Octopus green child
His name while swimming surreal
Sea and mermaid strange
--
Cracked window ladies
With torn dresses on purpose
A pretty yet strange tribe

© Matthew Goff

Let beauty influence the architecture of thought

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Rose

o rose
you must be tired of bad manners
o rose
you must like that the trains come often
o rose
you must wonder why people move so fast
o rose
you must enjoy the naked girls falling from the trees
o rose
the trains are always coming fast, competing with cheetahs
o rose
that’s how it’s always been

© Matthew Goff

While on a beach, when she kissed me with the urgency of a sensitive poison, I could not help but scatter across the shore-lengths, the households of my heart, allowing room only for the remedy, I looked beyond her and forgot to make room for her smile, that went unnoticed fading as a shadow on my face.

While on a beach, when she kissed me with the urgency of a sensitive poison, I could not help but scatter across the shore-lengths, the households of my heart, allowing room only for the remedy, I looked beyond her and forgot to make room for her smile, that went unnoticed fading as a shadow on my face.

Amusement park love crash
Blowing kisses through roller coaster rides
The wind blows their hair around and satin crushes
Holding hands sparks afternoon warmth
The evening descends and sheds stars around them

© Matthew Goff

Disappointment in the sky
She painted her hair purple with answers
And turned to her lover saying
“are you sad?”

“I wouldn’t call it sadness” he said
“just certain waves crashing certain rocks”
Ocean of thoughts
Uncertainty of tears

Sparkling philosophy on the sand

© Matthew Goff

Pink walls outline the hormonal oceans
To peel back the secrets of wet
flesh against swimming pool corners
through waves of swelling libido
that crack the senses against the reefs of water-love
--
invitations on the silk sheets of evening
anxious to fold itself into letters of perfumed language
which absorb the night of its juices
leaving an imagination soaking wet

© Matthew Goff

Kiss clash and love sparks
Explode old philosophy
Claw the new romance
-
Sad in the branches
It’s just rainy day writing
Tears are flying birds

© Matthew Goff

A dancer was arrested one night
For stringing leopard skins across
The windowsills of houses whose
Inhabitants were all court officials

The bones however were left for the judge, that next morning displayed in the shape of his wife, leaning over the kitchen sink cleaning dishes for the breakfast  he never again would let her prepare, the meat was left for the jury to taste and decide if it was all worth it.

© Matthew Goff

Necklace

JULIA: I love the rubies of evening. Don’t you?
TOM: Sometimes. Sometimes the waves crash against you too hard.
JULIA: Relationships of the sea. We’re all sailors!
TOM: Some of us, sad searchers.
JULIA: Do you ever think about heartbreak? A wound?
TOM: I think about romantic movement!
JULIA: Beautiful heartache. Beautiful like the stars at night!
TOM: A concert of tears. Not always sad. But always love.
JULIA: Love. That storm at sea. I wonder.
TOM: Wonder about what?
JULIA: Just I wonder.
TOM: Crashing against rocks. Kisses delicate. Steady compass?
JULIA: Lover bound!
TOM: Navigating together against sand.
JULIA: Foreign winds can shake the boat!
TOM: Steady happiness. Unique only to them.
JULIA: Sounds like that’s how it should be.
TOM: And those rocks.
JULIA: Love at sea.
TOM: Those weary travelers. Some never leaving shore.
JULIA: Some never looking above at night.
TOM: A rainbow tempest!
JULIA: Lover bound!

© Matthew Goff

The Flamingo

TIM: I wonder how long it takes her to get ready during the fourth of July?
ANDREA: fireworks in the sky my philosophy!
BEN: what philosophy? It takes more Andrea
ANDREA: I miss the waves
TIM: I miss you missing the waves
BEN: something solid, and rational
ANDREA: you mean goldfish?
BEN: I mean going to college. Things like that!
ANDREA: so you mean heartbreak, and things like that

© Matthew Goff

Free adolescent fires running through an amusement park. She’s kissing chaos against the winds of adulthood. Victory of youth, tragedy and strange dreams. A reckless carnival life of misunderstood love. Lighting fireworks of youth’s future.

