Up or deep down
which way is that
bedewed primrose path
the way forward?

Even the last breakthrough day
on the way heaven lingers
on sundried rosy evening clouds
let alone the roses that
never leave the ground.

tempestuous heartache
   & sundried tears
exhaled whispers
   & combustible caresses

unilateral monogamy
   & bipolar love
singular sensations
   & conjoined sensuality

degrading hopelessness
   & elevated vulnerability
decelerated time
   & soaring spirituality

No. I write against.
(Aihmeanlike, against it.)
No, against it.
Like this.
[The point is pressing
A dark circle down down down.]

So (Djiuknowhatuhmean?)
I clash on this. After doing that
All day, on air! With conscious
Breath, (which is just force myself
Breath!) out of the glued muck
Moss in my sere bellum. My
Me do lah. Oblong god. Duh.

How long, these fractured
seams of seemlessness around?

In the meantime, here’s
some words, an image of a
Stream, and I’ll say: “Like a dead
Man(’s passing.)” Look at it.
And you thought infinity
Could be brushed off like a fly!
Wring your wet sloppy self!
Undried, then sundried!
Well. Now, you are one-eyed.

But what about that cry
Of true voice swishing lost
And found in the growing
Concrescent infundibular
Abyss?

Oh, that might be the Sublime
Sadness! (That one mentioned
once.) Keeping the Eternal
Walker out in the dwindling
Afternoons, closer than tears
To littered ponds of cold light.

Will he pull out the solidified
Spirit, or precipitate his freedom
As indistinguishable from the
Mystery? Oh. Please. Then the
Self would be (the question).
And there. Would be. No.
Need for the asked king.

Looking out across the many shades of dark on dark
The rolling ashen gray fog opens a window to the dawn
and I feel a loneliness,  arising like the winter sun
             … in the morning

The trees have bared their golden surrender
Breaking silence through the windswept boughs
below,  gathered dewdrops blossom on the last winter rose
             … a chilling epilogue

Beyond the waning hydrangea sundried sepia tones
Latent conflicts of the head and heart stir the hush of memories
imposing heart whispers,  arising like sunlight shadows cast
             … in the morning

There’s no one listening to the wind roar the incoming wintertide
An ascending sadness paints many hues that contrast dark and light
as the Pink Moon,  steals away over lonely mountain headed south
             … in the morning


                                         every picture tells a story ― ☾ wild is the wind ☽

You dipped your toe hesitantly into the water and pulled it right out.
I was already in, swimming freely as I forgot you were still on the shore.
I'd always taken to skinny dipping over bathing suits. I like the freedom, I like the way my bare skin feels in the water.
I turned around to see you looking out at me on from the shore, a hand over your eyes to shield them from the glaring, blazing sun.
I dipped my head below the water up to my nose, so you could only see my eyes as my hair fanned out over the water.
I could see it in the way you stood there alone- you were unsure. You were scared. The way you fingered at your shorts and the way you moved your hand from shading your eyes to instinctively rubbing at your hairline said it all. You were petrified of diving in like I had.

I used to be like that too.
I used to sit on the shore as the sun scalded my scalp and peppered my shoulders with little brown spots.
I used to dip my toes in and step back, watching the ripples go out in the water from my little interference.
I was afraid that ripple would unstill all of the solidity and security I had in my life.
I was afraid to make a scene, scream with joy as I crashed into the water.
I was afraid to be bare and seen and open to someone else, much less in broad day light.
I was afraid it would make me childish or foolish.
I was afraid to just go for it.
I was so afraid of getting in and feeling the waters chill and feeling insecure and ultimately feeling like I could get left alone there in my bare state, wondering how I could have been so open in the first place.

And one day, I realized diving in head first was the only way to go.
I couldn't live on the banks and only dip in my toes.
I couldn't go my whole life not knowing how to swim.
So one day, I jumped right in.
I screamed with joy.
I laughed as he splashed me and held me under the water and threw me around playfully.
He held me and it felt like something I can't describe.
We swam for some time until I realized I couldn't tread his waters anymore.
It felt like I was fighting to just stay afloat, like I was drowning ten times over.

I cried my own sea when he left.
So I know what it's like to tread this water alone.
I know how ******* scary it is to go underneath for 5 seconds and resurface to unstilled water and empty horizons.
I know how gut wrenching it is to dry yourself off alone and leave just the same.
I know how that can sometimes leave you with  the notion that not only do you not want to swim, but maybe you can't ever do it again.

