One brisk spring afternoon, a boy found himself adventuring down a local forested path. The sun beamed down through the trees, creating golden stips of light that fought their way through the newly grown greenery. The crunch of the earth beneath his feet could be heard from a distance as unimportant thoughts drifted through his mind.
He paused and set himself down on a large rock by a bubbling stream. The water created an ambiance that made a rush of calm flow over his mind. His eyes drifted around a bit, taking in his surroundings when suddenly a butterfly flittered down and flew around his face. A smile spread wide across his features as he lifted up his hand to try to catch it.
The butterfly grazed his hand, but then flew away as fast as it could, as it was afraid of the boy. He frowned in disappointment, wanting nothing more than the butterfly itself to flutter down onto his hand so he could admire it once more; But he was left in despair.
Two more butterflies of the same pattern found themselves drifting along the face of the boy, and he tried to catch them as well, for maybe they would fill in the gap that the first had left. He caught them both, but only briefly, as all butterflies were beautiful, but fleeting.
The boy tilted his head in disappointment, and sat there alone for some time, an array of butterflies coming and going, none of them filling the void left by the first.
Suddenly, a pure white moth came into view.
The boy scowled, unsure of what to make of the moth as it was nothing like the other butterflies that he had encountered before. The moth flittered around his face, and he raised his hands slightly, prepared to swipe the creature away.
The moth found itself landing softly on the nose of the boy, its fuzzy little wings tickling his skin upon contact.
He couldn’t help but smile, but felt a little uneasy, as he was only used to butterflies.
The boy lifted the moth gently from his nose, and perched it on a nearby branch. It’s little wings lifted its body from the perch, and tried to fly back toward the boy, but he gently shood the creature away. Finally, it gave up and landed itself back onto the branch in which the boy had placed it. There the moth stayed, watching the boy chase butterflies endlessly until he could chase no more.

Crispin as hermit, pure and capable,
Dwelt in the land. Perhaps if discontent
Had kept him still the pricking realist,
Choosing his element from droll confect
Of was and is and shall or ought to be,
Beyond Bordeaux, beyond Havana, far
Beyond carked Yucatan, he might have come
To colonize his polar planterdom
And jig his chits upon a cloudy knee.
But his emprize to that idea soon sped.
Crispin dwelt in the land and dwelling there
Slid from his continent by slow recess
To things within his actual eye, alert
To the difficulty of rebellious thought
When the sky is blue. The blue infected will.
It may be that the yarrow in his fields
Sealed pensive purple under its concern.
But day by day, now this thing and now that
Confined him, while it cosseted, condoned,
Little by little, as if the suzerain soil
Abashed him by carouse to humble yet
Attach. It seemed haphazard denouement.
He first, as realist, admitted that
Whoever hunts a matinal continent
May, after all, stop short before a plum
And be content and still be realist.
The words of things entangle and confuse.
The plum survives its poems. It may hang
In the sunshine placidly, colored by ground
Obliquities of those who pass beneath,
Harlequined and mazily dewed and mauved
In bloom. Yet it survives in its own form,
Beyond these changes, good, fat, guzzly fruit.
So Crispin hasped on the surviving form,
For him, of shall or ought to be in is.

Was he to bray this in profoundest brass
Arointing his dreams with fugal requiems?
Was he to company vastest things defunct
With a blubber of tom-toms harrowing the sky?
Scrawl a tragedian's testament? Prolong
His active force in an inactive dirge,
Which, let the tall musicians call and call,
Should merely call him dead? Pronounce amen
Through choirs infolded to the outmost clouds?
Because he built a cabin who once planned
Loquacious columns by the ructive sea?
Because he turned to salad-beds again?
Jovial Crispin, in calamitous crape?
Should he lay by the personal and make
Of his own fate an instance of all fate?
What is one man among so many men?
What are so many men in such a world?
Can one man think one thing and think it long?
Can one man be one thing and be it long?
The very man despising honest quilts
Lies quilted to his poll in his despite.
For realists, what is is what should be.
And so it came, his cabin shuffled up,
His trees were planted, his duenna brought
Her prismy blonde and clapped her in his hands,
The curtains flittered and the door was closed.
Crispin, magister of a single room,
Latched up the night. So deep a sound fell down
It was as if the solitude concealed
And covered him and his congenial sleep.
So deep a sound fell down it grew to be
A long soothsaying silence down and down.
The crickets beat their tambours in the wind,
Marching a motionless march, custodians.

