Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
wine,
starry child
of earth,
wine, smooth
as a golden sword,
soft
as lascivious velvet,
wine, spiral-seashelled
and full of wonder,
amorous,
marine;
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
At times
you feed on mortal
memories;
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
transitory tears;
your
glorious
spring dress
is different,
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left
of your immutable soul.
Wine
stirs the spring, happiness
bursts through the earth like a plant,
walls crumble,
and rocky cliffs,
chasms close,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me
in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher
add to the kiss of love its own.

My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your ******* are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.

But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
you are
the community of man,
translucency,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
Drink it,
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine.

everything about you comes in different shades of fog,
and the deeper we fall into one another, the thicker the confusion becomes.
"i love you"
-but which way?
"I need you"
-but how much?
"please don't go"
-but where do i sleep?
we're never together, but we're always
together.
i never know if this makes sense; if we make any sense at all because,
we're consistently, inconsistent.
Ironically enough, the most consistent, straightforward thing in my life is how inconsistent and jumbled we are.
and, part of me wants this fog to clear.
part of me wants us to be completely translucent.
but we're stuck in divine translucency that i continuously get lost in.
i'm scared to label us,
because it means i could lose you.
i'm scared to be transparent.  
i'm scared to see you with the lights on and my eyes wide open.

Oh, but it is *****!
--this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!

Father wears a *****,
oil-soaked monkey suit
that cuts him under the arms,
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
(it's a family filling station),
all quite thoroughly *****.

Do they live in the station?
It has a cement porch
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a ***** dog, quite comfy.

Some comic books provide
the only note of color-
of certain color.  They lie
upon a big dim doily
draping a taboret
(part of the set), beside
a big hirsute begonia.

Why the extraneous plant?
Why the taboret?
Why, oh why, the doily?
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)

Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe.  Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:
ESSO--SO--SO--SO
to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.

"I memorized your scent" you said as I walked into the room.
Looking through my lashes, I saw you smirking.
As our eyes met, I chuckled.
"Oh, really?" I replied.
I've memorized yours a while ago.
I've memorized your laugh and your smile.
But I couldn't tell you -- instead I just nod and keep the love I have for you
Tucked away in a jelly glass jar;
Safe,
Hidden away on a shelf in my bedroom.

I love your
                   pitter
                             patter
                                        paws
On the tarred stroke of steamrollers
Wet, green-eyed, wet
The trees sigh in the shower.

I feel your floating
Your mock of pulls to nuisance
When you fly downwards
To your clouds, your puddles in the sky

What are we, I feel we
A kind of hope in others
And perhaps I said it once before,
But I'm here, here to sing with your pitter-pat

Cloudiness of the mind
Is only an illusion
What you have created
Or the others that fill your thoughts
You scratch until you bleed
To rid yourself of these barbaric thoughts
You cannot stop them
And nor do you want to

The silent planet of crystallized dreams

Nebula clouds emitting translucency

Nothing is ever what is seems

With God’s touch and delicacy



The song that remains and forever played

Amongst the promised womb before

The mother goddess loved and swayed

While the child watches from the hallway door



“Mother and father copulating with the door open.”

Read the words on the off-white typewriter paper

The boy tedious and tired, working and hoping

His work be acclaimed before meeting his maker



Telling stories of psychopath magicians in Long Island

Or Chicago lawyers fighting underground matches in drag

“A disturbing, fantastic point-of-view, from a ****** man”

Said one critic before nitpicking as reading a greasy pulp mag



Countless images worth their weight in gold

Majestic ballrooms ravishing supple choirs

Groping masked ballerinas with a urge so bold

Witty fops and serving props aiding proper sires

Sir Xavier proclaiming the night as a celebration

Showing sharpened teeth behind his mask

The shadows merging and demonstrating mutilation

With enough wine to soak, bathe and bask



The man breathed in exhaustion. He cracked his fingers and wrote:



“Circles of Blood, of **** and pain.

    Audacious institutions praising the Goat Head of Fame

                    Vicious clowns of chains and leather sought to cleanse the mind

                             The flesh and struggle that was kindled at the discovery of Gabriel’s find

                                      Stiffening, hardening clay over roots and glands

                                      The skin of earth ravaged from birth

                                      Yes men and polished conveyor belt twins

                                      Nodding, prodding and smirking

                                      Evicting and molesting the commonwealth

                                      The taxpayers and voters

                                      The people, new and old

                             Sewing fishing line into us

                   Like strings to puppets

          Severing wings

Denying us flight

          Expecting us to fight

                   With blank expressions

                             And

                   Collective motives

                             Because we should all think the same

                                      While in the jungles of Vietnam

                                                The cities of Korea

                                                          Deserts of Iraq

                                                                   Caves of Afghanistan

                                                                             Or

                                                                   Anyplace our leaders

                                                          Mispronounce

                                                What is to gain if not

                                      Something profitable?

