The ground beneath the stiff leaves is frozen. The cold, brisk air invades my lungs, I exhale, my breath visible. I step over fallen branches and tugged by thorny vines. A red tail hawk screeches overhead, this is a sign of good luck. There is no path, no trail to mark our way, just an old, flat railroad bed surrounded by walls of shale, blown up for the path of the train so long ago. The only ties to remind of the rail are the rotting, moss covered ties that once were a part of a bridge that would have carried the train over a small creek between two steep hills. I see a fox burrow, and it's escape hatch is one of the hollowed railroad ties. I want to be a fox... The trek down this hill is not easy, thorny blackberry bushes and fallen trees impede progress. At the bottom, the small, bubbly creek is frozen at the edges, traveling under rocks and continuing its ancient path. I look up the hill that I just descended, and wonder how the return will go. Keep moving. The next hill will be easier, there are no thorny tangles, just treacherous leaf litter that will give under my feet if I don't find the right footing. The trick is to dig my boots into the ground as if I'm on steps. These hills are steep. Finally at the top, I look back at this little spring valley, I'm not that high up, but what view. Here, there is a dilapidated tree stand, falling apart from years of neglect and weather. Surrounded by deep leaf litter, there is a patch of rich dark earth, a buck has marked his spot, his round pellets are nearby. The saplings catch my hair as I walk by, and at these moments I am thankful for this cold snap that took care of the ticks. A creepy feeling takes over me, so thankful for this snap. A few feet further, as I watch where I am walking, another tussled bit of earth and I notice some interesting ****. It's furry and light grey; I poke it with my stick and find a small skull when I turn a piece over. Owl. I continue my walk, I didn't come here to play with poo. The last time I took this hike was three years ago, on a similar frigid day. It was a lot easier to make it through the shale valleys. Last summer, a wind storm felled trees and took out power for two weeks. The evidence of that derecho is clear here in this untouched forest. I remembered a tree, which now is a fallen giant, that had lost it's bark. The bark had separated and laid around this tree like a woman's skirt around her ankles. Now the tree lies with it's bark. I pass another tree I recognize whose branch extends out but zig zags up and down, as if it had three elbows. The tree signifies my next move, to descend from the flat railroad bed, down to a creek that flows through the tunnel that would have carried the train. The creek is considerably larger than the last creek I could step across. Descending towards the creek leads me over moss covered rocks and limbs, still bearing snow. Outside the tunnel, the hill walls are large stones, covered in a thick layer of moss, some of which has started to fall off due to heaviness. There's a sort of ice shelf in the creek, it's three layers thick and can support my one hundred and twenty pounds. Laying across the creek is another derecho-felled tree. Some sort of critter has crawled on this, using it to avoid the water below and as a short cut up the hill. His claw marks are covering the the limb, a few are more clear, it looks as if the creature almost slipped off. His claw marks show a desperate cling. I walk through the tunnel, in the mud and water; the creek echoes inside. I look above. There are drainage holes lining the ceiling, one is clogged by a giant icicle. I imagine the train that used to ride over this tunnel, I pretend to hear it and feel the rumbling. The last time we were here, we found cow skeletons. We placed a few heads on branches and one over the tunnel. We stuck a jaw, complete with herbivore teeth, into the mossy wall and a hip bone on a sapling. The hip bone reminded us of Predator's mask in the movie. All these bones are turning green. When I was here before, there was a bone half submerged in the creek; I had taken a picture of it but today, it isn't here. I'm sure it was washed away. After our exploration of the previous visit, we turned back. We are cold again, can't stay in one place too long. I climb through the deep leaf litter and over the rocks back to the railroad bed. Passing all the things I've already seen and spotting things I missed. I find two more fox burrows. They utilized the shale rock and burrowed underneath the jutting formations. Hidden coming from the south, the gaping openings seem welcoming from the north. My friends, the spelunkers and climber, want to descend into the darkness but I remind them, it is an hour to sundown, our trek is hard enough with overcast daylight. Wisdom prevails. We pass a tree, we didn't notice before, that was struck by lightening. The cedar tree was split in two and fell down the shale wall. I see the evidence of the burn and a smoldered residue at the base. Nature has a cruel way of recycling. The downed tree still has snow on it and the path of a raccoon is visible, I like the paws of *****. Though the way is flat, the walls of shale tower above us, limiting routes. At one point I can't see through the fallen trees I have to pass through. I have to crab walk under, crawl over, duck again and find my way around the thorny collections of bare black berry bushes. Finally into a clearing, still surrounded by sharp shale, there is another wall covered in inches of thick, healthy moss. I place my hand, taking time to stroke the furry wall. My hand leaves an imprint. I wonder how long that will last.. Back down the steep hill up and up the thorny tangle. I know I'm on the right path up, I see the fox's hole through the railroad tie, and his entrance burrow up the hill. Going down was definitely easier. The summit is literally overgrown with thorns, there is no clear path through. It is, again, impossible to see through the tangle of limbs and saplings and more thorns. Somehow we make it through. We are close to breaking off this path. We know this by the remains of a cow skeleton that more than likely fell from the top of the shale cliff. Femurs and ribs and jaws abound. On the last trip, we placed a hip bone in the "Y" of a sapling. The young tree has claimed it, growing around it. We add a piece of jaw to the tree's ornamentation and move on. We climb down from the railroad bed to our car - parked on the side of the road with a white towel in the window so that no one suspects a group of people walking through private property, past faded NO TRESPASSING signs.

