videogames and Jeopardy cooking quinoa stretching canvas the dog going mad frothing lunging  spastic to get the monkeys or the wookies or whatever random commandments we issue forth  drunken while Schlock rampages the backdrop,

at my uncle's row house on 22nd and Wallace with my shoes off freezing skipping class to watch March  Madness unwrapping waxpaper hoagies grimacing with each sip of Cherrywine or creamsicle  soda reading chapters at my leisure,

in the stacks among fiberglass and eternal florescent lima-tiled and echo-prone red-eyed and white-faced  caked with asbestos and headphones exhuming ossified pages from layers of cosmic dust  presiding benevolent,

in University City disguised in nothing but a name infiltrating Penn club soccer getting caught after  scoring yet still invited to the pure ***** joy of hell and heaven house parties of ice luge jungle  juice kegstand coke politic networking,

at Drexel's nightlit astroturf with the Jamaicans rolling blunts on the sidelines playing soccer floating in  slo-mo through billows of purple till the early morning or basketball at Penn against goggle- eyed professors in kneepads and copious sweat,

in the shadow tunnels behind Franklin Field always late night loner overlooking rust belt rails abandoned  to an absent tempo till tomorrow never looking behind me in the fear that someone is there,

at Phillies Stadium on glorious summer Tuesdays for dollar dog night laden with algebra geometry and  physics purposely forgetting to apply ballistics to the majestic arc of a home run or in the frozen  subway steam selling F.U. T.O. t-shirts to Eagles fans gnashing when the Cowboys come to town,

at 17th and Sansom in the morning bounding from Little Pete's scrambled eggs toast and black coffee  studying in the Spring thinking All is Full of Love in my ears leaving fog pollen footprints on the  smoking cement blooming,

at the Shambhala Center with dharma lotus dripping from heels soaking rosewater insides thrumming to the  groan of meditation,

at the Art Museum Greco-fleshed and ponderous counting tourists running the Rocky steps staring into shoji screen tatame teahouses,

at the Lebanese place plunked boldly in Reading Terminal Market buying hummus bumping past the Polish  and Irish on my way to the Amish with their wheelwagons packed with pretzels and honey and  chocolate and tea,

at the motheaten thrift store on North Broad buried under sad accumulations of ramshackle clothing  clowning ridiculous in the dim squinting at coathangers through magnifying glasses and mudflat  leather hoping to salvage something insane,

in the brown catacombed warrens of gutted Subterranea trying unsuccessfully to ignore bearded medicine

men adorned with shaman shell necklaces hawking incense bootlegs and broken Zippos halting conversation to listen pensive to the displacement of air after each train hurtles by,

at 30th Street Station cathedral sitting dwarfed by columns Herculean in their ascent and golden light  thunderclap whirligig wings on high circling the luminous waiting sprawled nascent on stringwood pews,

at the Masonic Temple next to City Hall, pretending to be a tourist all the while hoping scouring for clues in the cryptic grand architect apocrypha to expose global conspiracies,

at the Trocadero Electric Factory TLA Khyber Unitarian Church dungeon breaking my neck to basso  perfecto glitch kick drums with a giant's foot stampeding breakbeat holographic mind-boggled  hole-in-the-skull intonations,

at the Medusa Lounge Tritone Bob and Barbara's Silk City et cetera with a pitcher a pounder of Pabst and a  shot of Jim Beam glowing in the dark at the foosball table disco ball bopstepping to hip hop and  jazz and accordions and piano and vinyl,

in gray Fishtown at Gino's recording rap holding pizza debates on the ethics of sampling anything by  David Axelrod rattling tambourines and smiles at the Russian shopgirl downstairs still chained to  soul record crackles of antiquity spiraling from windows above,

at Sam Doom's on 12th and Spring Garden crafting friendship in greenhouse egg crate foam closets  breaking to scrutinize cinema and celebrate Thanksgiving blessed by holy chef Kronick,

in the company of Emily all over or in Kohn's Antiques salvaging for consanguinity and quirky heirlooms  discussing mortality and cancer and celestial funk chord blues as a cosmological constant and  communism and Cuba over mango brown rice plantains baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,