In the presto of the morning, Crispin trod,
Each day, still curious, but in a round
Less prickly and much more condign than that
He once thought necessary. Like Candide,
Yeoman and grub, but with a fig in sight,
And cream for the fig and silver for the cream,
A blonde to tip the silver and to taste
The ***** gouts. Good star, how that to be
Annealed them in their cabin ribaldries!
Yet the quotidian saps philosophers
And men like Crispin like them in intent,
If not in will, to track the knaves of thought.
But the quotidian composed as his,
Of breakfast ribands, fruits laid in their leaves,
The tomtit and the cassia and the rose,
Although the rose was not the noble thorn
Of crinoline spread, but of a pining sweet,
Composed of evenings like cracked shutters flung
Upon the rumpling bottomness, and nights
In which those frail custodians watched,
Indifferent to the tepid summer cold,
While he poured out upon the lips of her
That lay beside him, the quotidian
Like this, saps like the sun, true fortuner.
For all it takes it gives a ****** return
Exchequering from piebald fiscs unkeyed.

The once little, little prince,
stood wide-eyed, unto the sunless sky,
there, winged was she,
Rapunzel fair, princess no longer for he.

You see, he doesn't remember now,
how long ago it was he was told,
To find a princess, locked far away,
and if patient be ye, so too will treasure most pure,
be
his own.

And when, after many years traveling hence,
he arrived there upon the scene,
of the long, lonely tower, spiraling up,
there on and until the single window,
opened gently, and residing faintly,
laid a dream, he could not appease,
nay, no matter how much he rubbed his eyes,
Still, did the little prince look up and see,
Fair Rapunzel, in all her resplendent beauty.

Wait, she said, smiling gold,
In just a few years hence,
She laughed, merrily,
Will my hair grow long enough,
for you my dear Prince,
To come on up and truly rescue me.
For now it is good to talk,
and dream and be, for surely still,
must my luck be overwhelming,
with you here, to keep me company.
With just, YOU, here, little prince,
eyes nearly watering, she whispered,
And now not for me to be so lonely.

The little prince's heart, somewhere long gone,
Along the way, had already flittered up,
Though she could scarcely feel it,
With tower keeping them at bay,
Indeed it it land on her doorstep,
And there, long, did it lay.

So for many years, the Little Prince,
And Rapunzel did lay,
Her up high, and he down low,
With her hair, growing more each day.
And he was happy though, he was not sure,
If he was more trapped than her,
encased, but with each days growth,
of her luscious golden hair, did each time,
take a bit of his aching heart, beat by beat,
before mind barely had a say.

And then, alas, a few seasons hence more,
Around the corner was he, into her arms,
Evermore.
But cruel fate did lay, such plans for naught,
For at once her hair doth shed, and wings did she partook,
Yea, Little Prince, said she, Though doeth I love you so,
And the price I paid was dark and grave,
No bargain have I pursued could ever be forsook,
As this, one feeling, oh to fly over stone,
valley, canyon, and brook,
To be free, untethered, beating release,
NO LONGER DO I NEED WAIT,
OH WITHOUT SUCH WASTEFUL WORDS AS PATEINCE!
Now I am my queen, and you,
She looked down softly,
Not even my cook.

And the little prince looked up in awe,
Always believing in that which he was seeing,
awful though was his mind, that, Even still,
as his heart did empty,
did it endeavor, hurriedly quick,
To deny that reality, of waiting for a trick.
I was a game, he thought, but still,
if this be a quirk of god or fate,
Even now, in its very face will I,
Lucifer, be, Agnostic in this,
my hell.

So he closed his red eyes,
as his angel did ascend,
ne'er close did he ever reach,
someone.
Just a story now,
for children,
and growing young men,
Don't wait so long for someone,
you love in a tower,
or else you'll find yourself,
too, A...
Little Prince, not so little,
Anymore.