When I undress for bed later, there are many small scratches up and down my legs from those ****** thorny vines. I'm okay with that, it's better than searching for ticks in my head.

I'd like to think that she's thinking:

"How far have I fallen?"

As she sits on the corner of her bed,

Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.

I imagine her,

Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.

Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,

Then looking to her class ring,

Made entirely of imitation ingredients,

Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.


When she was still a friend of mine,

I never saw her wear make up,

I never saw her show off in tight jeans

or low-cut tees.


But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,

Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,

Next to the side door

that leads to his sister's side room.

The make up she wears

is from the night before.

It's skewed and shows evidence of running,

Like a wasted watercolor.


I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,

And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.

I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,

He's in grey sweatpants,

He's wearing a black tank top,

With a Confederate flag backdrop,

With two barely dressed babes looking ******

in the foreground.


His hair, unwashed and greasy.

He rubs his belly,

And bears an idiot grin

on his face.

Looking like he just learned how to smile

at this pace.

"Did it feel good?"

feel good.

After he asks, he scans her body,

Beginning at those crimson toes,

And Ending at that clumsy hair.

Every second he scans,

He still wears that drawn-on

Idiot grin.


I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.

Of my warnings and prophesy.

Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,

Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.

And finally reach the only thing she has on,

A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.

A t-shirt, when given by him,

It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".


Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,

During last night's expedition.

He still paid her back with a morning

one-sided session.

"It felt good" she says.

In reference to the ten minute *******,

When her body was strummed and plucked,

Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.


As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,

On a bed that is six days *****,

While he is grinning,

Being everything but wordy.

I'd like to think she's thinking:

"How far have I fallen?"

