A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.

Why wilt thou go, my harassed heart,
What thought, what scene invites thee now?
What spot, or near or far,
Has rest for thee, my weary brow?

There is a spot, mid barren hills,
Where winter howls, and driving rain;
But if the dreary tempest chills,
There is a light that warms again.

The house is old, the trees are bare,
Moonless above bends twilight's dome;
But what on earth is half so dear,
So longed for, as the hearth of home?

The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
I love them, how I love them all!

Still, as I mused, the naked room,
The alien firelight died away,
And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright unclouded day.

A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side;

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.

That was the scene, I knew it well;
I knew the turfy pathway's sweep
That, winding o'er each billowy swell,
Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.

Even as I stood with raptured eye,
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,
My hour of rest had fleeted by,
And back came labour, *******, care.

the co-pilot, seated on the left, would scowl
the pilot was more amenable to small talk,
on this, our free ride: Miami to San Juan

the brother-in-law gave us a choice,
Puerto Rico or Equator
the ten or so days of our sleeping
on their living-room floor
were fun, the first three days
and he, a Miami airport guy,
offered one of two free flights

having chosen San Juan,
and not caring about the blood-thirsty Bermuda Triangle,
there we were :
in a C-24 cargo plane with its load
of five race horses, well stalled, well fed,
large, leather, hay-full pouches easily
accessible in front of each stall; one in front
and four others; two behind the first
and two others behind these; far
down, in the tail section, sat a man—
his job, caring for the horses

I don't know much about cargo planes
as a matter of fact, it may have been a C-26
but C-24 twirls my eyebrows more—
and I didn't expect it to be so cold up there

soon enough, I found out
we wouldn't arrive in jet-preen time,
perhaps in seven hours, or more

my love, cushion-comfy on the floor
next to the captain, stared, as I did,
to the ever-present, mountainous stars
housed not in mere magnificence but in abstract vision
you will learn much, staring at us,
we both knew we heard
by the briefest glance at each other's eyes

hour after hour fleeted,
my lovey fast asleep, captainside:
the first boom didn't startle
but the horses knew better
soon enough, the yoke started to jump
pilot and co-pilot, 30-year veterans,
tried to reveal only Calm
but the co-pilot started talking to
San Juan—I was to discover we
were, perhaps, forty minutes from the airport
then: neigh-EEEE, the horses
crazied themselves, each kicking
his stall—for, by now,
the one boom had transformed into:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
and the yoke seemed to fly off
the captain's hands

at one point, as the co-pilot rose,
I could swear he briefly pulled his hair,
as he went behind the cockpit—searching, searching

he found what he was looking for:
a 20-gallon can of fuel—but it could
have been only 10 or 15
my baby was still fast asleep—the horses,
by now, had gone berserk—the caretaker, at the very
end, seemed to be having a spiritual experience,
ready to enter heaven; I may have seen an angel's
hand on the ready


speedily, the co-pilot unwound the cup
of a thermos and handed it to me
I was thinking: they will never find our bodies
and almost dared to awaken lovey;
how she kept on sleeping was a case of
supernal intervention

and lo and behold, the co-pilot placed
a finger on a tiny hole, leading to the fuel tank
and ordered: hold the thermos cup and don't shake—
I'll fill it and you pour the fuel into the hole

there we were:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
heee-heee-heea—horses
voicing their concern
and with the first cup-full, I didn't spill
a drop—but there were more than two
hundred—perhaps three hundred to go

every time more than 7 drops skipped
the little hole, both the co-pilot and I
deathrattled in nightmares of unclogging vascular tease

we were twenty minutes away,
by this point, and the plane
started to hum
it must have been more than 280 thermos-cup
loads, the little hole accepted—and
perhaps 3 or 4 spilled down

was, perhaps, 3:00 A.M. when we landed
my love started to awake as
the wheels hit the runway

the airport was quite empty
of passengers or, almost, anyone
I wasn't in a great hurry
to tell lovey

mostly, clearly, I remember
us passing the pilot and co-pilot, inside,
after a while, sitting on chairs facing a closed snack bar

such blank looks I've
never seen, before or after;
a crippled fuel gauge pin
almost killed the horses
~~
..Dec. 24,2012..© 2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram; reaching into
the poet's mind
~~