Oh, sweet calico
You flittered and you fluttered
Before the cruel men
Pinned your wings, and held you
Under
Examining, every colour
And stripe, on your surface
Comparing, every pattern
You made
To a control they deemed
Ordinary
Their tongues were as rough
As their calloused hands
Yet their minds were like sharp knives
Or scalpels
Dissecting your
Entirety
Three green dots
You were marked with, before they placed you
Into a four by four
Box
And promptly
Forgotten about

Put your finger
along there
Jane said
gently

and she opened
her hands
to form
a kind of cup

and there
was the butterfly
yellowish with white
it opened and closed

its wings
feel the smoothness
she said
I focused

on her palms
the skin
thinking how lucky
the butterfly was

to land there
I gently touched
its wings
with my finger

gently so as not
to make it
fly off
she was intense

gazing at my finger
the wings opening
and closing  
my finger

was a mere
breath away
from touching
her skin

the warmth
of her palms
I leaned in closer
could smell

apples or fresh air
and her dark eyes
turned on me
and I looked back

at the butterfly
and stroked its
wings again
it flapped

and flew off
and I watched it
go passed
her dark hair

her eyes following it
in the air
and I followed
her hair

the dark and straight
the opened necked blouse
the green skirt
isn't it beautiful?

she said
yes very much so
I said
gazing at

the line of her neck
the area
where her hair
and collar

didn't meet
the jawline
and she
was looking up

at the sky
where the butterfly
flittered amongst
nearby flowers

at the foot
of the Downs
so gentle their wings
she said

she imitated
a butterfly
with her hands
the thumbs

hooked together
flapping her hands
out and in
and looked at them

then at me
should I stroke
the wings?
I said

she smiled
flapping
her hands slowly
so I did

stroking slowly
and gently
the outer line
of palm

with my finger
and she gazed at me
then at my finger
her small tongue

at the corner
of her mouth
beyond her
the butterfly

flittered off
the white and yellow
exchanging
as it went away

my finger
moving up and down
then slowly
moving

like the butterfly
a little bit away.

The machete of death is
Coming closer closer closer
Blood and bones and
My eyes are strained
From too much existential contemplation.

Not good for the soul
To consistently ideate
About it’s utter and absolute distinction;
Throwing your living body, your living soul,
Swiftly and without warning into
A raging flame that cobbles you up
Hungry to dissolve you, disjoint you,
Consume you into her wild flames.

Blood red and yellow as the surface of the sun
All breaking down into
The black gravely ash.

Where something cognizant
And living and organic and dynamic
Has fallen from grace like Satan falling
From his place in heaven
Arch-angel transformed into the anti-christ

And at times, I relate
I feel myself falling falling falling
Like Lucifer
And Alice
And Persephone.

We are falling and we cannot stop.

From our homes, the only ones we’ve ever known
Tumbling manically into a new world
Whose rules we were never told
Whose customs are foreign
Whose reality fills us with this
Dread of confusion.

Once we were home.
In heaven
Reading a book in the dabble sun
Spreading spring and life with
Our mother Demeter
And in a moment
It all changed

Without warning
Without any choice in the matter
So we watched outside ourselves
As our bodies flailed through the air
Our lungs bursting with screams
Our bodies lost to our own control,
Now just flesh being dropped
From Olymus to an upside world.

And yet…
We grew to love it
The devil, Alice, Persephone and I.

We learned to love our forced new world
And decided there was something majestic
About climbing through time and space
Traversing reality
Entering into a new world that flittered---
Terrifying at first, like the slit from a knife,
But then glowing, glinting with flame
And pomegranate and tea parties.
And as lost as we were
We began to find our way.

We sat down with the mad hatter,
We stopped ourselves form being swallowed
By our own gushing, oceanic tears.
We grew large and small.

We came to reign a dark, black world
That somehow become our own
So sinister, gaping with evil, think
With the sinners. But still, in my own way,
Perhaps the heavenly remnants inside me
Loved them. Watched them float here from
Their corpses like dancing skeletons on display
And I welcomed them into my dungeon
Of fire and flame and blackness and death.
I punished them. And yet, I loved them.
Punishing them like my children,
Wreaking the havoc they had caused.
They were sinners and they were mine
And no longer was I ugly and tarred and shamed,
A monstrosity. Suddenly, I was my own god.
And my sinners, so broken, hearts filled with black bile
Spewing out angry and hatred and violence.
But they were mine and all the fear
I used to hold that I was a sinner,
Not good enough to be good,
Dissipated. I was here in the bleakest part of
The universe, a black hold that gaped on for hours
With spikes and flames and wading pools of human blood.
I was a monster among monsters. They were my monstrous
Children, soulless, void of humanity,
And yet inside of my some fleeting thing existed
An undestroyed part of my early life:
For I loved them. I love their sins and I drank them
In like blood and wine. We are all sinners, but the sinners
Who have made their way here…their sins are so catastrophic
I believe they may in fact be divine.