                                                Thieves condemning thieves  

                                                Murders judging murders

                                                Psychopaths killed for killing

                                      Women ***** and thrown into a

    guilt trip for not keeping a child that

    was forced into them, saying the

    will of God is infallible.

    Children without homes suffer for what they are

              While more populate the world with their own

              Before helping the needy


The names of the world

          The foundations built upon on another

The empires envisioned and dreamt

          Destined for glory and prosperity

Then torn down in the cataclysmic volley of change

          Then the cycle, the circle, is repeated again

          This is how the world functions

In the name of one

Or many

Or God

Or even the Gods

The Circles, the rings and arena.”





The man wrote with the typewriter on top of books and clippings

Watching riots outside his window, bottle of liquid fire exploding

Screams of terror, of revolt and damnation drippings

Calling out for all to see, the fury and loathing



What the man wanted to write was a simply story to tell

But his rising emotions took hold of his fingers

Instead, he told a story of malicious passivity in living hell

Where in his room the fumes of gas lingers



What if on other places in space

Where we’ve discovered other Earth-like planets

God Created different forms of humans

And watched how they grew

In their own way

Eliminating one previous flaw from the next

Till there was no conflict



If he did and kept doing that

Till he had the perfect human

Then there would be no more

And just God again.

Mystic moons and puppy dragon tales
Silver oceans with crystal silk sails

Frozen lakes above the stone angel choir

Marble pianos soothed by fingers of fire

I want to put the love I have for you
Inside a jelly glass jar and seal the lid
So every time I pass by
I can take a glance at the feelings I have for you
Tucked away up on a shelf;
Safe.

'' In Love With The Euphrates''. (Eng.: 'yufreytiiz ", Greek: Ευφράτης)


A Love-Eternal, as long as its waters flow, far before the 'Now'.
One tiny soul, yearning at the River’s banks, below the palms with their soft, feathery foliage, waving in a languid breeze.
Staring at his bright shining surface, the emerald translucency ,here underneath the azure sky and shining golden solar disk.
The curves of its lines, made of very fine, soft sparkling sand and swaying reeds ,the alluring splash of its waves.
The mighty Euphrates smiles, beckons with the spirit of its life-giving waters:
'' Come, ... come to me....''

"ONE CAN NOT BE IN LOVE WITH A RIVER!''
…a furious mass, roars, somewhere out in the gray, remote coldness.
But this glowing heart beats every earthly comprehension and that-is-what-common.
A body, unclad as when life first began.
Sliding into the silky warmth bringing waves of its waters, and floating, blissfully drowning and surrendering to Euphrates' tender caress.

Nothing so sincere and pure….

The rapture of this insignificant, transient creature ....
The mighty Euphrates beholds, with his empathetic, loving spirit., as with a fatherly smile ...

And both enter that fathomless centre far beyond matter, time and the sublunary.
Euphrates’ clear blue whisper mingling with the energy of that passionate violet light, which is softly about to explode in radiant scarlet and purple rays of light and energy.

A Dream about the River Euphrates.                                                              

As far as the eye can see.
Sandy beaches, reeds along the River’s shores, widely stretched out sand coloured  rock formations, plain desert grounds.
Lone palm trees rise up just as other vegetation randomly sown, throughout the landscape.
Just one soul behold this beauty.
His sapphire waters gently flow.
Shining  brightly with dazzling radiance.
Changing colour into a clear emerald translucency.
The scent of his liquid embrace fills the heart’s desire to Love.
Afloat on Euphrates’  whispering stream.
Warm, soft and smoothly.
Blissfully.
Is it me who is that lost soul?
It seems it is.
It feels that way.
Time, space…. they seem to have vanished , they are just absent.
Just  being there together.
Mighty Euphrates, beckoning  to enter into his soft waves…
Sensing Euphrates’ sweet caress while the  heart unfolds.
His waters softly cuddling.
Feeling  his soul –healing powers.
He could drown me, take my life….
But he does not.
Weightlessly floating through his  tranquil, bright emerald.  
Golden rays of sunlight enter the realm of his translucent flow of life.  
As body and soul surrender ….
Unclad as on the first day….
Euphrates’  sweet caress …my soul breaks adrift.