I can't promise we'll swim together forever.
I can't promise we'll get out together either.
But you will never know if you don't dive in.
So when I watched you dip your toe in, I realized I needed to come get you myself.
Sometimes people can't just jump in.

I walked out of the water and grabbed your hand.
You sheepishly looked down, and I smiled and lifted your chin. I understand what you're feeling, trust me.
I saw the sun catch your eyelashes and make your eyes shine just a big brighter than they usually do.
I rose up on my tip toes and whispered into your ear, "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and jump in. Dive right in and let me show you how to swim. I'll go first, and you can jump into my wake."

I turned and jumped without a second thought.
That's what you do when you're committed.

Maybe wouldn't follow.
Maybe you'd leave.
Maybe you'd scoff at what I'd said.
And that's the catch. Some people will.
But not you.
I resurfaced to catch you momentarily screaming as you hit the water.
I caught your moment of carefree, genuine joy.
You came up, water droplets falling from your hair down your face to return to the water.
Your eyes gave the water a run for it's money, they were so blue and bright I'd thought maybe the sea had met the sun and created them.
You smiled at me and laughed, loudly and heartily.
You swam to me and splashed my face, which made you laugh harder.
My smile must have been too big for my face because you hooked an arm around my waist, our feet lightly kicking each other as we tried to stay afloat.
You kissed my sundried lips and coyly offered,
"So, is this how you prefer to swim?"

Frankly yes, it is my preferred way-
Bare, all in, openly and freely, with little to no inhibitions.
I swim with the notion that I'm being as genuine and bare as I could ever be.
It's the same way I love people.
It's the same way I love you,
And it's how I hope you love me.

It’s shattering,
the splintering Crunch
of greasy potato chips
between my greedy molars:
chips that taste like stale smoke
and the salty yellow Crunch
of the Mylar bag
that holds them closer
than a health-crazed mother holds her child.

It’s drowning my senses out,
the accountant-firm Crunch
of black coffee characters
beneath my crippled fingertips:
keystrokes that sigh like short fuses
and the riffled paper Crunch
of the overpriced notebook
that was sold to protect
them against non-quantum uncertainties.

It’s pointless,
the mortar and pestle Crunch
of sundried willpower
before my monolithic day-planner:
obligations that loom like thunderclouds
and the omni-present Crunch
of the rigid ticking deadline,
that has concocted its scheme
to unravel my pleasant net of silky procrastination.

With a shift inkling, concepts dropped
and I was all of my true name.

I etched in moving water.

I streamed me--water frozen,
water falling, water drifting
as fog, as cloud.

I was mini-singular
H2O.

My two hydrogen rabbit ears
danced five different ways,
and oxygen laughed and sang
(what a team!)

Sundried, now as the clock strikes noon,
I find my feet and I stand.
I build myself of basaltic rock.

Tower of Babel--polyglot soundings
in cyclic revision speak intelligence,
spirals I am.

Inverted, I apt dive down.
In transition, I grow rounded
hollowing.

I Earth. I Center.
I Sun Earth Center

where timeless pinpoint passages
****** me home again.

O, what strangeness and wonder
it is -- this practicing freedom.

And you, too ~ have experience?

Awareness
good beginning.

Shopping :o)

one bag of flour
the self raising kind
a pound of bacon
without the rind

a loaf of bread
a jar of jam
remember the pickle
to go with the ham

dog food and cat food
cheese and coffee
don't forget raisins
and nuts for the toffee

tomatoes, sundried
get those if you're able,
if you're not sure
it will say on the label

toilet rolls, eggs
shampoo and stir fry
get rolls without seeds
heaven knows why

salad and butter
hot dogs and sauce
get reduced fat, low sugar
and lo salt, of course

chocolate and sweetcorn
chicken and stuffing
a chocolate chip, walnut
and blueberry muffin

pizza with pineapple
ham and some cheese
fairy and cookies
ariel fabreeze

turkey, satsumas
not oranges with pips
tin foil and razors
and food bags with zips

nutella is best
it's the one we like most
so get a big jar
to spread on our toast

boys, thank you for helping
It's a great deal to me
oh, and don't forget cake
and biscuits and tea

i'll leave it to you
if there are things that i've missed
Just get what you think
if it's not on the list.

