Ghostly figure
Full of woe
Holding out a hand

Cold air
Drowns the lungs
Shatters the heart

Cries of help
Tin foil hug
Never stops

Invisible chains
Shivering spine
Screeching throat

Terrored spirit
No hope
No one

No one there

She’s perfect, isn’t she?
That girl in front of you.
Barely finite lines of gold and ochre
Pure as thoughts from her head
Luna-cloaked and markless
Kohl and oak descrying
The haze and high of your waking breaths
Both in substance and in pleasure.
Just what you always wanted.

Not me.
My brief and ebon-neared lines
Murked by impure hazes
Luna-pocked and touched
Kohl and oak, but too-hard trying
A breeze, gentle and cautious to remove the dream
And give truth tangibility.
Much too real for you.

Perfect.
Snow-goddess shoulders covered
Just because you possess them
Luna-soul untouched, unseen,
Just for your security
Empty breathing, nodding crown
Ensynchroned, timed, with yours
Every face, and every line
Unbroken marble replica
Of air

How dare I.
Goddess shoulders bare as when I please
You could not possess them
Luna-soul unsecreted but,
Before you and your battering, unashamed
Swimming, messy, living within my crown,
Out of step and of my mind
Every inch, an inch of mine
How dare I be unbroken art
Unbroken art of Earth

Of air.
Twisting 'round your fingers
Curved into your body and your brain
Bent whichever way you opt to bend her
Over, under, and around.
Into pain and pain-ed pleasure
But always pain in pleasure and pleasure from pain
Both and neither
Either and physical or transcendental
Always and never in your purpose
Rarely and often from your desires.
And she's so willing, the wind.
Servility incarnate
Submissive, crawling, pleasing unto you
Easy girl
But only to your touch
Lest she be a *****.
Formless, unreal shadow,
But somehow air that no one else may breathe.

Of Earth.
I awoke in formless panic in a cold bare room
After heart-pounding, frozen-dreaming
Of how you left me in numberless shades
Of black and blue and gray
I had terrored and cowered
Wondering if my strength would crumble
Ever seeing you on your knees.
Not because I fix on that
Just because I felt afraid.
Because you never laid a finger on me
No, you never had to
The Luna's cloak will mark itself
When the core is hollowed cold.

Yes, so perfect
Is she?
Just the way you like her.
Insubstantial, shapeless
No rigidity or life
Submissive, satisfying
Yes, the daydream on your screen
That you try to say that you don't need
Is everything that your earth desires
For she is air and you are dirt
All that the breeze can give to ground
All that nameless women can give to you.

what does it say about me
that i am comforted by
the Burning Man?
his skin chars & peels
tendons beneath earnestly oozing
anxiously trying to soothe the flames
kindled by papery wishes,
wooden expressions, angry inflections.
his ashen tears
stolen away by a wind's tired sigh
flutter down to a ground somewhere.
the fire will purify him of his
infections, the dust will return
to the dust, but the man who
touches my forehead so lightly, steams
the cold sweat from my brow,
calms my terrored shuddering...
i am losing him smoke ring by smoke ring.......


.......what should i think of him
that he is addicted to loving
the Dripping Woman?
my breathing is wet and laboured,
there is less, less room for
air when lungs are naive to the
furtive ripples overtaking them:
some people die by the drop.
.
.
.
.
.
.
clove cigarettes smell most
like him. we lie together &
stare at the cherry blossoms
dropping to tuck us into our bed.

My thoughts are grim and dark,
Of that terrored night in the park.
I can't help but cringe as I,
Remember the night I tried to die.

At the lowest of my power,
That the night of my darkest hour.
I momentarily escaped my soul,
Abandoned myself, lost control.

An hour spent at dead sprint,
The clouds finally catching the hint.
Thunderous drops beating the path,
Synced in tune to my crimson wrath.

The lightning seemed to illuminate,
All of my branching, shadowy hate.
Fury seething in blue-eyed shrouds,
Matched the roiling, blackened clouds.

I felt the burning in my legs prevail,
Collapsing off the lakeside trail.
Headlong into a chilly black,
A liquid greed began it's attack.

Sodden clothes pulling down,
Soaked jacket just begging to drown.
A thousand bubbles struggle to rise,
Mind considering this odd demise.

To never feel her pain again,
To abandon the temptation of sin,
To leave this wretched world behind,
To finally meet others of my kind.

These thoughts flashing in my brain,
Convincing to never breath again.
So beautiful was the lightning above,
A more perfect grave I could think not of.

With peaceful mind and closed eye,
My angel watched the old me die.
He stood there looking down with love,
Praying for intercession from above.

Hitting bottom, something changed.
Tortured soul no longer deranged.
I remembered the beauty in her face,
That I came from a happy place.

The lightning above now inspiration,
To abandon this weak, watery temptation.
Through twelve feet I struggled to rise,
The angel answering my new cries.

An eternity spent without breath,
Blacking out on the verge of death,
Finally floundering to the blessed air,
Limbs trembling, but without despair.

I somehow pulled myself up to the path,
That two minutes ago felt my wrath.
Now felt nothing but loathing disgust,
Having broken my own sacred trust.

Struggling on to hard park bench,
The storm could do no more to drench,
No fury was left in a single bone,
I was finally ready to atone.

I could never again lose control,
Never let anger blind my soul.
No more to fight, time to remake,
Reborn within a parkside lake.

Returning soaked at four in the morning,
My parents gave a concerned warning,
The hazards of being out in a storm.
Then brought some coffee to keep me warm.

What will become of will itself
when drums go silent at times last breath?
Embracing the last cache of air held hostage from the thousand fold worlds;
What elements hold their vigor when sweet embrace reflected tends no longer in anger?
Intellect and mind of mundane aggregate held as a disc;
In wonder, unopposed - a weapon, a chariot of the abyssinian vale.
All terrored delight, all tremble!
Being that which now pulls back as waves running from the sea
Toward or away? Toward or away?
Sway the endless sway, never tending to the great caress of undulation.
Undue situations, zeros or ones;
Zero and one, measured in jubulation; Inward time dialation - exhalation into the sun.