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(the reasons why you’ll never know),
whisked away in winter’s winds, your sleeping sighs remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Well, I’ve often made my way
within the dark before the day,
but it’s never that I’ve ever felt this lonely.
So I leave this parting note,
the first farewell I ever wrote,
though these lines embody more than farewell only.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll find you’ll never know,
concealed in clouds of untamed clover, tussled hair reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Alas, my love has grown too strong
for I’ve lain with you so long
with your every need perceived, though never spoken.
’n as I try to disengage,
I’m like a tiger in a cage,
hesitating ’fore a padlock hanging broken.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(across a bridge you’ll never know),
to quench abandoned burning hills, your yearning lips remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Should you wake and shed a tear
finding me no longer here,
save your weeping for another, not so ghostly.
’n if you scan the spangled sky,
as you ache when asking why,
realize ’twas really you I wanted mostly.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(reshuffling cards you’ll never know),
defying fate beneath the stars, your diamond eyes remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Shun the shadows in the late
disappearing through your gate,
aghast and groping through their early morning sorrows,
like the echoes of my thought,
flitting, fleeting, overwrought,
as reflected in the realms of vague tomorrows.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(’n what I’ll see you’ll never know),
pursuing pebbles on a beach, your freckled nose reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Should you glimpse a troubled form
within a restless ruby storm,
turn your collar 'gainst the wind and never follow.
For by then it’s much too late
(yes the distance far too great)
and you’d only find the feathers of a swallow.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(along a road you’ll never know),
adrift on half-forbidden paths, your slender back reminds me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Should you yearn once more to tease,
unleash your breath upon a breeze
’n let the whispered winds of yesterday caress me,
and perchance recall the time
(when our love was in its prime),
I relied upon your laughter to possess me.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(’n it’s so hard you’ll never know),
entwined in twirls of fortune’s wheel, embracing arms remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Once I was yours and you were mine
sipping pearls of purple wine –
except these haunting hints, there’ll be no spectres chasing.
’n if the flashbacks grow acute,
I’ll strum the strings upon my lute
subduing bygone ancient ghosts, still standing, facing.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n what I’ll hear you’ll never know,
though echoed in a thousand drums, your throbbing ******* remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Well, the candle by my side
has now melted down and died,
though its fire blazes on within the mirror.
And the clock behind the door
is throbbing, pounding with a roar,
as my moment to depart approaches nearer.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(along a shore you’ll never know),
engulfed in deep and distant tides, your restless thighs remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

But I’ll take along the ring,
the one you carved for me in spring,
though it journeyed as an orphan on my finger.
And I’ll hang it from my neck
while I ***** a lonesome trek,
as a keepsake of your ardor, while it lingers.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go
(’n what I’ll see you’ll never know),
immersed in fields of flowers wild, your amber eyes remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
phantom memories a’ chasing close behind me.

Now I’ll kiss your sleeping eyes
ere I mount the blushing skies
as I bid farewell, adieu, in morning’s splendour.
Then I’ll fade within the haze,
immured in miles of my own maze
as I wander, breaking chains of love’s surrender.

I’m on my way, I’ve got to go,
’n when I rue you’ll never know
the pulsing passions of the past and shadows that remind me.
And I’ll ramble where I please,
sometimes slipping to my knees,
till the phantoms start a’ fading far behind me.

Come, prize this serpentine tongue;
in where men have been known to vagabond.
Why fancy so  l   o   n   g
                               in secret?
Only to deny your landscape,
unto barren desert.
Dared to venture these dark hallways,
where knocked on doors would be answered;
yet your desire remains tussled.

The salty breeze
Such a nostalgic smell
As we comb the beach
Looking for shells

As the gulls overhead
Squawk and they cry
We lie in the sun
Not a cloud in the sky

All these unique rocks
As far as can see
And each of them has
Their own story

My hair always tussled
By the breeze
I walk and I smile
And I look out to sea

These lines on my crevice create chances
Massif trials I must triumph through
Alligning to parallel stigmas creating balance
I must find the power that denotes truth

I tussled my way in thrusting bricks of trust
Between the seams of pride
Throwing away fragments that denies
Death is so near but I feel so alive

Whatever it takes I will pull through
Miracles & Luck I've always believed
Fighting every enmity that ruptures me
Denying that I'm dying is my bulletproof

I dare to dream
I dare to believe
Igniting the fire in my heart
Flames of courage within me
I will fly like a lark
Burning through the dark

So take my hand and you will see
Just how simple it is
*If you just do it
If you just believe

Sprinkles of golden dust frame those months.
Your delicate fingers.
Endless, strawberry kissed rainfall.
City lights drowned in a star tinted mist.
Cinnamon secrets.
Freedom soaring beside your wind tussled hair.
Honey flavoured kisses.
Sand powdered clothes and sun bleached love that faded too fast.
But that's just it:
It faded. And now there's nothing left.

1+1=2
This is what my teacher taught me
As I sat in class with blond pigtails trailing down my back
And dreams as big as the endless sky
Dancing through my child mind.

1+1=1
This is what you taught me
As my hair hung loose and long down my back
And I lost myself in those deep, brown eyes
As the silver moon watched our slow, slow grind.