4/12/2016
"Rappelez-vous l'objet que nous vîmes, mon âme,
Ce beau matin d'été si doux:
Au détour d'un sentier une charogne infâme
Sur un lit semé de cailloux?"

"My love, do you recall the object which we saw,
That fair, sweet, summer morn!
At a turn in the path, a foul carcass
On a gravel strewn bed?"
Charles Baudelaire

I sat on the mossy footstool
that lied by the brook-
I had to really open my ears
to hear the soft regurgitation
coming from the clear muddy water, gliding over the slate,
piled up
the road, the one I drove on that one day we snuck out,
was placed gently beside it,
uptop a little cliff,
I felt this a beatific metaphor.

The air felt amorphous,
held a quality I couldn't quite
put my finger on.
and then I saw a tree,

a crooked one
who had seemed to grow
on the bank of the creek
because life, it seems, imitates art.

Its trunk dipped
until it ever so slightly grazed the water
its elm fingers
almost

almost.
I smiled when I saw this,
for it gave me hope.
I likened myself to the horseflies and new
tadpoles that flittered,

seraphic in quality,
borne with the quality of new life- the innocent quality
the one that just made me feel tainted, the more I surrounded myself with it.

The Friday afternoons on the avenue, with its port wine air
and this bubbling black slate brook

are the only places
that innocence lives-
if I had realized how quiet
the soft gargling of the cherub water was

I'd have stopped the car
and baptized ourselves
In it.

Your Primrose blossomed in the Spring
frothy petals in the light flared
a brilliant hue your season to groom
I stitched a garland to pair
my green blades with your orbit,
blushing from your radiant glare
a satellite garnishing stray beams
My doting shadow, enfiladed
by the waxy glow of your stems,
entrenched around your lurid stalk
Vassal bands nestled below as
the sultry air bore your fragrance
to the tips of each driveling strand


Growing in your rendered space
light years from your radiant estate
milk weeds fawned at your feet,
but my encroaching shadow
and twining sickles
could not seal your comely face
In just a few days, the light
from your bright candle
flittered its last beam
your silky cheeks folded,
not from winter's cold stare
or the wind's shaking reins
Unencumbered by my embrace,
without flair or aplomb,
you cast your gilded parasol
to its shallow, un-dug grave
A decaying, still life brand
now shrouded my sodded feet

I keep falling in love with ghosts
They flitter in and fade away

Three little spirits slipped wetly into my hands
****** and beautiful; we called each other family
The foundation cracked and poison filled the gaps

They used to laugh and call me daddy
Now…silence and estrangement
That name is reserved for another

Everything in my life was thrown into a heap
Misunderstanding and pain collided to spark the flame
I walk through this new reality, ash covering my feet

Yes, bartender, I’ll have another
And another

///

A wraith tall and handsome extended his hand in kindness
I reached with my entire being
Poured my heart into his chest

For a moment he washed me clean
We laid bodies entwined as poetry spilled from his lips
A summer zephyr under my wings
I was a phoenix

Balladry devolved to insult
He removes the dagger and ashes spill out
My brokenness is scattered everywhere

Yes, bartender, I’ll have another
And another

///

Splintered, scaly hands attempt to rebuild
A heavy mind sits in an empty room
Passing by houses filled with the ones I love
Never fingers to grace cheek again

I’ve become the stranger that can’t find a home
Saliva stretches as lips part 
Lungs evacuate and heartbroken cries disappear into the sky

This hollowness haunts me like an apparition
Love…the ultimate curse
It’s previous forms have burned me to ash

Yes, bartender, I’ll have another
And another
.
.
.
I’m in love with ghosts
They flittered in and faded away

I used to follow butterflies
In days of green and blue
I’d totter in their lazy wake
As if for nothing better's sake
And listen to the cricket’s quake
To find out what they knew

I used to follow butterflies
Along their merry way
Their cooling wings were flittered dry
The colours seemed to amplify
I held my breath to see if I
Could make out what they say

