The tenderness of creeper vines
and garden trellises
plucking fruit from branches and
leaping with abandon into the
Dirt and the
Rocks & water—
Idyll & idolatry
fed through a tube.

I am on
Four blocks north of eagles court and
Where is a funny kind of word
won’t you stop to dust your feet off and
hang your jacket on the trees on orchard road—
This is our home now,
I told you with the early morning
dewdrops in my eyes and you
plucked them from the apples
of my cheeks and pocketed them like
diamonds.

Burn yourself onto my skin
brand me like the devil—
I quake not at the
Eruptions of hearts & other
wise blood that pulses through the stones and
trees among which we’ve gotten lost.

Tangled together, you
Weave, serpentine, in & out of
focus as the poison works its way into
my skull.

behold
mine guilt be carved
'pon this furrowed brow
plainly writ
for all to see

i pray thee now
speak softly
fair an' sweet
an' brook no lie
to pass thine ruby lips
those serpent fangs
venom filled
'twould pierce an'
wi' their poison still
this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...

where mid-night forest
darkly flows
this raging torrent
swiftly feeds
black rivers
writhing coldly
thru my soul

as faceless voices
darkly speak
urging chaos
mindless screams
nightshades tearing
rending eat
the broken pieces
of this wounded heart
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
far beneath...

where the sun
is but a myth
deep within this
dark abyss
an' the moon
faithless
fades
from memory

alas
speak softly
fair an' sweet
release me from
this dark abyss
that lay bleeding
lost an' dreaming
at thy feet
.
.
Pic Poem
http://oi60.tinypic.com/29kvqs8.jpg
.
.

It was time to
modify the heritage―
in a delicate bid to
aid the dying.

A wrenching decision was―
to ask for an apology
from a living god.

I will crack, but
not come to you, to
invoke the grace of mercy.

The twilight sits at
my door to seek the nemesis.
Why did I swallow the moon
without asking the sky's womb?

Cocooned. Afraid
to show the scarred skin.
Your words bloom in dark,
like a cereus. I collect the fame
to light the candle in wind.

It is hard to explain
When you work the midnight shift
You only seam to exist in nightshades
Not the warm daylight hues and tints

When sunshine becomes
Inverse in your tired mind
And days are measured by
Moonrise and moonfall

When solar heat
Is just a sweet precursor
To the night that cools you
And the sunrise signals slumber

How sweet it is
To interrupt this with
With a day
Spent awake
Surrendering to the
Splendor of the sun

Sonorous sensation seething sorrowful


                                      Sagacity serendipitous

     Sing-song similes sidling southward

Seemingly slipping ******

spectacular symmetry shows sputtering soul



                       Fallacies

                                   fall

          fluttering

                          fecundity fearlessly flaunting

former friendships foundered



                 narcissistic

N u a n c e s

                                                                                            nearing

nightshades
      nymph-like nuptials

                                                             nocturne

destiny Disposes

                damaged defenses

duly dramatizing

             dour dowager dreams

declaiming drowsy doleful deeds


                      Euphemistic

elegiac

            embargo/encounter

exiled emissary

endless
               ecstatic
                              echoes
                                            echoes
                                                          echoes
                                                                        echoes
                                                                                      echoes

                                           .............................................

A lonesome threshold,
yesterday was light as confetti / from a wedding that
bled in thirty litres of martyred roses / How long are
three hundred steps from a church, to stucco walls
the colour of sorrow?

Soil, the tint of blood,
ichor of mountain Gods, deveined for lost embrace
of roots / Wind whistling away regrets in the dust of
liberated souls / Would it sing for her, embalmed
in the bowels of earth’s sanguine hum?

April heat, weighted with a dirge
of tears salted in ocean / rusting the trumpet
and violin strings / Who will tune the piano for mass,
now that those musical men sailed before her,
in paper boat memoirs?

The Goliath tree rooted in bones,
a giant on such sustenance / gatekeeper of souls
tethered to fleshy sinews in beds of solitude /
Will she be interred in fruit, as he suppers
on her animated putrefaction?

Suffering, twice a child,
once a lady, she didn’t stay long to be swaddled
in linens of pity, cottons of commiserations /
Where will I store the enameled chamber *** for
when I grow up to be her likeness?

Nightshades, funneling viscous memories,
trumpeting in a pastel wilderness, alkaloid racket
waiting to sound in the poisons of prayerful echoes /
When will they bloom, toxic with grief of a swelling past,
so I may sleep as soundly as her?

Clover honey sunshine o'er Sassafras rivers
Proud Martins sing for notoriety , full bloom-
white sugar , shivers in the afternoon pasture
Our last Raven of the hard day season
Roaster , stained glass color kinda holidays -
liquid Kildare clover valleys , euphoric July nightshades

Georgia Sun relaxes in the fifth house
Hummers circle Florida sky from my shaded chaise
Blue Jays and Brown Thrashers lounge the
ripened Fig Trees , shadows walk the vegetable
gardens , nightshades ardent for cool , rainy reprieve
Crows muster high atop centurion Oaks
Bluebirds and Sparrows work the grass like -
two old time blokes as the ice melts away in -
a frosty *** and Coke* ......