1+1=3
This is what our son taught me
As my hair lay tussled and messy down my back
And the hospital room filled with newborn cries
As I held his tiny hand in mine.  


*What will the next lesson be?

She spilled lengthy prose,
      believing words would
bandage her inadequacies.

Enrapt,
   I tussled
loose threads
     of her rhetoric
in a feeble attempt at intimacy–

not realizing
   Andromeda would love anyone
     who had pried her free from the rock.

To be honest
I don't know if I'll ever meet you
Fate's suppressing everytime
With its twist at the end
It's either the end or the beginning

She chose your name
Preluding to your birth
Waiting for the day
You come to this earth
We never stop talking about you
I'm just hoping you'll be her mirror
So your eyes will mesmerize
Every norm in disguised

I vow if you are mine
I'll be the best that I could ever be
I'll be your canopy
I'll be the light that shines through-
The glass that protects you
When life throws you knives
Know that I'll catch every single one
I'll miss one from time to time
But eventually as you'll grow older
You'll know why

I can't fathom
Seeing you for the first time
That cry will rupture
Every enmity in me
And when you open your eyes
That little spark will light
The void in my heart
I'll let you hold me as you clutched-
Your hands around my pinky

A promise sealed,
To never forget us
That our bond is eternity

Our love for you
Will be endearing
Our love for you
Will never be any less
Through the tussled waves of fate
Bounded by our neverending will
We will always keep you safe

Always remember E
As much as I love your mother
I will always love you the same.

you were a reckless tearaway arriving
to take the heat with a debt reckoning
in Sunday skies marked for duckbill clips
of dark filled entries on its balance sheet
a challenging force I felt I had to account for
a raincheck that I wanted to cash in on
before the heavens opened and blew me away
knocking at my door for a riot of rebellious
adult licence needed
love to be let in

you agree we meet outside in the gathering storm
for there's a multitude of conflicts to be resolved
stark contradictions and that's what excites
with you there's upsetting imbalance involved
upending equilibrium with blunt direct questions
and reactions like a Luddite with the mind of a librarian
so that I never quite know where you're coming from
but know the answer is next
written bold on the sheet
which has your signature on
I predict with a scrawl
but that you think
is kinda neat

"throw me every strain of emotion you can pick up"
and you do and your wake never lets me down
propelling a wet film wind machine
should I withstand its crazed delivery?

those sheets of rain that blew in
off the bay
you always try
your best to tear
across
I feel them shooing the air
into my lungs
winding up branches faster and faster
like a toy plane rubber band
dancing in my hair
this way then your way
until it stood on end
scared
to not go on and on
the way of so many plucking ideas
drawn from the spoils
of let's-play-chicken arts
found on the tables of tattoo parlours
when the shades roll down
and pages flick quickly as dices roll out
extremes in exfoliating salon sport
close shaving loose leaves off every hairpin bend
and scratching the bald patch
ever more bold
as if you liked transplanting bulbs
follicles in deep crimson beds
of eye poppy temperatures gone wavering

impossible to ignore in a flash of eye shadow
from a bouncy bobbing weaving
pony tale conductor
keen to take on electric vaults
showing me a pair of high heels
whatever
I ****** at your scurrying reins
my grasp like a wind slipping
through a shake of tussled vanes
black curls of wild abandon
whipped up into a shift dress
in shades of grey flight
centred in misplaced miss red
lipstick outline worn to a fade
over the top of the roots
rushes **** the breeze with pollination
as full on as a full Brazilian headdress
collected from a gazillion dipping flowers
a rainbow opening to shower off
it's end in privacy
high pitched screens

little cover in those shorts of ours
from a summertime blanket of rain
which you turned up to cloud my thighs
always thrown over and folding your way
ace-of-***** cards played torn
and ragged with bare laced love
thrown down with on-the-river sneers
cornered with those winking semi-colon smiles
open ended to point out the end will be fun
but I get your gusting gist in the mean time
determined to wheedle the worst in me out
which looking up is on its way now
and when the lightning will stop dancing
is a rough reckoning I'm not ready to say
but in the eye of this exciting storm
it's clear
not tissues not anything
need wipe these slate skies clean
from our trail blaze
my tearaway

knee high sea of grass
tussled like groomed fur
  spry winds lashing
distribution of lifted seeds
life in correspondence