Pretty little thing
Light shines through your layers
Baseline glistens in the sun
The beat inside is strong
Perspective is resonating
Such colour with so many faces
who can do no wrong
Living in the present
with futures unknown
This moment resonates
Charcoal complete feeling that heat
inside of me

Ever untouched by prying eyes
Your incandescence knows no price
No quantity of gold could wager
Your glimmering translucency

For beauty sits through frosted glass
It knows no mirror image
In sunny spells it lights the way
Just possible to distinguish

At night it sits upon the lake
Which ruminates inside your head
To change you but remain unchanged
To glow when couples wed

You are the anthropomorphism
Of waves on a summers day
You are the moment two opposing
Paths conjoin in harmony

In the instance your cover’s blown
Your reflection sits untampered
For that instant your delicate soul
Lies naked, conserved, unhampered

For all of this I sit in awe
As viscous silver streams
Carve channels at your feet
Ejecting precious molten metals

Which ignite with scorching heat
I find the strength to sit up
Then rise up onto my knees
Put out your hand and pull me up

I feel so deeply of your beauty
I cannot help but smile
When I think of your gift to me
It strikes me that time has passed

Since the sun shone to illuminate
Just how grateful I am to have an
Opposing path through frosted glass
A flower to my unkempt leaves.

Always gonna want your name
Sharpied
At the front of my shirt
Always gonna scream from the stands the way I did for you
And just fake the way I do, my lungs stay true

Never gonna
Stop missing the way your mouth wanted air
But when it had my lips?
For air, it no longer cared
Though my lips may be shared with the cold until they're blue
I'll just fake the way I do, my lips stay true

Always hated it
When you ran your fingers through my one curl
I worked so hard!
But you never ceased
And you loved it up
Tucked up in a bun and you melted over me like butter
Wish I could recreate the lines on my skin you drew
Still fakin' the way I do, my hair and skin? Are true

Forever I'm going to sit
Unprepared
Move my mind in stills to touch your translucency
Never seen eyes so fixed, they stuck to me
Baby you know me, I look everywhere
But only have eyes for you
So I'll fake the way I do, my eyes stay true

And the way my heart used to twirl
Like a heart-wrought lover with a head of curls
My life was a movie

When the feature ended you were an actor
Captured by the role of raptures
Tired of faking what was always there
Problems nesting themselves in my hair to my brain
To my eyes
My lungs
They all tell me I have no room, to be with you
But they can all just fake it, 'cause my heart stays true.

Sometimes thoughts of my own
seem able to imprison my words,
break them in half and try and become
someone’s fantasies.
They cast sleeping inspiration upon my morning
with a murmur falling by the side
of my heart’s mysteries.

All of my problems glance easily
off different sides of stones
placed in the dust
I tend to keep beneath my feet.
My eyes see them come undone
until they are no longer fit
to sail with me
or drink from my cup
where all beauty is sweet.

Shamed by care Fear smiles and flutters
behind every forceful word heard
through the translucency it retains.
All of my confidence that has separated
then faces itself to meditate
on all that is brightly lit,
here to remain.

The ground does not pass judgment
same as a soldier leaps to exhibit nobleness
throughout this hemisphere
full of thinking men.
However, greed can leave you
half-empty and ill prepared
for thoughts that will imprison
your words like the wind.

I make headway over the side of dominion
ruling the air of darkness
where fairness becomes one
among the living.
I find I am passing over
what has become sand
within a waterfall,
falling from on high,
due to my misgivings.

I am aware that beneath the taste of a last appearance
the deepest thoughts
can cover those minutes we use.
However, little do we see,
time and time again,
sometimes we tear the best there is
within a man, right in two.

She have been collecting butterflies, there are few in a frame in her house— the dead ones are displayed as a remnant of how beautiful they are and some of the living ones are in a glass jar.

she watch those fluttering wings, she is really fond of its translucency and prism-like butterflies.

There is a different one that makes her fall in love with. She keeps it with her, she wonders if there is any magic to this one special butterfly that she didn't want to end up in frame.

"I wanted to keep you but not in a selfish way" she muttered.

She opened the jar and watch the butterfly as it spread its wings gracefully.