in same place as last writing, wondering
what context this end of sweating will
bring. what this one's lackadaisical - to
juxtapose, let's write Bardical - musings
are found to be. treacherous thoughts pa-
tterned, knit in pearls of alternating colors
from the many revelized experiences of the
months since fleeted. this one's catacombed
mind filled with ex-grievances, and a once
real question of primordial retaliation. of
how to revoke Nature's iron grasp thought
to be called deity's divined fate of this kilned
clay vessel. and wondering on creation, life
given only to spite slaves formed of fire. and
now to leave aside psychpomic thoughts, and
now to return to ground. to stand firm upon an
earth that is essence entirety of this one's base
of creation. only, blood absorbed in place of
retained in circulation. going back, traversing
thought, bringing forth the white man's implic-
ation as ruler of time though known always that
circulation must cease, must become no longer
fluid. and with history being that of the sole
victor. that of labeling, defining, forcing selfish
perception as truth. and this one realizes reason
in fire's hatred of earth. to need to burn out, to
need to consume, but fire lacks choice of will to
action. this one can never leave aside idyllic thou-
ght of a primordial war of elements merged.
digressing, even though the end must find full-
circle. I the Destroyer writing in hopes of finding
thoughts on We the Emerging, all the while
Gregorian has foreseen existence from time beg-
inning. guaranteeing only that structure will
survive time's ending. history of sorts pre-writ
day for day for week for years for aeons of never
ceasing circulation. all the while, victor shedding
for the earth to absorb. Thoth the great, the great,
the great; of lacking elemental composition. the only
one in this one's knowledge whom defies either
circulation of absorption. We the Emerging consume
of the firmament. He the great, the great, the great
witnessing from without the firmament. He the
ancestors taking trice-form to malleate clay from
perpetual fermentation. and digressing more, but
again stating the achievement of culmination of words.
this one stating understanding that perceiving self
as a psychopomp stems from earthen forged vanity.
and all writ is true in belief of prisca theologia.
perhaps this one's words are found to be Hermetic,
found defying interred ideologies as ink rushes to
awaken We the Emerging before dreaming mind
collides with the dawn. and perhaps only Nature may
be found as decided for those taking their cycles of
mindless bliss. and digressing, merging trained-thought
into the next. merged here to be found, We the Emergent
modernity with open palms for another's thoughts. and
here to be found, this one, of I the Destroyer choosing
a percepted chaos to the permanent pre-dawn bliss.

I remember feeling pain
When our hips were pressed together
Inseperable, like marriage vows
We moved together, like the words we spoke
With our bodies we were so much louder
And my head was crowded with the echoes
Your body was rippling in my memory
I felt you for centuries as we sat there barely moving
And I was looking into you, and you were looking into me
It was like when I looked at you I didn't need water or have the need to breath
We were so close in that moment that the next three days felt like I was wearing you as a sleeve
It was completely silent, not completely
I remember, I remember hearing your heart beat
I remember you were on top and I was underneath, and I remember you stopping and listening to everything I had to say, but you couldn't hear it over the sound of my heart beat
And your tan skin turned red
Your face did too, you looked into my eyes
And I turned blood red too
You grabbed my chest, I could feel your nails
A tear fleeted from the dark ring around your eye
and you breathed out, and I could hear the sighs from your body's cramped compassion and the feeling of your tightened thighs around mine
I could see your soul crumpled up into skin and bones that someone encapsulated you in to die
But you were alive, and everything you had felt that night, I was inside

Underneath the maple tree
I drew my last breath.
No longer a child,
My courage has fleeted,
Bravery abandoned.
I can no longer hide
As the flaming leaves
Cover placid skin.
Colder I grow
As I fall away to dust.

                                                          ­                     *There are worse ways to die
                                                             ­                        Than being devoured by
                                                              ­                                     The maple tree.

My breath
has long fleeted my lungs;
My body
is crippled tirelessly by pain;
My mind
begs for this moment to cease  

This is the moment to yield

Yet I press on...
Through the exhaustion.
Through my faltering muscles.
Through the wall of debilitation

My back is against the wall

Yet I will continue on...
Pass the limits of possibility.
Pass the boundaries of condition.
Pass the ambiguity of self.
'Till I have defeated my enemy
'or I stand before the gates of Valhalla.

My rival hits the floor

Regardless...
I can never accept Defeat
When its only separated from Victory
By a thin
           fine
               line.

I ascend its threshold

They said, my life, would never bother me
Though rainy and fleeted
Quaint hearted I would be
I laughed, I cried
I took life for what it'd be
But fool I had been
For a second to believe.

I woke, one day
Not tucked inside my bed
But yet, I dreamt
It had all been in my head
Like colors, abound
Perhaps it'd been a dream
It all, looked fake
Slowly drifting off like steam.

I walked, the road
Dusty as they came
And carried, my load
Myself I had to blame
The green, had gone
And now had only grey
Forever, this world
Bound I'd always stay.