I used to follow butterflies
Through nooks of tepid shade
To dance upon a patch of light
Upon a bloom, they paused their flight
To satisfy their appetite
Before the day should fade

I used to follow butterflies
So carefree as they flew
And every day I’d wish that I
Could follow them about the sky
I used to follow butterflies
And often, I still do

**

In no way
will I move
just to make
my ends meet

One thousand
of my finest
have flittered
to those with
the filthy gift
of serendipity

Perhaps I should
give it all up
my happiness
and well-being
to be replaced
by hard graft.

right now, I sit curled up on my couch, under a warm blanket shared with my swear heart
we listen to the soft roar of the crackling fire
feel its heat radiating from across the room
the reflection of an old christmas movie on our happy faces
black and white couples flashing across the screen
a girl with a present
a man with a cigar
a child looking at the toys through the window
it all looks so nice on our flat screen

the steam from our hot cocoa starts to fog up the screen
the acting wasn't that great anyway, might as well turn it off

"you wanna listen to She and Him, I have their new christmas album on vinyl."
I laugh at his hipster-ness
"of coarse"
"rockin' round the christmas tree"
he knew I loved Zooey's voice

"care to dance?" his voice like butter
and who can resist butter??

we glide across the carpet, almost stepping on the pets
everything was so perfect in his eyes
as they were inches closer and starting to close
I guess I should be doing that too

CONTACT

it was sweat like candy canes at first then salty like a ritz *******
but still good
we stumble over back to the couch, Little Saint Nick playing
the blanket is long gone now

I can feel his burning hands messing with my bra
his mouth caressing my collar bone
its off, along with every other piece of our clothing
now the tv screen is covered with a different steam
the cocoa spilled on over my legs
his hand on my head pushing me downward
hes too strong

just as I was about to give him something he would never forget we hear something from the fire place
it startled us both
after the black dust flittered down we saw two little black boots
and then heard the grunting of a man, much different than mine or my boyfriend's
could it...
no thats impossible!
is it?


before I could question what was going on he was there, in the room with us
santa
his face soon turning red after realized what he had stumble in on
he didn't say anything though, just walking over to the tree and put some small packages down
then left
as he rode away we could hear him shout
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"

well this is awkward

Little girl burned by desires
Go go in her head she loves a man
She is young and stupid
Naive, innocent and adventurous
Sneaking in the night she reaches the fone calls a lover that lay in bed elsewhere with a another woman
The deceit of her beauty drives her astray
To risk her future in blindness to fall for moments
How can i lert a proud heart majestic in high life to spend at all times the sweat of men as she never minded she was cementing her tomorrow.
I dont care she said...i can leave home...who cares i can abort.
But then who cares you can also die, she sees from near and focuses not afar.
Early in the morning the mother folds her back and hits the garden searching for surviving fighting for her daughter.
No she is flittered and gone her coaching books with her body I  pause and tear.....
Such a generation
She says to all dont tell me what to do i have my chances to live, like a cat she believes in nine lives.
Her smooking temper alerts well wisher of help
Her clothes torn to many so she moves naked in their eyes only clothed to the unknown
The universe you ought to have will now have you

Will they be bygones or will it regrets

His words ripped through the remnants of her shattered mind,
Winding through jagged edges of time.
They found old wounds, still gaping and wet.
They dove through her anger, loss and regret.
They flittered through tears and flinched through her pain,
And stumbled through roadblocks of distrust and disdain.
She felt herself wince in nostalgic regret,
These words that she remembered to always forget.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
She stuttered and paused but still verbal drought.
For a moment a tear tried to fight it's way through,
But couldn't escape her practical view.
Had she remembered too much or forgotten too few?
With a forced sense of pride, she prayed for reprieve,
A sigh, a laugh, for the tension to ease.
He stared at her, longing, his heart on his sleeve,
To know that his words she surely believed.
But silent she stood, her eyes drifting in doubt,
Knowing the words just wouldn't come out.
No matter the way she traveled at last,
It wasn't to him that her path was attached.
The regret in her voice was heavy and thick,
As she parted her lips to deliver it quick.
"My dear, my heart was never true...and sadly I can't say I Iove you too."

Born from death, he breathed his first.
Seventy-five years locked in the good night.

The memories of his past life flittered
past him
as he clawed his way through his grave.

First his hand touched the sweet air,
the wind dancing between his fingers.
He could feel his dusted veins flow
with the blood from his now beating heart.