Pacing empty sidewalks,
Chasing insubstantial things,
I a sheep without a shepherd
Fear the silence. As it rings,
I watch the traveler dance,
Slipping from shadow to silhouette,
Passing charletans, in Retrospect,
Undeserving of regret,
Unnaturally cold and
Teeming with thoughts of sin.
Their whispers wonder carelessly,
Riding like vapor on the wind.
"Your lie is my salvation", I muttered,
And in response was spoken,
"Your flaw is imitation,
And your will is finally broken",
Scattered across the Planes,
Indistinguishable in the dust and gloom.
I the champion of Martyrdom
Lie gracefully in my tomb.
Beneath where the nightshades bloom,
For Nature's rage to consume,
The coup de gras in Her machination,
I provoke Her henchmen as they loom.
Here to repossess Her time and toil,
For misuse of Her ethereal gift,
She cleanses the canvas in lavender oil,
And sets Her new vessel adrift.
We, weary, wake and wallow,
In search of another creature,
Waiting for someone to follow,
Just floating in the ether.

Plight of domestic animal on city streets ....Volunteer nightshades that germinate in Fall , wild rose bushes , strawberry plants growing in Summer on mountaintops ...Ice clinging to Pear trees after a Winter storm in late March ...Diseased Willow tree racked by howling ocean winds on the seashore...Man and woman both young and old , succumbing to the gentle allure , raging fire and finality of Relationship , Life and Love .....

allowed the scent to stain the tips
of each appendage
as I rubbed the delicate petals between
watching how hues of purple
slid gracefully along side the curves, the honey
gold sunlight dripped
ignited the slight variations of dark nightshades from light creams
the hint of white, the shudder of black in each tint
I turned my hands upright
watching fragments cascade to the sidewalk below me

Introduced him into my life
slipped the necklace off my neck and gave him
the exact directions to the destinations
that made me safe
scared
weak
strong
the potions that awakened each aspect in my life
granted him the open doors to each variable that
emulated my entity
turned the side of me, the numb variations that dictated logic,
reason,
protection
and forgot to listen to the words he spoke
as the evening rose above the
firs, evergreens.

She's a garden no one wants.
Eyes full of marigolds.
Nightshades stained lips.
Soil drenched with blood.

Evening light
Shining 'cross the lake
From behind me
Through still still air
Over still still water

You have so many
Great qualities
And so many friends
That adore you as you fade
Through amber and crimson hues

We don't wave goodbye
You just slip away
Gently and softly
As Nightshades take hold of the air
We'll see you tomorrow... same time.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Our priests have proven green and tenderfoot
            By goggling at our late, ill auguries:
            Dumbfounded, counselless, they scan their toes.
            For this have I agreed to pawn my pride
            In dabbling with questionable cures
            By calling forth the aid of sorcerers.

PRIEST OF TLALOC
            Dread lord, how might your grace with confidence
            Place mercenary warlocks in your trust,
            Who twist their gifts toward late-night banditry,
            It’s said, to paralyze their shaky preys.
            Tezcatlipoca, our capricious master,
            Might cloud our muddy minds yet murkier
            For slumping to such dubious helps as these
            If they make mock of his peculiar knowings.

TLACAELEL
            Don’t worry. If they cool your fevered fears
            We’ll hail their hocus-pocus as white physic.
            If not, then as black fiends in iron they’ll rot.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Bring in these esoteric ministers.

                                  A guard leads in three Sorcerers

            You three obscure and dicing conjurers:
            Have you beheld grim omens in the clouds,
            Or prodigies upon the earth? You three,
            Who fathom ‘neath earth’s black and gem-jammed caverns
            To skim atop cold pools of stone-blind fish
            And witness those who have not winked at day;
            Who sink into the water’s murky deeps,
            And loiter drowsily among the weeds,
            Mustering fronds and nightshades for your charms.

PRIEST OF TLALOC
            Have you encountered stray and mongreled men?
            Or lightless nooks congeal as dead men’s shades?
            Or midnight women, crablike, creep in broods?
            Shall we be leveled flat by strange disease,
            Or locusts, pirating their greedy shares?
            From sudden deaths, from wars or wild beasts?
            Shall rainstorms sink our rooftops down to jetties,
            And Tlaloc drown us in a tide of bounty,
            Or broil us in cruel sabbatical?

MOTECUHZOMA
            You must not candy up **** truth for me.
            Have you not heard our thirsting goddess cry,
            And nightly croaking from the earth’s deep faults?

Morning nightshades , beckon the -
nourishment of kindred sunshine
Harbor the earthen dew of first light , reach -
for the Heavens on rain cooled nights
Emblazon tired eyes with the mastery -
of innumerable color , announce thy presence
with the very essence of Summer
Crimson symphonies , songbird curiosity in ardent performance of July's fertile theater
Filling Wood strip baskets 'neath sapphire Georgia blankets , mid-afternoon youth treasure surrounded by honeysuckle pleasure
**** tomato sandwich , late night delights ...