© Matthew Goff

The ****** Versus Everything in its Mirror

I personally know very little about ***. Virtually nothing. That is speaking purely of physical *******. Still, I can speak forever of worlds that soft sparks construct in a single kiss. It is here, in the palace of naive angels tender and young, that a nervous heart beats the sweetest trembling of rhythms in the day’s surprise. It is from these voices of subtle breaths, in the immediacy of experience, that I have found a language most akin to absolute philosophy in momentary bliss. A language spoken only through the silence of smiles. A universe of colors shared by the adolescent chameleon in our souls.

© Matthew Goff

Trickery by crown of aces
A contest of befriending faces
Noble curiosity stolen by sweeping shadows
Disguised in safe places
--
She stepped upon the pulse of the streets
And slipped between the drunken sheets
Hoping to find that familiar scent
Of ****** sweating in perfumed heat

© Matthew Goff

People walking down the street,
Spilling pink makeup in beautiful designs
People walking down the street,
Collecting wind-blown leaves and directions
People walking down the street,
Exchanging sensual greetings
People walking down the street,
And pass by rainbow symbols
People walking down the street,
Contemplating dirt

© Matthew Goff

Girl gives sunshine smile
A boy reacts with the moon
Galaxy flirting
--
She cries pretty glass
Her heart hurts for a freedom
She’ll walk with sharp steps

© Matthew Goff

Inside the day, convulsions sweep me within the circular tide, whose currents endlessly root themselves along the shores of disappointing sentiments. Abandoning a singular precision, in using reverie with a blade to carve out the jewels with splendid contour, fashioned after the exquisite role of the past, I have failed to attract the elegant throats around which I stalk the beautiful endlessly.

© Matthew Goff

She wears a necklace of *** dynamite
And love detonates the day
Conversations ignite
And honesty is spilled like water

© Matthew Goff

Above all let’s escort desire into loving waters
Our prayers will suffice among the waves
Celebrating in kisses our gentle revolt
Putting faith in the tides and our wet embrace

Liquid churches you might say
float along the ocean
We who throw parties in the sea-spray
are known for our fluid devotion

© Matthew Goff

Scent of roses around her neck
Encircling her white as moon flesh
Create a necklace invisible
Envy of the stale air around her

Curled up on the bed
Sliding like soft cats
We blend like smoke
And tender spark clash

© Matthew Goff

Once ago a time perfect and not only mine but
ours! A love designing sublime rebellion shined!
Days when our kisses held the potential for
avalanches do you recall a faint trembling sign?

The years away from us but that integrity still
inside! A search for those who breathe romantic enterprise!
Nights when smiles meet in agreement toward
best planning the adventure in each other’s eyes!

© Matthew Goff

While on a beach, when she kissed me with the urgency of a sensitive poison, I could not help but scatter across the shore-lengths, the households of my heart, allowing room only for the remedy, I looked beyond her and forgot to make room for her smile, that went unnoticed fading as a shadow on my face.

© Matthew Goff

"The Poetry of Matthew Goff"

She walks by wearing blue stockings in the rainy afternoon
Her youth is like a tender dream
She wears a pair of adolescent stars from her ears
All her boyfriends, when they speak, sound like cool rivers
In the sky-blue of the day
She smiles
The way lilac bushes crush petals into joy

Now three o’clock in the precious afternoon of torn cotton strands
School lets out a riot of sapphire glitter
Some girl stripes her vanilla ice cream cone with azure breathing
On seeing this she faints like a toss of sprinkles

She’s woken by blue candy kisses
Like a cluster of stars falling
From a boy
Upon her face
The constellation of a crush