Innards twist
like salt on a slug.
Phlegm boils out
of sundried orifices.
Maggots find
a fresh fancy feast.
Once witnessing
eyeballs turn to prunes.
Flush turns pallid-- transparent.
The fine line between
has thus been crossed.
We're dead now.
Now is gone.
All gone.

there is an ancient desert,
which grew
that can bask in oceans of bothersome airs
it pulses alive
with a blanket of simmering sand
pilots divebombing the dunes
and slowly moving creatures wave their arms in soft red light
smoke sifting through the air
and my tongue is the desert,
with worlds upon it
fractal by fractal
and you are stuck, your vision refusing to stop zooming
and zooming in and out out and
IN, their feet swaying in the swirl, rocking
back and forth
(forever)
and you see a pear in the sky but
it is in two places at once
larger and smaller
the screen turning red, green, normal
choosing nothing but
getting everything -
lovely and still, a girl,
eyes closed,
hair tied back in ribbons,
sits, a smile slowly creeping on her face,
her sundried and bleached waves
framing her silent face,
she sees all this and understands
that we are one

you pull the phone from its cradle
(the dial tone wails miserably)
and the glance you throw at me is a mash of expression
the corners of your mouth blending together
bemusement and sorrow
hope and desolation
as you caress the seven numbers
and tell her in broken lies
that you're coming home soon.

then
after the shy thud of plastic on plastic
and the tumble of ice in a glass poured solely to forget
you stand and turn
so like clockwork
there is a kiss that never meant a blessed thing
and three words said without impact—
sidewalk-chalk-in-a-rainstorm,
beached-and-sundried-starf­ish words
swept back out to sea.

i can wish for revolving doors
to keep you running in perfect circles—
a blissful three-sixty—
and lead you back to my cardboard palace
so we could air out the mold between the creases
just for a glimmer of something
fresh
and new.



but there are reasons why the serpent escapes from god.

Oh, unknown chimera
you've ingrown
into my soul
like an inside out follicle
and you've got me burnin
like the Sahara sans aloe vera.

In vino veritas, in aquas sanitas.
And you know how much water there is to go around in the Sahara, so let's drink this fine wine
at least this time, and
let's find the rhyme that
shifts the paradigm.

Lovers do tell,
what's your bother,
whose your very own belle?
It seems you've turned over your shell and are moreover well-done than a sundried brick after church on sunny Sunday.  

And you haven't even
given it a tried and true lick.
Cigarette smoke, ash, and flick.
You only dribbled a little spit, ****, I see. Your dumb tongue stung was my B? Sorry. I guess you won't bother to taste the salt.

Drib drab, drib drab
rub it in my peeling scabs.
Oh my dank dab lung shank,
that's simply ab-fab. Really, at the same time it's everyone's fault and no one's at all. Brick wall fall and

I can't even remember what happened, but I can still remember how it felt...

Well, a nice solid wind and my ******* sails flew. Gotta loosen my belt if I'm gonna gobble up all of your insensitivities.

You can apologize more than a slimy politician, but even a marsh of muculent mucus could make me feel better than you did.

Throw out the key.
I'll leave my door locked, but you're a steel toe boot in the door with eyes sewn shut and I'm a stepped on tail with a high pitch yelp.

Oh my god, I'm so sorry!! Pet. Pet. Pet.

Leave me alone.

In a patch of sundried earth
dark cracks emerge.. forms resembling maps
remembered from schooldays and Google..
Appearance of arbitrary lines depicting
States newborn..
Our everyday maps also born of the Sun..
the Sun's artistry with rainfall..the points
of assembly of water in place and flow..forms of
unique identities each subdivided patch..
Raising the question of new possibility of finding
an Awareness.. becoming the Sun and seeing
the patches and lines and States anew
as images projected.. from that projector..
those many miles away...

Time stood still around her as
she wove her chain of clover flowers
tying every delicate knot with care
She ignored them at first as they became brown
so sundried and wilted
that even her delicate
knots
failed
Her fingers were sore
And she was becoming weary
Of staring at her wilted chain of clover flowers
Stretching for miles into the distance
And taunting her with its crisp and shriveled form
So as she continued to weave her clover flowers
She let her mind remain blank
She thought of nothing with every delicate knot she tied
Nothing as she plucked each flower from the ground
Nothing as she stared at the withered length of chain
And nothing as she finally laid it down

Industrialised glam, digitalised intimacy
Rich aroma, dancing lights;
implicit wonders are unexplored
as they hide beneath the headstock
obeying society's stream of thought.