The night, had come
But stars would never shine
Just black and cold
To me it fit my crime
I dug, my hole
And took my sweetest time
And laid, awhile
Just laying there I cried.

The cold, came in
Slowly eating me
I'd died awhile
Just bones was lost old me
I saw, my hole
Of where it used to be
For a rose, had grown
And I was finally free.

Of the hospital
I sat clenching a leopard
filled with beads.

Father beside me
Tapping his chestnut wingtips against
the bloodless linoleum floors.

It was September. The heat oppressive,
Like the Moors toward foes
in the Iberian Peninsula.

Rays illuminated the woes of those ‘round me.
A barrier existed
emanating from within

Fleshed out by a zeal, to not be                                       on one’s own
At the dinner table, as Father responded
to a **** addict’s violent implosion on Nile Street.

At Carmel-by-the-Sea building sand castles to be
--washed away by the tides
on the bay enrobed with fire
Fleshed out by a desire to be

dethroned.

Fulfillment flooded the lobby,
Father ceased his tapping,
A Florence Nightingale lead the way

past bland white doors,
past elderly covered in black crusted sores
past a priest who pours a libation.

In to the room of your entrance,
Nearest and dearest gathered ‘round
the blemished linoleum floor

Warm cries hollowed down
the halls, signifying your existence
Clenching a leopard

filled with beads. (Now in the attic)
Mother Rose freckled and content
Embraced you, as the world still spun

My eyes a maelstrom of red yellow and black,
seeped streams of grey streams of grey
for the loneliness fleeted that Autumn day.

stone's throw and the water's current, clouds shifting in the valley of the sky above
screams could be heard near
no,
it was more of a giddy falsetto, shouts that sounded too drunk,
it was an all too familiar sound for james an all too familiar person

"look at my wings! im a fairy! im coming home to the beloved land! wait for me fairy sisters!"

he went to the clear to see if he was hallucinating he wasn't
it really was her;
sophia
nine months since they broke up; that tearful separation

for a minute he just stood there at the far end of the river watching his ex girl friend spread her arms and glide near the banks in the bridge chanting and giggling

god, did he miss her voice and her laugh

she was just like how he remembered her, her timeless free spirited soul still intact as if she took her childhood with her as she grew up, clenched tightly in her fists

the moonlight kissed her milky pale skin, bathing it in a dusty sort of blue.
she was all by herself and he could tell that something was off;
like she was only half there, like her soul vacated her vessel and she was talking to someone not there

she seemed disoriented and james wondered if she was getting bad again,

the worry kicking in as soon as he thought about all those nights,
those times they got high and drank too much and drugged themselves, injecting poison they craved into their veins, letting cigarette ashes fall to their feet, tiptoeing about as if by a marionette's force trailing along the synchronized beating of their hearts
his mind and being time travelling, to the motel room they stayed at that summer bursting with heated afternoons and passionate air, the sheets that smelled of their love making, the wooden floor they sat on as he strummed the strings of his beloved guitar, singing to his muse, the balcony where they laid in each other's arms, in awe of the world around, cicadas chirping
their adventures and misadventures where she pretended to be a superhero and had him as her sidekick the times they pretended to be spies on quest and missions-she introduced and dragged him into her colorful magical realm.
she had dog eared, coffee stained colored books piled in the trunk of her car with words and sentences blacked out, renewed into greater poetry. he could've put a bookmark between pages of one of those books, and they could've dived right into it, staying in a chasm of a sappy, lovesick, sensual poem. they could've gone on a quest of slaying monsters and stopping time for eternity. he couldve stopped them from drowning

they were looking for heaven not knowing that heaven is not a places on earth

all he did was pull down the anchor and let her sink as he kept afloat. sure their connection was real and pure. they comfortably had both of their minds and spirits bare around each other they were two kites flying in a parallel motion but the wind dragged them down hurling them recklessly

they were rarely under substances, almost never under the influence of vices. it filled them up like birthday balloons and their love was the needle that caused them to pop. it had reached the point where they were trapped in a psychedelic haze holding on to each other to stay lucid

the drugs took their toll on them resulting to violence, abusive fights
he loved her so much that he built her a house of bricks and cement to protect her from the big bad wolf not knowing that ****** and ******* turned him into a wolf and he huffed and puffed til he blew her down blew her dead

he felt his heart hit the flat line as her heart stopped for seconds in the ambulance that night he felt everything warp into everything he's ever known everything he's ever had, ever los. he felt the drugs warp into her as if she was the side effect instead of the addiction. the drugs gave them the illusion of being alive while remaining two lifeless, misguided souls.