As she gets up
A thousand blue ponies slide from her rain-water hair
Before disappearing in the distance
Young children mount them tackling flowers

She kisses him
And lets slide the sky-blue of the day from her lips
His arms fall like water around her body
As she turns, racing to make friends with
The twinkling blue of a butterfly’s eye

© Matthew Goff

She walks by wearing blue stockings in the rainy afternoon
Her youth is like a tender dream
She wears a pair of adolescent stars from her ears
All her boyfriends, when they speak, sound like cool rivers
In the sky-blue of the day
She smiles
The way lilac bushes crush petals into joy

Now three o’clock in the precious afternoon of torn cotton strands
School lets out a riot of sapphire glitter
Some girl stripes her vanilla ice cream cone with azure breathing
On seeing this she faints like a toss of sprinkles

She’s woken by blue candy kisses
Like a cluster of stars falling
From a boy
Upon her face
The constellation of a crush

As she gets up
A thousand blue ponies slide from her rain-water hair
Before disappearing in the distance
Young children mount them tackling flowers

She kisses him
And lets slide the sky-blue of the day from her lips
His arms fall like water around her body
As she turns, racing to make friends with
The twinkling blue of a butterfly’s eye

© Matthew Goff

French bath! Twenty two year old mind cologne ****! My friend speaks of concubines in yellow autumn slavery like my soul wants to copulate against female hosiery. A woman had her period, what’s it doing in my pocket? Warm October moons circulate preliminary madness with a catwalk kind of patience. Terrestrial sisterhood and their cemetery leaf appendages stroke our hearts with a sweep like bone-silk companions speak dark history.

© Matthew Goff

Those who preside in heaven
Must have sculpted my heart in supreme elegance
So I could speak for the ****** tribes

Those who follow the wet visions
Follow my vision for us all

A dream of loving clothed in wet garments

The Scorpio seal will soften
The conscience of Virgo victorious

Consensual hearts of Eros!
Lift the gentle *** out of the dark
While into the night, ****** light
Still dripping leaves angelic marks

© Matthew Goff

The Broken Angel of Slow *** Flight and Her Impossible Audience

The broken angel of slow *** flight
Walked up to the store with rock and roll in her heels
In front of drunk men
She belted out a few lines of a seventies classic
Her singing wild and ***** as her body
A crazy street person they would say
As she caringly petted the store owner’s dog
Looks of mild contempt were her thanks
And yet her love flowed
Some foreign heart untouched by ordinary ignorance
She stayed awhile and tried to make friends
Mostly ignored, except for the occasional glance one has towards a circus show
Performing and yet not performing
She lifted up her shirt for some reason to reveal her stomach
She had the free sexuality of a playful stripper
And then she spun out again in another direction
After awhile she left
With a genuine smile for everybody

The reason for her visit was unclear
But she was tagged a ***
And there was some relief that she was gone
How can a person’s apparent vocation cloud the stars they explode for you?
A slow firework blew by the store and is seen like the dirt under our shoes
Whereas we wear our boredom like a crown
And hold others to the same so-called normal criteria  
We call her a ***
But envy the rebel ruby of her freedom

© Matthew Goff

Evening princess,
I think of you while swinging from clouds
And holding your favorite flowers
Evening princess,
Your ruby realizations
Tell a story of reckless love
Evening princess,
Take your pretty bow to the stars
Evening princess,
You smash the glass of convention

© Matthew Goff

Nocturne in Butterflies

I am part of a secret race of bedfellows who, while draped in the rose linen of sleep, lash out at the dawn, a suffering enterprise, with a multitude of blinks, signaling revenge to the moon, my ally, which in the sized light of the sun, we can no longer see, yet, waiting until it sneaks up on the horizon, like an uninvited guest, our dreams will conspire in unison, like an army of winged blades, decapitating it in its own shine, leaving its bleeding fluid to sweat upon a flower, we will let it put butterflies to sleep!