Scoffed Pink pigtails nestle on rusted wire.
Captives  and their butterflies,
borrow hope till  dawn .
Way back they surrendered their dignity.
Hallowed chapters of  Collegiate sobriety
tussled  wearing a dress like a **** of hay.
How can they un- burden future  perception?
I know of the fire storm back home
but the expectancy is forgone
Extended with shame
Pink Rayon complies disparagingly
already moribund.

There was a particularly nasty looking garden spider
Crawling up the cracked molding of my window
Not that he looked particularly nasty compared to other spiders
In fact, up close, spiders are one of the wisest looking creatures that exist

But I don't have eight eyes like the garden spider
So I can't see that without the help of a camera lens
So to me, he just looked
Nasty

Buzzing from behind my curtain
A particularly nasty looking yellow jacket
Landed next to the spider
I didn't need a camera lens
Close up or far away
Some things are just
Evil

The spider must have sensed this too
With a leap
He grappled the wasp
And they tumbled
Buzzing
To my uneven hardwood floor
Landing with a small
Distinct plink

And I stood over them
While they tussled

As I have stood over a million things

Watching with glazed indifference
While creatures purer in their existence than I
Fought for their lives

I could see that the spider was doing poorly
The yellow jacket was giving it to him in the abdomen
Jamming his stinger in and pulling it out and jamming it in again
Until the spider started leaking white and green
And started fighting less and less

The yellow jacket
Smugly victorious
Save one crippled wing
Started to putter away
But I brought a rolled up newspaper down on the both of them
Like a pillar falling from the front of some great Roman temple
When the Gauls sacked it

Retracting the paper
They had both been reduced to wet smudges
I felt bad for killing the spider
I wish I could have trapped him in cup with a card over the top
And placed him outside on a leaf in the garden
So he could rule where he was meant to

But I considered it an act of mercy
I couldn't stand to see a noble being end like that
And you should always ***** out evil
If you have an opening

I sat back on my bed
Considering it a wash
A bit of beauty for a bit of order
As it has always been

Our eyes are near
and my heart is hot
but your stare is cold —
a thousand miles away

Your words are clear
and time has stopped
there's nowhere to go
my thoughts are broken and blurred

Sweet lips, your sweet lips
Carry such a bitter sound...

I'm floating in place with
no lover to face

trembling, trembling
trembling heart space

I'm spinning in circles
looking for miracles

and it's proving to be
horribly difficult

Trying to fly
with no wings to spread

I crumble and cry
a song for what's dead

the sound of alarms
ring in my head

the sound of alarms
ring in my head...

I'm trying so hard
I don't know what to do

My heart is aching
thinking of you

A small square of paper
sits on my tongue

With razor sharp edges
and tasting of dung

It takes me to spaces
deep in my mind

Where there's too many places
and not enough time

I've been drowned in guilt
and I'm suspended in shame

Repeatedly killed
like in a video game

Written upon
the sharp paper square
are words for destruction
and guilt and despair

It's a trip like no other
you won't even feel high
you'll feel like a bother
and just want to cry

Drifting in place
dead in deep space

You left me here with
tears on my face

Crystalline droplets
scintillating pearls

spinning in circles,
spirals, and swirls

Why did you think
to leave me alone

at the cold ugly brink
a frost to the bone

the cold hard shoulder
feels far colder
than a lifeless boulder
I'm cold, I'm
cold

I speak with my music
and these notes are my words
My harp is my voice
and these strings are the cords

I try hard to play
But you've cut them all off
My harp is left bare
naked, unstrung

I'll move all the pedals
But unto what end?
I can't speak my heart
I can no longer pretend

It's time to stand up
and take a great bow
Walk off the stage
The end is —
.....

and
There is a silence
in the mist, hidden
between the little
droplets, whispering
rivers of soft words from
past lovers evaporated~
.....