.
He walked through a wood,
Answering the trees,
Like some golden roustabout,
A Sophocles among nightshades,
Willows and the moving waters,
Wilderness wandered with he,
Wild in the sun as a freckled
Red headed lassie.

White butterflies waved their flags,
Surrendering to the murmurings
Bespoke in the sorrels and sores,
Waves of mumble wept into the winds,
Sands underfoot hushed by with him,
Birds above dreamed of no landings,
He could hear each word in their songs
Warbling in the briars and time poured
Its draught, fresh and dear as the first
Unearthly sunrise.

A mating pair of bluebirds do well on this parcel of land , reach for Sun on this day , every herb and fruit above emerald zoysia with manmade furrows at random ,  morning dew on nightshades toppled from the violence of Thor , returned to peace in the nurture and admonition of my creator ,  my garden at rest , my Summer lover* !

My words don't know peace. They are the nightshades all over a hunting ground. They are the bending of sunlight as it slices itself against headstones. They are a patchwork of all the cruel things I've done with my hands. They are the birds of prey, circling overhead a wounded doe. My words don't know peace — they are made of every last bit of my chaos, barely contained by my fingers. They are made of every last bit of my violence made to look nonthreatening. Gentle as the wind and tame as a field of roses — the thorns, left buried in your back.

Still, a refugee trembles, hides beneath her battle scars. She recognizes the wars waged in her skin — the cruel way they stay long after the last battle — the cruel way they don't know peace.

My garden is only full of Black Nightshades,

It is what I am made of.

A flower that is considered a ****,

An invasive species.

Am I invasive in the way I talk,

Loud and commanding?

Am I invasive in the way I care,

About all species?

Tell me, 

Am I poisonous to the tongue?

Is the way I scream and sob about the world's odious ways invasive?

Would you like me to be voiceless?

Tell me,

Are the way my words hit your skin prickled with hatred and toxicity?

Is the way my tear hits the soil a sign that I’m delicate?

Tell me,

Do the ways that my stems reach for the sun seem invasive? 

That I crowd and push,

The way my garden stands tall.

On guard and at attention.

Tell me,

When the poison drips down your throat,

Is it as invasive as your thoughts?

As invasive as you thought I would be?

Is my garden not your idea of picture-perfect?

Cut clean and full of color,

Bright blues and pinks?

Is the way I present myself poisonous,

Is it invasive to your existence?

My garden is not here to be pretty,

It is here to be hurt but not hardened by the world.

The changing season and brutal weather will not sway my roots.

I’m here to grow, 

Even if it seems invasive.

I do not enjoy the
busy highway.
So, I take a slow ride
on the frontage road
on my way to work
tonight.

Thin wisps of
dark blue clouds
curve over
a turquoise sky.
Then the day fades
and nightshades
are interrupted
by lightning
off to the left.

Past the gas station,
where buildings become
fewer and farther between,
glow worms work
the fields of grass
blinking like
stars on earth.

Tears work
there way
past my solitary guard
as I recall
an old yard
of childhood games
and familiar family faces.
Too many of those faces
are now specters
planted in a deadman’s field.

No time for nostalgia,
no signs of weakness,
I beat this melancholia
with exercise
and caffeine
before my coworkers
can ever see me.

Into the abyss
I threw green blood sweat
dripping raindrops
other nightshades calling dreams
from improbable plots
I never read

The black gets darker before dawn
stars fade, the moon dips below the earth’s curve
from my obtuse window
grey shapes move into focus
today the sky refuses to allow
obvious sun

The sinkhole gets bigger from a certain angle
swallowing objects and plans
it’s always ravenous
stealing leftovers from my plate
emptying the dishwashing liquid
plates piling in the kitchen

Morning stretches into afternoon
Whirring of a neighbour’s mower
taming shoots
beheading the weeds that started to flower
after the last time
the manual fell into the depths

That night I remember
a day gone by when the veil fluttered
away from my face
clouds parted and a cylinder of rays
illuminated the abyss to show
how shallow it really was

An eyelash blown away
Gods among sheep
Upturned squirming roaches
Stuck in place until released
Another god controls me
Save me now
Save me fast
tin man in quicksand
Puddy in your hand
Soft as u need
Nightshades and tulips
Budding and slaughtered
Evening angels waiting for their time
A drip on the head
Blood on the leaves that raised me
**** the gods **** the sheep
Leave the buds
One long scythe to cleanse the world
Ashes rain
This future haunts me
A soft place to lay your head
Sleep
A step into space
3 stripes black on white
The sheep are back
They want you dead
The ones you want to love
Escape the room
Salmon in the maw of a bear
12 pigs at your door
I can't breathe
A trough of black currants
The eagle rings the bell
Squirming hogs rush to eat
This is the future that scars me
Frozen atop a peak
The orange sun melts the ice
The eagle falls from the summit
History burned the steeple falls
Your mountain has crashed
The tape rewinds in a broken vcr