Sewn into the garments of despair
Swaying to the sound of dirges
Souls trapped in crystalline miniature jars
Undefined, frozen
Glassy-eyed and drunk as lords
Cigarette thrills
On the terrace where dreams die

Society perceives them to be degenerate cretins
With no hope

The poets
Whose melancholy birthed creativity
And gave way to brilliance

Their astonishing translucency from laying it bare
To write poetry is to unclothe
Oneself in front of the masses

put off on the sweat
There's something nauseous in my ****
United in the vertices and acid
The axis lamenting and venting
Sitting us out, putting it's mouth
Over you, over me and sorting
Tongue slide around move the mind without
Youthful thoughtful private number one

Exhumed adoption and children listless
Why don't you just give it to me?
I'm tired of gliding in this outlook
Let's ****, let's scream our pain out

Bees in needles and nails deflated
You flatten in your pool of stick
You shine in your muffled movements
This is a temple for the primal language
Words annoyed many moons before me
Howl under the eclipse dissolve me within
The translucency of the way we are
I feel it radiate
I can see her crawl
Away catlike in night
Try to spoil this moment
Let me feed you me

Forget hunger and dreams
Let's lose our minds in ecstasy
I'll never return
I'll never call you again.

you are so ******* uninteresting,
even in your shrouds of silken words
that try hard to fall around you gracefully.
just uninteresting enough to me
that i will capture
both your worth and your worthlessness,
your transparency and translucency,
in tissue-paper poems
that i set alight.
the ashes that melt the carpet
and the soot inside my eyes
makes me laugh,
at least for today.

he gave me afterglow, soft, radiating through the translucency of my skin

makeup running breath catching

eyes black deep poetic

consumed me

Behind your walls,
I could not see,
Whatever survived,
Whether darkness or light,
I could not tell,
Until you let me past
The barrier,
Until you let me
Step in behind your door.

Light I could finally see,
And with that,
A moment of relief,
And I took a moment
Gazing around the room,
Although looking cared for,
I caught a glimpse
That you didn’t completely trust me yet,
True, you were not opaque,
But translucent
Is all you allowed.
For behind those hazel eyes,
I couldn’t see clearly
What thoughts were turning
In your mind.

Truth and honesty
I desire most,
And when your place
Was visually downplayed
For my comfort
When you hosted,
I know you weren’t ready
To be transparent,
Just translucent,
But not opaque,
And although I hope someday
For transparency,
I thank you
For not pretending that your world
Is all open doors,
And illuminated.

Only open your doors
To those rooms you have closed off
When you’re ready for me to see
What lives behind them.
No matter darkness or light,
I will still be there.
So breathe while you still can
And show me
What you will,
Just as long as you’re never opaque with me,
Just as long as you give me
So much as a small picture,
I will give these arms
Whenever they’re needed.

I pace myself with thoughts of trivialities
And brush depth aside like it is nothing
When I am called upon.
But I never call upon myself, for that would be too much effort.
I try hard to forget that I am rusty, too,
But you need so much more oil than I.
So take it all, and take it gladly
Because I’d love to see you glimmer
In the afternoon sun.

Your hinges no longer squeak in greeting,
But unfold in fluid motions to
Encompass my ragged entirety.
And I am rusting now,

I am rusting,
Russet and flaking.
My paint chips and I appear dull,
Weathered by water and watered by weather.
I only diminish.

Glass and translucency
Mock me continually
As I struggle to find the caverns
In their beautiful facet, undeterred,
But realize that cellophane
With its loud crinkling, stains
The sight instead.

If only I could show others
The way you paint
With my reds and chestnuts
And the sunsets that I choose to mimic.
The continual exposure wears me,
But I am galvanized by your whisper,
“You are iron.”

Pretty wings 

You have pretty wings 
So use them 
Spread them to the greatest span 
And let no man abuse them 
Even if that mean I have to let you go 

I want you to fly away and free yourself of all repression 
Become smaller and smaller to every person of bad intentions 
As you rise higher and higher
Spread your wings wider 
Flap ferociously
Soar hopefully 
My eyes will be following you emotionally 
The translucency of your wings 
And the colorfulness of your feathers 
Amuses me 

But sometimes we all take you for granted so without panic 
Reach your own pinnacle 
We will come to realization when you exceed your culmination 

Use your pretty wings to fly away 
Because accepting someone who's is unacceptable 
Is like clipping your primary flight feathers 
You will always be too chicken to reach high elevations 

Pretty wings 
And fluffy clouds 
You're gonna feel turbulence leaving us behind 
But don't come down

Pretty wings

Droplets
On windows
And on skin;
Telltale translucency
Are you
A window as well
With a chance of opening?

Click clack of train tracks.
Space.
Closing and creating.
Space.
Vision blurred by the translucency of my eyelids.
Space.
I proceed,
Blind, clawing at the warmth of the air that caresses my skin
Warmth that I want from elsewhere
Your warmth...
I must settle.

Anxiety builds.
I see nothing, hear nothing, still I proceed,
Blood pumping
Lub dub
I take a step
Lub dub
Another step
Lub dub
Hands still stretched, nothing. Silence. Space.