in a Coca Cola truck riding shotgun hot as hell hungover below the raging Kensington El at 6 AM nodding soft to the teamsters' curses the snagglesouled destitute crawling forth poisoned from sheet-metal shanty cardboard box projects this is not desolate,

at the impound lot yet again accusing tow trucks of false pretext paying up sheepish swearing I'll have my  revenge,

in the afterhour streets practicing trashcan kung fu and cinder block shotput shouting sauvage operatic at  tattooed bike messenger tribesmen pitstopped at the food trucks,

in the embrace of those I don't love the names sometimes rush at me drowned and I pray to myself for  asylum,

in the ciphers I host always at least 8 emcee lyric clerics summoning elemental until every pore ruptures  and their eyes erupt furious forever the profound voice of dreadlocked Will still haunting stray  bullet shuffles six years later,

in the caldera of Center City with everyone craning our skulls skyward past the stepped skyscrapers  beaming ear-to-ear welcoming acid sun rain melting maddeningly to reconstitute as concrete  rubber steel glass glowing nymphs,

in Philadelphia where every angle is accounted for and every megawatt careers into every throbbing wall where  Art is a mirror universe for every event ever volleyed through the neurons of History,

in Philadelphia of so many places to hide I am altogether as a funnel cloud frenetic roiling imbuing every corner sanctum sanctorum with jackhammer electromagnetism quivering current realizing stupefied I have failed so utterly wonderful human for in seeking to hide I have found

in Philadelphia

Though you've barely had a ramble
are no wayward canine daddy of note
that brief encounter in our brambles
has left the experts fearing a cancerous growth

So we starve you of your pine nuts and bacon rinds
so we can feed you anaesthetic
and betray you to the thief of time
only to make you, I imagine, feel pathetic
And you often so full of life's exasperate scurry

I worry
will the shine stray from your eyes
those hazel pools of so much of
my feeling mature, just for
pertaining to a creature's care

 we all seem in too much of a hurry
to stifle what little spirit
that surrounds us
to wear
down on every minor aspect
of childish delight
in this silent sacrament
of the aging process
and with arguably years
of your fatherhood left
in the very ***** some dry eyed savant
decides it correct we should tamper with

Tomorrow I will snuggle you in favoured, bouncy eiderdowns
that will blanket your unknowing
and treat you as if
you were an eastering child
on cured hams and other saltiness
after you awaken
from those strangest enforcements of sleep
and through our eyes we will trade more secrets to keep

And we will hope, as we only can, that it was for the best
For you, Yorkshire's son, or Sheringham's
And consider with all of your
exhuming breath
That we meddled, stilling over life
To cheat a slightly delayed death.

See the Rabbi.  See him tormented by choice.  See his people.  See them wracked by hate.  See the others.  See their anger radiate outward in glowing spokes, exploding firebrand in a tinder city.

On a night like any other, the moon at sixth house, fulcrum of pinwheel zodiac, the Rabbi, awash in lidless starlight, rises somber and makes his choice.  And when the sun is furthermost, he and three of his others gather at the murmuring riverbank where the brown clay is most pliable and begin to dig, sifting rock and root from trundled earth.  Hours spent exhuming the clay, molding it, kneading its muscles, tracing its veins, baking its skin in the starlight.  More hours spent in whispering prayer, the words bent and somersaulting over themselves like tumbling books.

See Truth drawn on its forehead, life etched from clay and word.  As the sun rises, so it does, wavering at first, but steadier, lapping at the river, and their faces move slowly across the water.  See the Rabbi speak to it, his words winding its mechanism.  See it stride past the ghetto, wade through the market, and into the borough, siege unto its own.

See the others scream for mercy from the kiln of its stare, from their flaming tenements, their crumpling rooftops.

See it wade back through the market, past the ghetto, back to the riverbank to kneel in the underbrush.  See it tilt its head to the lilt of a stranded daisy caught in a vagrant gust.   See it caught, too, and see it see.  It sees the colors of Eden in the ferns.  It hears the river churning sediment, fossils, gravel, whirling over driftwood.  It touches moss on a rock; gently rotates its hand to let a grub complete an oblivious circumference.  See it sit in silence.