miraculously they were able to revive her back to life but comatosed with only monitors and tubes sustaining her "life".
that night he dreamt of being with her and holding her hand for the last time as they made a pact, the promise; that they would both get better, get help, get rehab, have blood in their bloodstreams again and have normal functioning lives. they parted with a promise and a someday; that someday they'd meet again when things were right and the stars have aligned maybe, maybe. they kissed and touched in one another's presence before they parted in different directions, for freedom for the better it was a dream within reality. he knew she dreamt it too, that they were stars weaved in the same dream.

he walked closer, to where she was, still seemingly trapped in a trance mindlessly but she alarmingly tethered too close to the water, flailing her arms inviting the wind to knock her down and be part of the river, be the tides the rocks skipped. he had to do something

" sophia!" he screamed, her name echoing past the trees and the trailer houses. it was enough or her to look at him with those eyes, the same eyes that said it all before. recognition fleeted for a second before it went blank but she stopped tethering and perched herself on the bridge

he gave her a lift and took her home to the dorm she was newly staying at for the semester (it was hard to get it out of her from her drunken slurs almost like he had to pull her back from space) and on his drive back with a cigarette perched on his lips he thought about the way he laid her down, passed out and how he stayed for a bit longer, letting his fingers linger across her hair spun from golden silk and the lopsided smile that hung in her face while she slept.

he wondered most of all if she really got better, if the dark was behind her and if she was truly beyond it. he really wanted to believe the pictures that lined the walls,pictures of her smiling, with her friends, her family months after the promise.

she did look better, her skin baring a hint of plumpness and had a healthy glow replacing the sagging hollow that lived in it all those months. after the episode he witnessed (she did reek of ***** and had bloodshot eyes and was shaking not to mention the trance she was in), he didn't know if she was only good at keeping up the "better" facade. but he had his fingers crossed

he was about to let himself out, an ache growling in his stomach as they were to be separated again but he guessed it was the closest they would ever be.

"tell james i love him. always"

his head swiveled back to her and she was still tucked asleep. he could've sworn she said it, he couldn't be hearing things-after being eight months clean of substance usage.

he felt the familiar burn of the cigarette, and he threw it out of the window leaving the remnants of the nicotine inside him. he hated himself for lighting one up and keeping a half pack all this time. this was his first successful relapse and it was all because of her. like a ship tied down to an anchor;he was still tied to her, invisible ropes weighing him back to her ghost



she would always be his downfall

you once said i was like a shooting star,
shining,
bright,
beautiful.
you said i could easily light up anybody's world
as i fleeted in the sky,
i soon realize
that every shooting star
has a breaking point.
every shooting star,
gets crashed on the ground.
and when i crashed,
i thought you would be there to save me.
but then you found your galaxy
and now, i'm just a rock from the sky

*a.f

Under 'military history'
I found a tome of irony
A text once penn­ed in heat of passion
Of hope and war and lover's ration
No embos­sed title, No woven spine
But still an epic, still so fine   
While men lay squ­alid in their trenches
Someone perched upon these benches
A happy­ author with pocket knife 
Whose words outlived his cut down life­
Two fleeted lovers in this place
Recorded war's old tragic face ­
And carved there by 'The First World War'
'John loves Mary 1944.­'

In April,
Our together was cut short,
I couldn't look you in the eyes.
The second our words fleeted,
We were drowning in butterflies.

A story they will never know,
Only for our hearts to see.
The showers of April,
The deaths of you and me.

even if it was just for a moment
           we were hOMe

never again
will i fear leaving the shore
as your waves of intuition
fuel the anchor to my sea of losses
forevermore

your familiar tongue
had forgotten its foreign nature
and together, we unlocked the door
to a vast sea of unkept secrets
fleeted feelings of silenced Love
no dialect needed anymore

and although this Magic
had escaped us for some time
thoughts of you
leave me feeling sublime
you continue to touch me
in all of my rhymes
i have never been more sure
that our moments are eternal
i endlessly sing
we are an illusion to time

i swear to you, darling
if the darkness continues
to dance around your room
i will find its rhythm
and i will synch to that tune

no matter the distance
between me + you
if your stars do refuse
to quit falling as you roam
i will swim across oceans to catch them
and i will use their light to guide us back hOMe

Worlds apart, cities divide,
miles of distance
but minds collide,
they were no dreams
just our own realities
for the time being.

We met indeed,
spewing out our lives
to each other,
reading all there was to read
entrapped in our eyelashes.

Deranged they called me
and every night's "meeting",
said come back to reality
life is fleeting.

Each day I flee
this alleged reality,
is proof that
my life has fleeted.