His skin in places had rotted away
and he,
like the living dead
walked again on the earth
that he was never meant to tread upon again.

He stumbled into a small chapel
by the old graveyard
now over grown with wild flowers and pine saplings.

Walking in he saw people;
for the first time in years his dried eyes,
nothing but prunes in their sockets,
moistened and began to fill out.

His vision became clearer as he dragged himself along.

What a miracle this was, he thought to himself.

He was awed by the sights he saw around him.
The play of the sun
as it filtered through the stained glass windows
touched his heart so
that in that moment
he thought he would collapse into himself.

Was this truly real,
or was it simply another trick
played upon his imagination
as it often times did during his eternal sleep.

But it couldn’t be, could it?

Was this fantastical phenomenon happening
to him
or was it simply that he,
Andrew Taylor
had in fact defied the laws of nautre.

Again he took another step
and felt no qualms or aches of soul
while the people shied away from him
thinking him to probably have leprosy!

The very idea made him laugh,
the crackling sound
that voiced from his hole ridden lungs
surprised him and terrified them.

She asked me how she had come to me
On a sunny afternoon,
She couldn’t remember anything,
Her memories had flown.
She looked in awe at the dress she wore
And the sparkles on her shoes,
‘I didn’t have any of these before,
But what have I got to lose?’

I had her in mind for a Faery Queen
Or maybe a party girl,
I hadn’t a plot to fit right then
But thought I’d give her a whirl.
She had such grace and a lovely face
So I thought she’d fit right in,
And later, plenty of colour for
My lepidoptera tin.

She flittered and fluttered about the field
While I got my butterfly net,
She’d probably still be fluttering
If I hadn’t caught her yet.
But that’s how I catch my characters
That I fit in every plot,
I chase them round and I bring them down
Whether they want, or not.

The women are always butterflies,
The men are usually moths,
I struggle to keep the women sweet
But sometimes they are Goths.
As long as they play their part so well
That the reader doesn’t twig,
That all my casts are butterflies,
The small parts and the big.

For villains I use the Death’s Head Moth
For his markings are so grim,
But the innocent girls in chiffon are
The first to let him in,
He’s mean and cunning, and not so sweet
As the ones he seeks to fool,
But I am only the writer, so
Their conflict is my gruel.

I need to go where the sun is bright
And they flutter in the breeze,
To hold my butterfly net upright
And pursue them through the trees.
Then one day soon in the afternoon
I shall write a plot that sings,
And catch me a lepidoptera,
The one with the brightest wings!

David Lewis Paget

That’s a Small Skipper
Jane said

And that’s a Clouded yellow
as two butterflies

flittered overhead
as you both lay

in the tall grass
on the side

of the Downs
and you followed

her finger
as it indicated

the butterflies’ flight
and then they were gone

and she gazed at you
and said

What?
How do you know

the names of things?
I’m a country girl

not a townie like you
she replied

her lips moulding
the words like a potter

moulds clay
and you caught a whiff

of her perfume
carried on the calm breeze

over your heads
and you looked

at her there
in the grass

her head turned back
to the sky

her eyes reflecting
the summer blue

and her left leg
bent upwards

so that her knee
stood naked

beneath the sun
and her right hand

lay next to yours
the white blouse

open at the neck
and she said

I often used to lay here
alone listening

to the overhead birds
and the winds’ moan

watching tractors
in the fields below

and mother wondering
where I was

And now?
you asked

Does she wonder
where you are now?

she turned her head
and gazed at you

No not now
she knows I’m with you

and that I’m showing you
the store of nature

and the panoramic view
And she trusts you?

you asked
sensing her hand

touch yours
the flesh warm

and soft
She trusts you

Jane said
and another butterfly

fluttered by
like a ballerina overhead.

it were the combination
of monsoon deluge
and gale force hurricane
broke me free
sent me to spinning

twirled for what must’ve been a year
before touchdown
even this was turbulent
as I rapidly descended
the high mountain canyon

tossed over slick black rocks
drifting faster and faster
when all ahead was blue
clouds and birds flittered
time froze

unlike my previous freefall
this was abusive
streams pummeled my body
frayed my edges
left me soaked to the core