See the Rabbi meet with the others, then his others.  And on a day like any other, when the sun is at its apogee, they slip down the riverbank where it still sits, still.  It ignores their autonomous logic, their homunculus rationale.  They are perversions of variety cloaked in righteous intention.  So it remains.

See the Rabbi and his others gather at the murmuring riverbank, shadow conclave in shifting sunlight, then rise somber and decided.  They pin it to the earth as the Rabbi chants, invoking the void in which forbidden knowledge spirals.  It squirms under the power of the Word, mind-forged manacle as incantation.  See the Rabbi draw to a close.  His hand is arbiter, swooping down to smudge Truth from its forehead.  What is left but Death.

See its hand crumble in its passage as it reaches for the stranded daisy.  See the colors of Eden darken in its eyes, its own body the dust that denies it light.  See it collapse into itself, the clay that was once animate spilling onto the riverbank.  See the Rabbi and his others shimmer then fade into city grey.

The daisy stands still.

Mouths meeting rushing to be fed and feed
Tongues mingling and exploring
Hunger and thirst crushing need
Passion’s fire roaring

Bodies and hearts entwined
Soul and mind thriving
On all they find
On a journey bereft of depriving

Passion’s fire consuming
A life unto its own in their head
Exhuming
What lay buried, lost, undiscovered, forgotten or dead

Born anew or resurrected
Nerves, thoughts, and emotions it imbibes and revives
By passion’s fire new life injected
Brings new purpose and experiences to their lives

Passions kindled now burning so hot
It sears, mind, body, heart and soul
Delivers everything they sought
Two lost, now one tempered and made whole

Passion’s fire, burning growing as they explored
*****, freaky, and debauchery with revel
With passion's fire they soared
FInding the primeval

In the chasing
In the wooing
In the embracing
In the doing

In the B, in many ways
In the D, defining each other’s roles
In the S, setting new trails ablaze
In the M, reaching dark corners of each other’s souls

~Wes Noneya

course fur
tangled up
matted down and
entwined with nature herself
She yawns exhuming
releasing all troubles
as they float on up
silhouette outline shades inside filling up
coloring in the lines and
all you can make out is
an incandescent glow as
twilight sky
streaked watercolor beckons
as the stars line up
take their positions
spelling out the truth
always watching
always shining bright
lighting the way home for all
who find themselves
lost and alone
looking for the answer

Rise!
Rise I say!
Rise with the sun, the eternal fire
of the world's glory,
burning on and spreading
wildly across your face
piercing your eyes,
and yes, piercing
into your soul.
It's breath
exhuming the shadows
that surround you.

I am born of light and color.

I am alive, once again.

And I am reminded of a Power
far Greater than I.
But am I worthy?
Do I have the right
to bask in, let alone,
witness this ascension
this celebration
of such authority?

And because you are generous
Time has painted
An entire symphony for you:

Of dancing ribbons of yellow and orange hues
Of the deep, profound murmurs of the earth
The whispers of the trees
that are carried with
the songs of the wind
and the birds in flight.

Flight---yes, you are flying.

Even starlight
accompanies your path
as you descend into the horizon.

The final note?
You beg to differ.

Rise!
Rise I say!
Rise with the sun, the eternal fire
of the world's glory,
burning on and spreading
wildly across your face
piercing your eyes,
and yes, piercing
into your soul.
It's breath
exhuming the shadows
that surround you.

You are born of light and color.

I do not wish
to remember you
during noon or night
but with daybreak
where you are alive, once again.