Our realities lie in each other,
with each other,
all these other ones should
stop feeling cheated.

that tightness in your chest you could never explain.
what good are leftover words for anything other than a small semblance of hope hiding behind pleasant phonetics?
natural shades still stain the replacement pillow cases as you small-talk your way out the door in between every fleeted step.

Oh, Tangerine do stop by,
Help me **** the fleeting time.
The bitterness keeps peeling,
Bleaching me in every bite.
My dented undulating heart,
Bleeds the very orange.

My heart was once young as well,
It soared over life's boughs.
It dazzled over a grassy hill,
Brighter than the midday sun.
Even with the obscuring clouds,
Which kept the blowing winds to shun.

As the evening did spring,
The hill began to swallow.
My heart seemed to color,
Fondling orange with yellow.
Climbing up, this mellow girl.
Had her eyes on my heart.

As she began walking closer,
The rattling wind left it shaking.
But as the breeze blew away,
My heart’s rind felt her touch.
While her eyes kept staring,
Picked me out into her boughs.

The rattling wind did stop,
And I felt I was still shaking.
Her bright shining eyes though,
Seemed too piercing to be true.
In a seasoned moment,
Her grip began to tighten.

Comfort felt crushing now,
And the shaking continued on.
My heart to her open mouth,
As she took my heart, it feared.
But she stopped only to smile,
And threw it down the grassy hill.

And I say to my Tangerine,
My beating heart, come back.
Desolating me on the hill,
The bitterness hurts even more.
Time has fleeted the hourglass.
So my Tangerine do return.

My bitter dishes cry
To be cleaned as they sit
In crusted contempt
With reds that bleed their seething
Lack of clarity
My friends
With smiles half baked and
Eyes shuddering
Sip more and in deeper gulps
Their lives are swallowed
By the brew
But I'm not as lost
As I once thought my mind
In aching desperation fleeted
Angelic drawls to wrap
The dusty shoulders
Keep their hunched secrets heavy
Till they break
And if three breaths could save the world, they may in fact expand
Those minds and hearts to unite
Where shallow thoughts of ego driven
Madness clings like smog upon
Our horizon
But they travel
These dreams of fresher air and
To the forests of the northwestern
Drizzle drenched streets they wander
We're not so hopeless as if to rot
In the shoes we bought last year
I'd rather beg to smile
Then wrap myself in the scowls of
Empty presidents that died for sorrows they began

What was that, on your lips, just before you licked them wet?
Floating on their tips and not quite swallowed yet
Quick, do reveal what you mean to conceal, your very first instinct
That one there, within your glare, just before you blinked
It passed I see. As you glanced away, it fleeted from your face
Though it left, I must confess, not without a trace
Now out without stutter; no ifs or buts, don’t mutter
Excuses in mediation. I’m tired, expired
Enough with such trepidation
Again then,
This time please do mean it
Don’t hide inside, leaving me to glean
Oh dear, I’ve have already seen it

festering like the fungus on rotting fruit
moulded to the shadow



torn from it
motion making it's stop
the flatline
an event horizon
        and   i  
  looked


blank became the canvas
as existence shrunk from view
and i saw it all;
and it was glorious

but the curtains were closing
momentary was the sight bestowed
which fleeted faster than life
from this withering device of animation

elapsing back to nothing
a fade to black

Somehow the rest of the day
Fleeted like our fragile thoughts.

The preoccupied crustacean
Washed upon the shore,
Thanks to the high tide,
A swirl of earthly obsessions.

An old woman awoke early
In the morning to water her bonsai.
Who is that at the front door?
Who could it possibly be?
Was it the childbearing of symmetry
From a timid chamber?

Does a poet create poetry or does poetry create a poet?

Read and decide for me.

Originally written 4/10/11
Revised 10/18/14

(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith

I've gotten so used to isolation
that a deserted island is home

the sea of despair is a continuous whirlpool of void
emptiness is the sun
and the sky is crying for me

eyes tired
then eyes closed
and the mind took over

for one who exists behind the shadows,
how mundane it is to dream, to wish,
that someday
someone will get lost
in my forgotten shore

like a siren without a voice
her life is a soft hum
a melancholic peace
she's not out to lure but to give rest

thousands of fishermen have kissed her lips and fleeted

and every time
before they go, she hums a lullaby of happiness
that it's okay and you could leave her
but when the ship is a tiny blip in the ocean
she opens her mouth

and sings.