I washed, after a time, upon a sandy beach
barely conscious…
once I had served a great Oak
gathering sunlight
these memories swirled like the adjacent eddy

slowly, like daybreak for the farmer
a realization took shape
never again would I photosynthesize
never again would ladybugs crawl across my face
I had lost my home

It was near that same moment
when a new vision filled my senses
upon my decomposition
and death
I would feed the forest
my nutrients living in the soil forever –

I never realized
How many birds
There really are

They seem to melt
Into the landscape
As they hop
To and fro
In the manicured
Suburban shrubs
And pepper the sky
Floating in place
Against some unfelt
Wind current

While walking
I locked gazes with
A slate colored dove
And we stared
I don't know how
He felt about me
Or what he felt
About me

I thought he was
Elegant
Even though he was
The color of fresh tar
While it bakes
In the Pennsylvania sun
In some hazy culdesac
In the corner of some
Replaceable
Reproducible
Childhood

He hopped off his perch
A rusty sign post
That had been bifurcated
By some unknown
Bolt or hand

And skittered behind some
Sickly looking ferns
In a dirt patch of an
Unknown neighbors yard

A gang of Robins
Flittered over my head
Landing down the street
Passing a pinecone
Between them
Pecking and tearing at it

I looked behind
The sickly ferns
And found the
Unknown neighbors cat
Doing the same thing
To my slate colored dove

I shooed it away
It dropped the dove
Hastily
In the loose dirt
And retreated

I looked down at the dove
And it laid there
Its breast heaving
Silent
One eye cast into the dirt
The other looking up
Watching the same Robins
Fly back to where
They had come from


And the slate slowly
Turned sanguine
As its down became
Saturated with the
Run off from the
Puncture wounds

The cat sat off
A few yards away
Flicking its tail
Calico and smug

And I stood by
The dove as
The heaving slowly
Stopped
Ground to a
Halt really
And then the eyes
Weren't looking
At the sky or the dirt

I finally felt
That unseen
Wind
And continued
On my way

I had ceral for breakfast yesterday

I went drove over and put seven dollars
Worth of gas in my tank
That's all I can really afford

Then I drove over to the golf course
I was going to hit a few putts
But instead I just parked in the shade
With my feet out the window

I drove by my house
To see if they had left yet
I wasn't in the mood
For a family outing

I parked a few block beneath
My street in the shade
Covered my car
With the cover

And made my way
To the trail
By the golf course

I used a long branch
To reach golf ball
Above me
On a little hill

I am a golf ball collector
I sat on my yoga mat
Underneath the shade
Of a tree

I noticed a sparrow hawk
Land in an oak tree
I zoomed in to take a picture
And it flittered away

I made my way back to the car
And drove home
I figured I would have
An hour or so before
They got back
From the movie

I had the other half
Of the double double
And small chocolate milkshake

I consume those items
Over two days
Because they are
A bit unhealthy

I began my walk down
To the gym

I wrote "America is doomed"
And Jade Helm
With a fruit and that green plant

Jade Helm is a cover
For the military takeover
Of the southwestern U.S.
Alex Jones has been told
By hgh level military sources

I stopped and sat underneath
A tree on the median

Small pink flowers
Had bloomed

And these little white
Fluffy seeds were falling
As I looked up

I climbed the tree
Look at me
I'm a monkey in the tree

I laid back againt the tree
And put my legs up

I spent quite some time up there
Waving to the people as they drove by

To be continued...

The coffee shop reeked of introspection
It was quiet but noisy at the same time
From slight chattering that flittered the patio to cars battling in traffic
She felt like she finally belonged

The smell of coffee thrilled her
She would romanticize each cup
Just the thought of hot steam curling around her lips as they pressed against the lovely mug made her quiver

She was never very patient
Every sip would slightly burn her tongue
But that never seemed to bother her

She valued the little things
Each sip, exhibited a moment of warmth, relief, and sincerity
In between each sip, her mind found relief
After each sip, sincerity found itself to be ironically bitter
It was 82 degrees and she found her coffee to be just as warm as the sun
Too busy romanticizing the view around her
She burnt her tongue once again

With hushed mouths that brushed when they talked
They whispered like thieves stealing from the Garden of Eden.

Little did I know
He was stealing from my chest
With nimble hands that flittered delicately over quieted lungs
And eyes that acted like they'd seen tragedy.