~
Wake, no wake

He dreams of obituaries
And toe tagging

Exhuming dearly departed dollars
And biting the nails
Of his cadavers

Forensically speaking
He can talk of the dead

He's one lucky stiff

Pushing up daisies
All over the yard
Of his rose cottage

This life at rainbow's end
Each day mortiferously expires

It's all there in the brochure
~

I see you there, impatiently disdaing my arrival
Turning head from side to side
Your eyes relentless, open wide
It’s funny that you've only ever seen me as a rival
For we’re much the same, both you and I
We sometimes laugh, and often cry
Lost somewhere within the everything you've never done
Lies the essence of a memory
Of all we were and all we’d be
How did you so blindly miss the nothing you’d become
Every time that you abandoned me
Exchanging freedom for a key

With every time you lied to me
Convinced that I am but a fool
Another link in slavery’s chain
To keep yourself bound further
Than you ever thought you’d go against the grain

But still you sit and wait for me
The one you hate, but hope you’ll see
So you can blame me once again
To make yourself feel better
You spit me out so tastelessly
Each time you sink your teeth in me
And here…you’d have me once again!
Such truth in every letter
This message that I write for you
Will never quite sink into you
For you can only see it
From your dark side of this glass
This message that I send to you
Refracts within your thoughts of gloom
You place the blame, not own it
As each sentence comes to pass

Each time you see the truth in me
You twist it into such a tool
To harvest every ounce of pain
Continuing to ******
Every broken piece of mind that peace would claim

You’re winning

I’m losing

I’m just your reflection

Hair thinning

Confusing

Such lack of attention

Refusing

Demanding

I’ll show you the end

Exhuming

Disbanding

Such lies you defend

Revealing

Ignored

Still held in contempt

Repealing

Abhorred

Yet you make no attempt

You glare at me with such hatred…

When I’m only what you've allowed yourself to become

Waiting for a muse to whisper
Into the partially deaf ear of my soul
Exhuming arcane truths from the source
Distilled through the ephemeral mind
Shadowy vestiges reflected in spirit
Fluid spirit flowing through pen
The ineffable spoken in sacred tongue
Ink revealing more than mind dictates.

                   --Daniel Irwin Tucker

A newborn, awaiting, decrepit, and rotting,
His mother waits for him to stir,
Her eyes emotionless and defensive,
Her dismal namesake will not return.
-
She gazes at his chest, hoping that his breast
Would return to a timelike rythm,
Alas, he is dead, putrified in his bed,
Arms outstretched to a broken woman.
She quietly gasps and inhales sobs,
While her tiny one stares at nothing,
Exhuming her fear of each and every tear,
She desperately clings on to something.
-
She could not stop this folly,
This tragedy entombed in holly.
The umbilical noose, too tight
She held on too strong,
He tried to fight along,
Unknowingly suffocating in her embrace, slight.
After his movement was stifled,
She peered over to the rifle,
That sat to protect the two of them,
She thought and was consumed,
With visions of Hell, and torture too,
She chanced it with an undying stem.
-
To paint a scene in words,
To describe the horror heard,
By no one when no one was there…
What is the magnitude of ******?
What lines are crossed to massacre?
And foretelling the wise ones fair.
-
In the end she sat in a rocking-bend,
The chair that carried him off to sleep,
He now lay in his cradle with sodden eyes,
Weary of counting so many sheep.
She had the sawn-off in her right hand,
The wall behind her, a portrait of her brains,
Half her face bereft of her body,
The white walls now hold crimson stains.
The infant’s hand lay through the gate,
As if even in death telling his mother “don’t do it”
The insignificant ominous one
Had lead her then right to it.
Her mouth agape, and jaw five feet from her,
Her right eye rolled back in the skull,
The blue baby seemed to look on in dead horror,
As his body witnessed in full.
The shotgun blast so strong and centered,
The power rocked her chair back and forth,
This creaking moan was all to be heard,
In this silent room forevermore.

Silence is the comfort of a conflicts hush
silence is the sound of a dead crows caw
silence ain't abatable, so don't even try
silence is thy lord's voice and his word is law

It's unquestionable, deadly, doesn't care what it kills
a force gradual and steady, from the dark our night it fills
it reeks of loneliness whilst exhuming sweet beauty
modest and loyal, quietly it does its hidden duty

crying through eyes non-existent
it's love invisible, so painfully distant
all alone, comfort gone from that old favourite song,
it's presence tranquil, opening your eyes to where you went wrong

It's neutral, doesn't take sides or excuses
a poignancy so strong, bitter and raw
twisted, life and death somehow entwined
I gazed upon its face and 'twas the most beautiful thing I've ever saw

- - - -

a vision flickering like a fuse in an abandoned house
it's rooms gas filled, primed for explosion -

I sleep and walk amongst the fields of dreams
as silence drips upon life and starts its graceless erosion.