It’s coming.
I feel it, the initial throatiness
Converting to heat
****** heat,
Pressing into beads of fluid that trickle down my cheek

My arms follow suit, then my legs,
They become acquainted with the earth,
seeking comfort in its stability
and reveling in its tangibility

a letter to each of my wraiths,
spirits of insidious intent.
to those who could not stomach
my tempestuous volatility,
the ones who grinned
and ran upon learning
I am a storm with skin.

the phantasms, loathsome and odious.
to the scorch marks you left upon
the deepest caverns of my soul.
melodious, vile, cloying, abysmal.

I drank every honeyed word like a promise:
yet it was naught but fermented love.
these are the odes for the ghosts
of my past mistakes.

I'll paint you all in a ravenously
meticulous light. you will have
your fifteen minutes in the sun,
before I set you all ablaze.



i.

you need no title, you deserve no name.
if you ever read this, harbor no doubts
that this is your trial.

you make me wish for an exorcism.
after all these years, your demon still sleeps within the marrow of my bones.

you are nothing more than a disease.

by some act of paradoxical cruelty,
I am unable to hate you. you deserve
it, but it is out of my capabilities.

you were poison.
you whispered sweet promises
that you didn't,
couldn't understand.
you tasted like pomegranates
and original sin.
you held me up when I
couldn't breathe, believe
in anything, or even stand.

thrice you sent me back
to the abyss.
in the end, we ascended
the throne as rightful heirs.

did you know what
you were doing?
did it even matter?
did you happen to care?

I'd like nothing more than to burn
every inch of you from my memory.

I dream of you on your birthday.
on days and dates of significance
that you have long forgotten.

you are a parasite. you were my muse.
I cannot help but wonder if you
understand what you truly are.
you have done that which is
unforgivable: I hope it corrupts you.
hate yourself for me, as I am unable to.

pray to whatever gods you hold
that you never cross my path.
I will annihilate you with a single glance.
encase you in ice so you may rule
the underworld alone.
I am your captive no longer.

I see you fully, in inscrutable detail.
I want to be the one holding the mirror,
all too happy to show you exactly
what you have always been. let it destroy
you: yet even that is too kind a fate.

your abhorrence festers within yourself,
your diseased and poisoned soul
eating away at the facade you built.
I'm tearing it down and exposing
your darkest fears and sins.



ii.

you are a brazen ballad of
burning bravado.

I'm done purging and
dissecting my soul for you.

you are not an enigma.
you are no daughter of the sun.
you are transparent.
you paint yourself in ashes;
desperate for resplendence.
I cannot stop you, darling.
just remember: I am the one
who taught you how to shine.

yes, it is true: I burnt you
with hands of unintentional
volatility. since my
transgressions; I have fasted,
wept, and atoned my sins.
yet desipte agreements,
promises of your forgiveness;
I have all but brought you
my head upon a platter.

I weigh my words upon a scale.
I do not wish to harm you again.
I am Atlas, pirouetting across
an endless sea of ice.
I dare not shatter you
with thoughtless words.
yet you have become a
threat to my own health.

I want nothing more than to repair
the frayed edges, yet I cannot
sew the tatters of fifteen years
with a single spool of thread.
restoration is not a one way street.

two weeks ago I bore my soul:
the fragility, voracity, my
undiltuted truth.
I forgave myself for what
I did in days past, at your behest.

it is, and shall never be enough.
no. not for the opulence
of a goddess. yet you are not
made of fire. you are ice.

opaque.

you have been nothing more
than a mirage. at least the truly
deceased only visit twice a year.
they don't leave unhinged promises.

“we could rebuild, recreate,”
and other half truths
you weave and sell.

you know just as well as I do, honey:
words are wind.
they do not bring warmth;
foster naught but sweet sighs
that shall never come to light.

your translucency is a beacon,
and you are the only one
unaware of how easy it is
to see through you.

I am truly sorry.
I am finished ripping open
the lining of my bones
to the lamenting cries
of unanswered echoes.

if ever your luster returns,
bringing substantial proof of
warmth, commitment; your needles
and thread: perhaps we can
recreate our tapestry.

until then, the silk shall remain
as it is: ravelled, fading,
matching your soul in every
transparent, powdery aspect.

If we could be
Anything

I'd hope that
One day

We would become
Like a pane of glass
held between

The waves of the ocean
And the clouds of the sky

You could taste the salt
And I could
Drown in the rain

We could be
As indefinable
As our translucency
As the sun set

And be as proud
As the night sky
Being able to say goodbye
To the blue
Blue
And spilling
Dark watercolors

Between the patches
Of green
With the underside of brown

There are two sides
To everyone
Every story
Every us
That makes us one

Let me see
The tide and the moon's reflection
Across the roaring ink
And I swear
To let you
Caress the lightning
Behind you