And she only looked at me
Smug, grim, a hair-width's away from sympathy perhaps

But my stomach wasn't used to handling his sweetened breath
Throat constricting around a word
Oh! what a word!
One that brought mountains upon the heads of ogres
Upon the tusks of boars and piggish men

Wouldn't you have assumed I might as well be dead
Because you stole my heart as if it was on it's last beat
It's last wild attempt to leap from my chest


Alas, my throat was tied around love,
A simple word
That rained hell upon the heavens and
Dread upon a heavy hanging ruin

If one man counted the Stars in the sky,
until each one was named,
Our Star would have flittered and faded.
He has no one left to blame.

JWS

This is for your body
From the crown of your head
And back down to the treads of those shoes
That cover those adorable digits
It’s for the way that you fidget when I say
That they’re cute, the way you refute
When I try to compliment something as marvelous
And natural as your body

But this is not about that
It’s about facts and reflexes
Not mental complexes and low self esteems
It’s about the way that I dream, when those toes
Are curling and those smooth legs unfurling to let me inside
I tried and I tried to get that mind open
*** isn’t a sin, it’s just natural, another reflex
Reality check: it doesn’t matter who came before
Because I still adored your hipbones and waist
Oh, and your face, but I’ll get back to that later
I thank whatever creator that you even came into my life
That I even knew you, because dreams do come true
Sometimes, I'd trace lines over your stomach and chest
I could spend days on your breast because time is irrelevant
But for the hell of it, I’ll keep moving along

Was it wrong that I loved the width of frail shoulders?
It was so easy to hold her against my chest and my arms
But I couldn’t keep her from harm
Though I tried and I tried, turns out that I lied
I just hope that she knows this is about more than just ***
More than the love that we made, it’s about the blue shades
Of her veins and how she hates when it rains cause it makes her hair frizzy
The way it smelled made me dizzy, let alone the mind
Underneath that made me feel complete when it would talk to me for hours
It loved meteor showers maybe even more than my own

And I could spend years on her eyes
If each tear that she cried over me was a poison, I would drink them all down
Because that was the real sin, I can’t even begin to explain
My self-induced pain, because those eyes, they used to love me
Used to see something I couldn’t when I swore that I wouldn’t
Let them be alone, that her heart was my home, the blood that roamed
Through her body and the sound that it made was my most beloved
Composition, I would listen when she changed positions, and no
Not in bed, but whenever she scratched her head or stretched out those muscles
Or when they shivered and rustled in the cold
The same cold that I told her I would never let in

But this is not about my sins, It’s about her body

I want to take a step back to those eyes, the light gleaming inside
Of them, it should never have mattered how many men
They shined for before, because I was there and I swore
That I always would be
It’s about the way I would see her happiness glitter
And the way my heart flittered when she bit her lip and smiled
And when her nose crinkled and the skin between wrinkled, yes
I could spend years on her eyes and that brain
Before all of this pain and the fidgets became
Nervous tremors, but my heart still remembers
Before all the fury and that light turned to anger
That she couldn’t cure me and could no longer endure me
And the glowing coals of affection became smothered, yes
We were once lovers, but it was my fault we never once knew each other

We only knew our bodies

And I hope she still knows that *** isn’t a sin
And that she’ll let someone else in
Because that mind deserves more, I hope that heart isn’t sore
If she ever remembers who she thought that I was
Hope it still catches a buzz and it’s about more than just ***
I hope whoever comes next spends decades on those eyes, those beautiful eyes
Placed over that precious nose, I pray that she never cries and that he protects her from every
Drop in the sky
And I hope their blood sings and that their hearts ring
For each other
Man, I just hope that he loves her
And loves that precious mind, I hope her eyes see
What they did once before and her whole body believes
In something more than what she eventually found
Within me

i licked the head
of my pen
then commenced
to imagining
diving deep
into my mind
with no telling
what i would find
eyes that flittered
mind that fluttered
hand that held
a pen that stuttered
with nary a
question why
i wrote down
what came to mind
and that which did
come to mind
poured itself
out in rhyme
to think all this
started with
a simple lick
of the pen

And in this morning
ice-baked skies
that I be drawn to the
glass-cold window
was a pleasant
albeit utter surprise
To see -- I did!
Across the way
beyond the oak
between the frost
and misty cloak
the Monarch
who flittered by!
The grand vision
-- crystal snow
drifting flakes
against noble color

such a butterfly!