AJ

If to pluck a petal
makes me wonder
"love me not,"
then every pebble
(cause of stumble)
heeds a path
that most forgot.
Just a human
now exhuming
bones deep buried
under doubt
that with sunlight,
wonders one,
might not life
live without?
Much too late,
conversation
we never braved
to breach,
forsaken--
but with faith,
self foundation,
bleed so others
we can teach.

By Jennifersoter Ezewi

Back in the days
People see city as the way out
But recent happenings
Had proved diaspora
As the messiah.

Moulding lives beyond the awe.
Crowning efforts made
With beautiful payments.
Giving meaning to lives events.
Dignifying the last jew man.

Beautiful diaspora:
Thou art so colourful
In your own ways;
Exhuming your challenges and rules
Which flaws men that violates your orders.

Solace.
Solvent globe.
Run away again.
A life, still small.

This was supposed to be a sort of ventriloquistic reverie, disguised as a mimetic purging of all shiiiiiiiiiit in the body and miiiiiiiiiiind.
Oh well.
Here's the story: A bug- not one of any high or low blood-
began his run among the trees
at dawn.
Stopped along the riverbed-
Sang a song of Sparrows Nests and Lions Manes-
Gave the chorus his very best and made attempts of quieting the refrain-
Fell short of a fourth verse and ended the third-
So as not to disturb the delicate force of terseness in the words-
with a cadence akin to the angel's wingspan
decadence falling like skin in the snow sand...
Feeling smaller than anyone he had ever felt...

He crushed glory into small packets and buried them in a time capsule
for generations to come.


17 Years Later
A still, small life.
During the swarm of cicadas,
I awake.
Opening halo to blurry globe of light.
A sound so silent it burns every inch,
Couldn't help but wake up.
Couldn't help you when you asked,
Now in hindsight...open haloes to a grasp on love.
Inside the oven life. Light's like a buried knife, deep inside a mound
of earth.

Turn around.
Go back in the ground.
Dig deep. Faces, yes my friends, asleep.
Tear them from the blackened soil.
Forests of fire, lakes of oil,
Unearthing everyone I know to be alive. ALIVE LIVE. NOT INSIDE.
Get out of the earth, it is not your time.
Grandfather face. Good, you remain. Your remains are welcome.
Dissolving in the globe.
Exhuming corpses full of life.
Dancing the dead dance in the silent night.
The music of nothingness guiding my way.
All the **** night and nothing to say.
Nowhere to run, nothing to find.
Back into sunlight with those of my kind.


"Please wake up."
"Please wake up again."
A small still life.
In the meeting place I see.
Double globes, expecting your face.
Constructing your mind, full of me.

What am I doing? I'm memorizing your eye twitches. Every time a tiny particle of dust, called a thought, lands in the ocean, a million muscles contract, calling the thing dust, and noticing me.

See it's all one thing. The dust, grass, air, video games, steak, Salmen, Salwomen, bears. Riding a bear, bare-back, and totally ****. Being inside a room, or a cave, craving tall glasses of milk, the cow urinates in the grass, and the steak melts in your mouth, and the globe dissolves your body, while my eyes open and close, taking away your halo, and giving you a pair of human eyes instead.

Every time I open my eyes. It's all one thing.
The meeting place where I see my friends.
The circle of life, the beginning and end.
The smallness of death and the land of the love.
The sense of your presence below and above.
The time that you held me, and I held you.
This is the world. The cradle and tomb.

It's a part of you, that's clear enough. All I wanted was to see the whole thing.