together
we held hands
and in our palms
we held time

and we ran away
from the rising sun
so we could see it
rise forever

but we grew tired
and we slowed down
and the sun sped up
and time was slipping
between our fingers
dripping
from our knuckles

and together we ran
we ran away toward
the setting sun
as fast as we could
but we were too tired...

and
you showered me in
silky sheets of glowing lovelight
you embraced me with
warm rays of shimmering soulshine

you pushed and pulled my ocean's tides
in and out like a lilting melody
making love to a perfect harmony

but slowly you
drifted away
into space
to shine on new rocks
leaving me cold my
ocean waves
still...

and
For the longest time
I wanted to thank you, thief
for stealing my heart.

I thought it'd be better off
in someone else's hands anyway,
because I sure as hell
didn't take good care of it.

Can you tell me about the time
you carefully held it close?

because I'm sure
that you can remember that
because that's all you want
to remember.

It was your
little pet.

and I can't tell you
how much it meant to me
that you found it so
intriguing...

but I can't tell you
how much it hurt when
it stopped being something special
and started being
just another animal

Don't you remember
how much fun you
had with it?
Mm..

But you don't remember
watching it struggle
to breathe in
and out?

Because it seems like
despite that

all I can remember now
is your tightening grip
suffocating it
carelessly
and your acidic lip
spouting seemingly
ceaseless
abuse

Tell me about the time
you played with it
until it was broken
and it bored you

Because I can sure
remember that.
but can you?...

Oh!
Batshit crazy,
Batshit soup.
Am I just lazy,
or caught in a loop?

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
****!

Love is not a competition,
Love is not a game!
You see me as a player,
and it's a downright shame!

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup!
I am totally lazy,
and caught in a loop-die-loop?!

Glass houses
Baseball games
Angels wings and tar
SEPTA lines and pine trees
Can take you pretty far

Love is not a competition,
Love is not a war!
and acting like a soldier
is really quite a chore!

Silly souls
Wacky words
Dragonflies and tar
I want to make some art with you
but I don't know how you are!

and
it's
Just another slide
down the razor blade
of life! into a bowl
of sour owl ****...

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup!

Am I crazy,
or am I caught
in a loop?

Razor blades
Razor blades
Razor blades
****!

and you are
ribbed, but uncaged, and
you read like a book broken,
with a cracked spine, snapped,
always opening to
the same page

the wrinkles stacked
dendritically, along the
ragged column, show
where you were split,
down the seam,
in a fervent attempt
to be figured out

your leaves are worn,
dog eared, and torn,
with words used, and
defiled

unadorned,
sickly souls

forlorn figures,
sitting silently

wishing and waiting,
no kissing or playing

it seems that you've left me,
and you're all I want to read...

blistering sunsets
burn my skin

I watch the ball of love
get further from me,
falling a w a y

It was always out of reach,
but I could feel it's warmth!
as long as it was in sight,
but, no longer

It forms rivers from dry wells.

In it's absence
it has them brimming,
now overflowing, down
channels of skinclay
wrinkles

they run deeper,
than the roots of
the tallest trees,
falling slower, than
the softest cries,
unheard

rocky river ways
froth from the mouth,
splashing and bubbling
in maniacal sadness —

silent white water rapids...

Tussled and unkempt,
shriveled livers beg for mercy!
hidden behind layers of rotting drywall

a rusty sledgehammer.

—unused

You may want to take me inside
but your mind is a million dripping daggers
perpendicular to the infinite edges
of my circular paradigms.

your cold soul wraps around me
like a chainmail suit.

I want to love it, as
it's supposed to love me, but
it's heavy and pinches every fiber
of my existence

and why should I wear it
when I want to run into love
completely naked?

My name is derived from Tyrant
I would say you should have expected it
but I am not one to take someone's heart
that is the ultimate crime.

Can't you see that you've stolen your own?
Look in the mirror! Unfurl your ****** fists.

Now my fingers are ablaze with hellfire!

and
My unseen tears
condense onto windowpanes
as they're smashed open by codependent assumptions.

Blinding
blunt force flashlights
shatter sharp shards of light
across the darkest crevices
of my soul.