Her eyes they shine
Amber brown and tinge of green
Her hair hung down so fine
Sweet bouncing curls upon her shoulders

Her laugh so sweet and gentle
Never once for me
Her first glance seemed accidental
Never a sight for me

Her lips so lightly parted
The bright white teeth that gleamed
Her voice rang out before I started
"Hey what's your name" Id been asked

My eyes quickly shifted
The question not for me
My friend the one so gifted
And I the shadow in the room

My one sure chance to fly
And forget what was behind
My flaw; too shy
Opportunity had fleeted, and her swept away

That's Grass Poem
5/16/2014

If you think about it hard enough, you can feel the life tingling on tips of grass.  As if they are blades true to their name, yearning to clash against your soft skin soaked in the sun's sweat.  The thrill of the fight when you're feeling alive.  That's grass.

Getting chopped up into tiny pieces by the violent churning grummm grummm grummm of a mechanical ****** machine, the lawnmower.  Spurting out what's left, the ruins of a once emerald empire, into twisty bendy bits thrown to the fierce winds, allowed to dissipate into dust at dusk.

Who thought time could pass without you?  That's grass.

I went to the park the other day and guess what I saw?
Grass.  But on top of it.  There were picnic tables adorned with checkered table cloths, and I could just smell the waft of hot dogs, hamburgers, and acidic pickles.  But this is not about what I saw.  Not what I smelled, nor the fabricated memory I longed for as the moment fleeted, like a photograph fade out at the movie credits, when the characters' lives become just what they always were - figments of your imagination, allowed to live on the big screen for just a brief moment of viewing pleasure.  

I saw a family of four.  Picturesque, painting the scene one would like to see.  A father, mother, and two children.  Sons of separate ages.  Laughing, that laughter.  If I could just capture one of their smiles and keep it in a jar, I wouldn't have to ever go very far to feel happy.  And who knows if they went home later that day and cursed each other, or pulled out their phones at the dinner table, completely ignoring the company of one another.  Maybe, just maybe they hated each other with all the scathing loath one's own family can create.  But, they had the option.  They could grow together.  That's grass.

A. They had the ability to knock on your door and be told you're too busy to talk.  B. They had the ability to call you and let it ring to voicemail.  C. That older son had the ability to sneak out of the house late at night and wonder if you've noticed and been worried.  D. The younger son had the ability to have you drive him in your car and receive whatever wisdom you'd choose to share, even if it's only a belch or burp and then have a nice day school.  E. The mother, she had the ability to be a human being with you and live life happily, not just a mom, but a partner in love and life.  

W. The ability to see your smile at the law school acceptance letter.
C. The ability to ask you for a cash loan when times were tough.
M. The ability to watch sci-fi movies with you in bed and eat Chinese food.
A.B.C. The ability to share life's monumental moments with you, like learning the alphabet.

Those sons, they had the ability to fight with you and refuse your request to pass the tv remote from across the room when you were sitting down comfortable, and they were standing up.  Something so shallow and stupid,  not giving a ****. not knowing that at a few minutes before midnight that Christmas Eve... you would leave.  Is this what grass is supposed to be?  A ****** broken down family.

I saw grass this Father's Day.  It looked a bit overgrown, but 9 years can do that I guess.  It's almost gotten hard to read that plaque on the ground, but I know it still says Michael, father, husband, survived by sons and loving wife, now lost to the grass.

Who thought time could pass without you, and I could continue to grow.
But that's grass.

The blood began to flow.

I watched the liquid flow almost black and viscous.
I was in a place beyond myself,
far removed from my shattered psyche
that refused to recognize your twisted limbs,
the waste pooling around us from your bowel.

Your stench overcame the powerful scent of cloves
that had spilled from your bag.

As I teetered on the edge of darkness
I wondered if I could regain myself
before the comfort of madness.

You were so heavy against me...
so dead.

My fingers gripped flesh,
my palms leaked sweat between the silky folds of your inner
elbow.

How could it come to this?

Then the pressure came.
My chest filled and heaved,
my eyes grew hot,
all my ears could hear
was the life blood that had left you pumping incessantly,
intolerably in my temples.

She stayed motionless
with only one rhythmic breath sounding music through the night.

I pressed the corpse closer to my breast.

Woman: You're no longer here with me.

But you are.

She pressed her ear to those dead lips
cold and unfeeling.

Just under the surface of memory
there was the familiarity of kisses once delivered
by your fleeted consciousness.