There is a storm setting in and the current shifts from ceiling to ground
We run with scattered brains, with our mouths stitched shut, running without a sound. Fear lives in the hearts of men and fear isn’t the best company to keep. So I hold my shield grip my sword ready to face what hits me. Battles come and go some remain in history teaching generations to come the failures and the victories. Misery loves company but I rather weep and wallow on my own, darkness is my only friend and in the infinite silence we merge as one. I embrace the wicked deep inside of me, the soul is meant to be explored and non of us come with manuals or warning signs, so i dive into the abyss of my reality exhuming blood and bone, exploring realms unknown. We are black and white with tiny shades of grey but if we dig deeper we might find something else, something out of sight, out of mind. As dual beings we are made with sin and integrity but it matters not what we are constructed by what matters is our choices and who we choose to be. When our time runs out and the tide swallows us whole it matters not the vessel but the soul. We are children of day and children of night, we are duality darkness and light.

Moonstruck secrets spiral and bless
                            Tattered nests as the sea is breathing
                            Sunlight exhuming across frosted prayers
                            Perfect hilltops with valleys and wings
                             A  blue voice in long shadows
                             Drifting in clouds of peace
                            A silent haze made of stones
                            Flowers with scars will sail away

Her leaving heat wakes my shattered mind,
And torn tendrils of ***-stained dreams
Slip and slide away, noodling into;
Incomprehension, anger, hurt,
Coffee steam stays the pain,
Relief and hope mix in an
Exhuming brew.

Hey come here let's talk
Speak, conversate, communicate
Let's relate words of love and hate
It's not too late
You got enough on your plate?
No wait, Let's plan
Yeah to overthrow the man
When the **** hits the fan
No rewind that
Let's go back
That **** was whack
Let me give you another track
Let's attack
From another angle
Get star spangled
and untangled
Fill our plates with knowledge
Take all we can from college
Get the message and meaning of
Life
Without no strife
The truth cuts deep like a knife
Hold on, info overload
We can't handle the mother load
Yeah we can, take our time
Fall back on reason and rhyme
We'll rise to the sublime
Flying high among the clouds
You hear our words
As we shout them out loud
Noise, deafening, booming
Heart and breath zooming,
Consuming, exhuming
The words of fore fathers
Our daddies, our pops
excavating, digging
with a shovel of need
Throw away the ****
Plant the seed
Like I'm doing right now
How?
In your mind
Seek and ye shall find
The planted word I sow
Sit back and watch it grow
Then you will know

you never feel like today. created of the new earth
you were pieced together with tortures of a past.
filaments of skin exhuming every shade of green. 
ambushed in the now while holding forever
in your tenuous arms. and i am flowing
as a never ending evolution. surrounding each
first and last breath with intimate accuracy.
forcing rebirth of weakest branch and noble foliage.

i am river. you are tree.

the shore i lean on for necessary relief. you
provide my nurturing soul with a deserving thirst.
as you navigate all the liquid aqua curves. absorb
immeasurable depth inside the infinite sadness.
every shade of blue peeled off. layers upon layers 
of yesterdays crashing onto cave walls.
exposing inscribed hidden epitaphs of men, of warriors even.
of spears that entered with absolute intent.

i am ocean. and you, you are everything else.

I sit on a hill,
the view I have come to know myself by
set before me
the sun laying its guardian eyes
on my back.

I scrape my fingernails
into the ground
unearthing memories,
the dirt crumbles
cold and wet on my skin.
I let the broken up clumps
fall through the spaces between my fingers.

I dig a little longer
and find you.
I unearth those beautiful mountains
the way the sun hit the water that day
how those pine trees smelled
as I buried my toes in the sand
and you brought me home.

I climb into those holes,
those safe pockets of earth,
where it is cool and dark
and dream of you.
All the while exhuming
what may be better left untouched.