© Matthew Goff

Inside the day, convulsions sweep me within the circular tide, whose currents endlessly root themselves along the shores of disappointing sentiments. Abandoning a singular precision, in using reverie with a blade to carve out the jewels with splendid contour, fashioned after the exquisite role of the past, I have failed to attract the elegant throats around which I stalk the beautiful endlessly.

© Matthew Goff

Always Her Lover

Like a dark-blue angel I walk these streets asleep
Spilling water-thoughts for my sky-blue girlfriend
And with much ease splashing about a serious desire
To express the fluidity in my style of loving her

With her pale-white precious face of a place
Upon that space the moon introduced a sister-image
And in winter’s name with delicate snow-like fame
Dressed my lover’s hands in white cotton gloves

© Matthew Goff

After having spoken awhile of the predatory smiles that wake her from the bottom of a cup in porcelain sleep, the polite guests that convinced her that they too be included in the tea games, played by a thousand gold lions that prance upon the wooden clocks in her dreams, ripping them to pieces and having let bled a spill of mechanical works with insane parts, furiously looking for the history in which they will piece themselves back together, I once again fell under the spell of this profession, trained in breaking glass.

© Matthew Goff

I know of pink corners in the mind: Forest of sweet perfumes, whose travelers lend a hand to the ******* of sunset and its nervous mapping of amateur stars. There is a moment’s history in the certainty of salivating worlds: An odyssey for lovers who play cards at night and whose ideas for strategic foreplay are used like stilts. Hovering over a table, soaked with invisible juices, they are found flirting with each other’s secret personalities—heirs to the hormonal vibration of wet thoughts.

© Matthew Goff

She pours perfume through the waves
And gets ready for her sea-date
Rebels against her parent’s teenage warning
Crash of youth in the ocean
No one sees the splashing
And kissing in the sea

© Matthew Goff

I dreamed away impossibilities! I wanted these circumstances to reveal themselves with everything that is wet about secrecy…

It began somewhere in the distance, amidst the hidden clamor of those already engaged in ****** flight! Some fair-skinned legs in night-drapery began to slowly spread open for us, encouraging my thoughts with softly white-winged smiles, flying out from under the treasured curves of playful thighs.

I took heed with not as much ease as one might speed…

© Matthew Goff

I walk by, and never hear the word “***” uttered.
I walk by, and am surprised when people are polite.
I walk by, and people are moving too fast.
I walk by, and see people frowning in the rain.
I walk by, and see a crown of realization.
I walk by, and see a ritual of snow.

© Matthew Goff

Fierce whips of love light
Dance in front of my eyes
Opera of our souls
Slow majesty curtain of the ******
Can never bleed and stain our pure hearts

We approach people admiring sunsets
Ignorant of their beings
We love them like statues moving
Slow, physical, vivid bodies

What am I?
But a wounded storm
Slow, cold winds of apathy
Yet, I boast in having the heart of an eagle
Running through America’s screaming woods of our time

© Matthew Goff

Prostitutes walk the street
And clash with white birds in tropical flight
Does this lend a purity to their gutter blood?
Or are they saints in corrupt and glamorous disguises?
The wind must speak their true names
Velvet panthers in the moist heat
Heavy curtain of ***
Falls upon the town in a warm wave
Surfers slowly lay their heads back
And are baptized by their girlfriends in the ocean

© Matthew Goff

Blonde the Muse

Streaked by the hours of moonlight
She sweats upon a rooftop cradle
A slow showering of heated liberation
As I swing along the fragile nesting of ivory branches
Stretched under the magnificence of her stability

And let her mouth, that soft vessel
Divide the gentle tide with a smile
That casts upon the crest of evening water
Two halves of a seashell

And let our embrace, soften the cool air
That parades around us, shedding secrets from our hair
And let me hold that hand that trembles
When the evening undresses us
With a yellow wink

© Matthew Goff