Corpse: Am I?

bass palpitations and neon fragmentations
briefly deflect the cruelty of
your perceivable
emptiness

a rainbow of sweat, anonymous
stems encompassing sauntering spirits
a fully elevated identity
identifies the rationale
behind the soul's existence.
THERE IT IS,
dangling before doped surveillance;
can't you taste its sweetness?

and
before you grasp it,
the crescent wanes
pacing shuffled steps
tracing fleeted memories.
nights with beautiful intruders
terminated with sonorous ears,
oscillations of the frame,
and you,
crashed
on pillow-top.

how did you got here?
recollections
excruciating
tattoos of a misleading
reality.

Set down, collected, keen to compose
I picked pen, swore pretense aside
What’s to be spelled; only she knows
Later though, she says she’ll confide
Puckered a bit and flexed my brow
Crinkled my nose, ready now
With no room for give, she set me here
She and her vast vocation
She whispered a secret and whispered clear
Clear yet cryptic, thus my frustration
What she showed me, I may not have seen
But I peered and penned at it
And what a peery penning it’s been
But she up and vanished
Fleeted too fast
Left only her signature,
Mrs. Present and Past

happy birthday to the first love I ever had
although it ended uglier than I had ever wanted
this person helped me to find who I am and sparked the path of acceptance of everyone
I am now on my own way to trying to accept myself as well

This individual
thinking back
will always be what I want to find in other people
not in an obsessive way
but in a "you give me hope for the humans" kind of way
as much as this person was not perfect
or perfect for me even

this individual showed me that love is possible
that there is such a thing as that feeling of completeness
the feeling of rejoice after finding someone who accepts one's flaws

it showed me that it is possible to think someone is beautiful in their worst state
I know this
because although the love we shared fleeted from beneath us
and our sad hearts broke even more
I am still able to sense this feeling
and what it had been
and that it is alright to cry for what was
and that it is natural for such a feeling to drive you mad
turn you into a ghost of your past self

So Happy Birthday to the first person to make me truly feel for the first time
and despite all of the pain and what ifs
I wish nothing but for this person to find a sense of worth
in themselves and in this world
Like I found in him

I miss the feeling of her spine like the mud misses its swine. Essential and right, rotten and ripe, the love boils over this melting ***.  I am lost, never to be found, I had a caretaker once but by my blood she was drowned.

I pick up soil and scoff, as if nature could get it right. How could it when it throws me through the unending plight. Empty does as empty is, like a broken string or an empty hymn, I listen for something true. But it is not there because life's unfair, and strips you of what you love.

But you'll never know if the world did null, what you thought you needed. Or was it your overbearing self, or the liquor on the top shelf that changed this love to fleeted.

It won't make sense, till you're gone from suspense and all the air escapes the dying lungs. I pray for this like an Angels kiss but no longer expect that mercy.

I wrote a song for you
But I forgot the tune
When I looked into your eyes
Ev'ry thought fleeted my mind

I never did believe
In something like you and me
Such a love seemed
Like something from a dream

But now here is proof
I was wrong in all I knew
Because our love is true
In everything we do

When we're sitting here together
Me and you forever
Our hearts in harmony sing
Yet no one says a thing

You know my heart was broken
When "be mine" was spoken
Because it beat so hard
That it fell right apart

No chains could contain
No person put to shame
Our thumping hearts in sync
Love flowing o'er the brink

Now this song is done
But there is another one
Always in the air
Around the one I care

Walking in archways 
What felt like worlds between us
High above my tower I see you 
As your face stays determined not to crack 
They said I lost my muse 
But she's in every crease upon my bed 
Not able to wash the memory with a splash of soap and water 
I thought about throwing it to the streets 
Let the homeless make fortune over our mistakes
Cradled up in the nook you used to sleep 
Sleep? 
What lies 
For no moisture was lost 
No teeth mark not tear 
Because I failed you 
And all of the coloured flags
I couldn't help but call your name
In the nickname only I used 
Ignoring then sudden realisation 
Never looking back 
Head locked like a brace 
While hidden hands forced my face to your seat.
Even after you left
My eyes lingered over what used to be. 
She ran 
Out in to the night 
As I sat among the nightmare
Excusing death in a movie 
For why tear drops fleeted 
Down my cheek
She escapes 
Leaving quickly out the door
Couldn’t leave it up to chance
She leaves as if she couldn't stand to watch the credits role
But I know her 
Spent what felt like days watching names roll on screen 
While we meshed bundled
and blissed.