Rigour movements, sundried streets
hustling and bustling with only time to beat;
withering moments drape the paved sidewalk
just like the bland orange tainted tree in
your grave backyard (which many have described to be hollow and large)

Lingering spirits have strewn themselves over your covered sheets,
cementing their curtains as the bright white light
of haven glistens above their unblinking eyes
constricted by the deafening silence,
untoned to the faint hymns of children's laughter.

"Stop to smell the roses", the wise men speak:
confidence is their ruse; do not let it deceive you.
They hide amongst the similar thousands of men,
yet never raising a head to any of them.
These are the children of our future.

Senseless to surroundings, spray them fresh air,
Move their cognitive gears to move their oil-rigged limbs;
Let their creative minds sway to the rhythm of rustling trees,
Revive the diverse culture of our people for these brainwashed folks;
Deny the irony of being consumed, when you are the consumer.

And in the mirror is an older girl from yesterday, for it was then that I wrote every fantasy for which i've yearned upon a golden sheaf and I tied it to a kite, black and red and orange, and I watched it sail up and up and up and forever away from here, for what will dreaming do me except milky teardrops and sagging doorframes. I'd like to live a life in peace away from falsities, and it is for that reason which I cringe at the lies and shallow untruths which are spoken around my core, too close, I push away. If I could fly I would go to the seas with whitecaps of pearl and ruby fishes jumping across my lazy, sundried belly, impregnated with ideals, puffy with a folly that gives the only true happiness. But if is but a word and I am but a girl and maybe with my grandmothers looking down upon me I will be that emerald eyed fox running for the moon.

My days have been slathered in zesty
Sundried
Sauce
So much so, I think I'm pruning
-
What, with the tension headaches,
And this new thing called,
Opening-myself-up-to-others,
Hearing the recoiled,
"You're weird"
But bouncing with laughter.
I can't tell if it's good or bad yet.
Maybe it's neither.
Normal, not the one word
I would ascribe
But
Today, I wanted to create
Instead of letting the night unfold
Into misery
-
I thought of someone else today
And felt sad for them,
Not myself
And it was good

Mindblooms
Teenage train rides
Double triple lives
Speeding to ninth
Everything has a price
Had to come up, bake up back ups
Had to learn to burn, to fight
Fight for myself
Tipped my hat and fell off the highest shelf
Caught a ride in the rain
Got crazy enough to change
Heard a song in seashell
Some kind of sounds that words couldn’t tell
But now I wish at every well
Like I’m ringing OZ’s bell

They weren’t listening so we started spinning
Getting dizzy and ditzy
Dizzy till we forgot how to feel
How to feel real
Maroon and teal
Learning to deal
Skins peel
Lines reel
Tire marks, static and steel
Aluminum ultimatums
That’s all they gave us
Sundried roses in our manic hands
Left the thorns in the past
Sunk in the tar, we take it too far

Learned what it meant to be well
Learned so much I couldn’t tell
Thickened my skin and drilled holes in my belt
Torn, tarred and feathered
Hollow, and constantly followed but it’s getting better
Ultimatums, all they gave us
Bugs buzz all around
Can hardly hear through the sound

Like a bull in the ring, sacrificing
Begging me, baiting me to chase
Eventually we all cave
Strange summer days
Suntans and tshirt stains
Friends, fiends and strays
Facing the change, taking the pain
Living like its our last day
Homesick bathtub bubbles in my face

Smiles and waves
Extra cheese and cages
Can’t be complacent
Spinning till we draw something that stays
Toungue tied telephone games
So many merry unbirthdays
Fashionably late they’re saying “Places! Places”
Musical chairs and ferriswheels

Counting our feathers like sand slipping through our hands
But it is us that’s sinking so fast
Right up to our last gasp
Never lose your grasp of that boot or branch
Never lose your drive
Stay busy if find yourself in the hive
Whips will sting but stay sweet, stay kind
Mind your q’s and p’s
Mind blooms you’ll see

Rushing now with the flow
Oh it goes, it grows, it spits you out right in the throws
But on goes the show
“This is it. It’s all happening.” She says to me
Butterflies and bumblebees
Plant your bulbs in the autumn
To see them bloom in Spring