I scoop it all into a mound
pat it down,
at last, I dig my heels into the ground
and stand.

that’s her. the patron saint of gluing words together with chewed pieces of gum. feeding the public with consumable bites of confusion. saint dipped in jewel tone yellow. consistently writing notes to what she believes in. blessed and consecrated into siren lights. crows feet dragging along the sides of scrap metal. a cartoon closet with the inability to settle. fisherman’s sweaters that owe the intended man a blistered *******. black night gown thrown out an open window. velvet second skin rubbing the walls of mountain homes. the patron saint of birthday candle wax blowing through strips of hair. scaring away bits of violet holy air.

the cherub in the corner ******* on bits of blonde boy’s fingertips. she prances numb toes over bike spokes. wings are tattooed on her back to combat numerical rebellion. logic climbs spine as she tries to change lenses. her sunset tilted on its axis. renaissance painting on fragile ceiling tiles in public bathrooms. garden party with one flower to examine. eyes vacant as to avoid witnessing rebellion. little crane holding paper organs in place. bodies of water pushed into vacant sacred space. sleeping close to statues and warming brass within. the cherub angel floats above all girls with silly sin.

the apostle tied to few words. a ghost for a mother and piece of machinery for a father. exhuming quartz from 3rd degree burns. a smile painted on a German Shepard. thrift shop candy born because of ***** quarters. heels grinding coffee grounds and unbelievable pearls from an ungraceful mouth. spitting up fishhooks into fat tire beer. the apostle staring through crosses for a year. wiping down windows with the horizon’s morning breath. pouring peroxide onto ignorant mumble of wealth and egotistical evidence.

the dove predictably flies in upper atmosphere to avoid being seen. squeezing through sharp pieces of mosaic, evading gendered fantasy. birds eye view with potential to burn. landing on rocks watching serenity waste by. most absent parade. mourning in front of an uncertain feeling’s grave. without action there is nothing there to shame. animal comrades using up his skill of throwing wires to wind and sparkling in fields. ukulele vibration uncomfortably close to ski slopes. exhausted idealism underneath of secret thunder skies and metal tube lies.

the temptation from hell’s revived angel. her fall ungracefully surpassing earth’s quivering rotation. blood reborn with rocks for teeth. soft skin easily ripped during the denial of immoral needs. bubbling rapids sailed over with caution, weighing clothes wet as a reminder. favorite songs played forward and backward. promise of vengeful bulbs lighting autumn’s vivid memories. old prose inserted into the fat of your syntax, catching and toying with the rats in your mind.  demon angel not as red in old light.

You are a grave digger.

Exhuming the heart I thought dead.

It was entombed like a love buried in the backyard of my essentia.

I dug it low with  pain a shovel

Deeper and deeper till I could not see the light.

Piled the dirt down the pit to a heart that could not become more soiled.

It did not matter you put your ear to the ground that night and listened intently

You didn't have a shovel you only had those patient hands.

You got on all fours and began to excavate clawing in the ground with quiet determination

A smile creased across the face as the muck caked your clothes but it did not ***** that spirit.

I thought you lost in the depths to claim a prize I tried to hide.

Then there you were a grin from ear to ear and a tender thing held in just one palm.

I froze uncertain as each step brought it closer.

You simply dusted it off and handed back the heart like a old hat I had lost.

I tried it on for size again and felt the familiar weight of it.

It still felt a burden but that look in your eyes made me believe that I could bear it

Terse history vibrated through my mind makings

In the fashion of wigged baroques I stoke a fired that filled my hearth

In the dead of night I unearthed true passion from skulls of dead families

It brought me to me knees when I saw silver on their neck

I wrecked coffins with my brain, i stained what life made good

But then I understood
Standing in the rain

I abstained from stealing
From stabbing myself with drugs that I was dealing

Alone in pain, I strained from feeling

I feel the dead, a well read infected sore.
I can feel now, I can adore.

the rifle versus the latter
existential counterparts
exhuming
i held your head up
when you were alone

I jump out of the windows of my sanity
  just to go back into the utter shamefulness of the page.
- self to self, Feb. 2, 2012 (drunk and shattered)


i have gone back to
where i do not know,
but i know my place
in this finite moment

there is an echo exhuming
the silence,
minting something in the soul,
flowering first in the ear,
and into the overgrowth
felt by the shaking hand — this andante
    of a following.

i come not with light,
only a twist of a shadow.
the night is absolute with
garbled song
and i struggle to understand
as all other slept on such lissomeness
of beds that i do not know of,

i know not where i am.
my body has already gone rogue
with its proprioceptions yet,
i doubt not my place
in this moment — this poem.