Ugly feel like love
know time make words
girl leave just touch
skin want beautiful door

little wasn't people strong
night head untitled war
breath help kiss woke
clearly morning look questions

used wanted lost couldn't
face really feelings away
deep body making what's
wish movies push oh

thought tight locked fine
trying built fairy stand
tale man fear heart
need remember stray looking

place drops small close
told beautifully worm lot
longer hurt cared mind
understand looks crave day

soul things wanting far
world high tongue mark
wishing says break pretty
knew women hoping got

doubt tear mistakes quickly
felt climb inside gave
actions sleep spent mean
eyes life came hide

muse say ensure live
play way hair reason
shook sighed flags proudly
juice forest crease chimes

pondered admire occurred flavors
escape invisible joys chase
lingered ringing knocked delight
touching spider tough hungry

tame tickle silken fat
ended confused wall covered
nightmare doing coloured blissed
possible perished pictures beast

quick unwanted asking wash
spit walked nook failed
toes liked men woods
screen innocent busy closer

escapes anytime pity graceful
eat swim graves bare
butterflies insecurities confusion wolf
release neck honest throwing

gaping dear survive meat
blame tower crooked soap
moat mechanism censure stomachs
nickname meshed crocodiles puns

****** freshman inscription ugliness
*** ignoring grinding messy
jumbled excites credits realisation
wrinkle chaotic mulled blots

saliva moats unbecoming choreography
10 12 11 61
wars' hear pssy cemen
untitled love un-assured namesroll

man's wouldn't we'd excusing
traders charismatic ******* zit
kush fleeted archways you've
she's doesn't happy-pain *******

nervous carrying understood web
sentences conscious pound ceases
hurts metaphors wrist tag
kid sell hateful crisp

terrible howl deemed brighter
fuzzy boring movie continuing
usually pig swore curl
homeless cradled addiction spins

rerun responding bruise naturally
chuckled elaborate alternative endlessly
brace brimming myth offers
outcome hurry witch darker


portray habit fortune sensations
tooth nicer dug truth
change needed teeth finger
freshly courage believe hole

private building infested ink
end weak kissed good f
all thinking pain sky
beauty power happen ask

messages weary able days
broken awkward finally bridge
doors naive decided actually
parallel trail leaving matter

flew hope new living
think hopeless shadows knowing
leaves stay worlds greedy
turn lies clear soft

lips breathing hold hands
caress taste speak extra
tell naked moment role
thoughts alright goes smile

light stone walls does
home tangled moons selfish
coward death fears die
year lay self peace

house story earth slow
seat shall watch lust
left blood set bone
long moon human mystery

forced chance hour ran
follow scars rage vs
reply watching mirror forbidden
rushing filled choose flawless

heat cold happy numb
sounds line page imagine
streets bundled dry passionate
determined breaths game cheek

roll stays locking sweat
sudden splash purpose crack
moisture breaks regardless makeup
lone foetus burns sorrows
treat ***** brown known
internal hearts boy walking
minds kept cycle born
sat waiting underneath hidden

greatest heartbreak tears care
bed miss moan gentle crossed
figure saw princess warmth
places resist universe memory

moving immortal belong knows
insane beg knees free
makes especially feeling smells
nature lives wars water

share woman simply pride
mud yes called space

It was a beautiful, and warm Monday afternoon.
Physically, the world felt in place
The sphere around her bore in serenity and tranquility
Except her mind.

She laid her body carelessly in a bed of a thousand lilacs,
Dawdled by thoughts
She was unready to explore her surroundings
But the world craved her undying attention
Unfocused, discomforted, content
The wind fleeted swiftly through her hair,
While the lilacs obscured her of pollen

She could hear everything, but simultaneously, nothing at all.
Too much or too little, it never seemed to be enough.
Just as she laid her head back on to the bed of lilacs
The wind danced in ******, tempting heed of her

It was a charming afternoon
Most would say,
But her mind danced along the brass of the wind,
rather than attending in curiosity  

Once again she laid her body back onto the bed of lilacs
Trying to comfort her discomforting thoughts
Finally
It was quite and her mind now felt at ease

Carefully, she listened to the wind
She didn’t miss a beat
The rhythm felt smooth—natural
Chills struck down her spin as the wind tackled through her tangled hair
Ironically, she felt at peace

A sudden shadow casted above her undistributed body
The lilacs comforted her in a way that her bed could not
The wind started to silence itself
Composure diminished from the realm of her thoughts

Quietly, she listened to the raspy and familiar voice that would not stop humming
In a chuckle he asked, “why are you laying in a bed of flowers?”
He didn’t even notice that they were lilacs
Flustered by his sudden appearance, she opened her eyes and realized that it was time to leave the garden
She stared at him for a moment before she actually responded
With a slight nervous laugh, she responded honestly “I don’t really know.”
Dazed and confused, she gathered her strength to stand up “It’s been a while...”
But before she could even finish her sentence,
The brassy wind started to chime
“Want to go grab some coffee?” he nervously said.