Impatience
and uncertainty
leads to reactionary behavior.

Do not plant flowers
in the gardens of someone
who cannot take care of their
own plants.

Their soil is unsaturated
with nutrients.

How can you expect to enjoy the fruit of their love?

I am a withered plot.
I am the dead of winter.

No one is interested in how it has died.
They are only upset that they can no longer feed themselves.

What you see is what you get.

Dipped under the current
smoothed pebbles mud-slide
down the creak's entryway
into the lake.
Depositing into the soil
only to be tussled about by our waves.
We swim vigorously
reaching for stability
breathing deeply,
accepting black dirt
filling our mouth
and claiming our lungs.
Striking against my body
was a warrior in pain.
As if healing only meant
pushing others
far away.
Floating down the stream
of confounding affection,
tree branches, and silt
barricade the movement
of my recollection,
of the pebble to the lake,
how far we've swum without
claiming our state.
Looking the other way,
we allowed it.
Further and further out,
knowing we could only swim so far,
we kept our hearts under t
                                               h
                                                 e
                                                   surface.
And our thoughts stranded at bay.

Inspiration
Pure and Just,
Swiftly Comes

Thoughts of You
Thoughts of Us,
Tussled Sheets
Tussled Hearts,
Twined within Us
Twined with Art

Terrible Seasons
Terrible Nights,
Tore the Heartstrings
Tore Us,
Took the Light
Took my Sight

Inspiration
Pure and Just,
Briefly Lasts

Bovine like he sits
maybe he has to ****
            the only reason i can think of
            that would warrant the stupid look on his face
speaking with urgency
and an andalucian lisp
he slouches in his chair to lessen his discomfort

And the large african queen'the proud mother gorilla
who shows up late everyday
then doesn't speak spanish
at all
es interesante

cow-boy now gets up
scampering out of class
relief in sight
past the starry eyed portraiture
of the girl reminiscent of the head of a young woman with tussled hair
carrying her emotion in her eyes

or maybe she's just ******

a morning bowl was nice today
the leaves almost at their peak
in terms of chlorophyllic changes at least

She tussled and fought,
squirmed and wiggled,
the ends of her hairs
oh how they tickled.
She smelled of sugar and spice
like purple haze,
remy martin,
and bubblicious ,
the sins of life...
Everything nice.
Her lips drove me crazy
I could smell the cherry
dying to be burst,
I'm going to save this one
as she fights
I squeeze,
As she bites
I likes,

A woman...
I found a woman
Cuz she won't
just give it up....

How to keep her safe????
thats gonna be hard to explain,
I can see it in her face......

Igniting my anger
Scarring my skin
Pulling my hair
Making a noose
With the
Strands

You drive me up a
Brick wall
Straight into
Insanity

Boiling blood
Red in the face
Screaming
Spitting
Rage

How can you
Justify our
"Friendship"

How can you
Say it's all been
"Forgotten"

My temperature
Rises
I glare at your
Ragged clothing
You live out of your
Piece-of-**** Jetta
Homeless and
Hopeless

Oh, how I despise you
Ex-lover
Ex-friend
Ex-human being

I shrill out in disgust
Just admit it
I mean nothing
To you
These days

That's not true
You retort
Getting off your
Makeshift stool
From fourth grade
Outside your old
Home

Your finger slams into me
Poking my soul
Just get the ****
Away from me
Already

Speechless
Full of emotion
Acting without
Thinking

I slapped your
Face
And we tussled
'Til dawn
'Til the problems
Were solved


But

I still despise you
Ex-lover
Of mine

And you still
**** me with
Every line

Your leaving
Scribbled ripples
In my bedsheets
A tragedy in drapery.

Where between each fold
crashed
       sighed sonnets,
and from
every ruffle
poured
our trickled
        love notes.

And the swell of your
hips unmade
my bed into tussled art.
And the peach
of your lips
drew a tide of
ache
   from mine.

Now I ache
  in my reading
   the brushstrokes
        of your absence.

They say that in order to truly hate someone
There had to be a lot of love there to begin with
And I think about the times you would sing to me in the car
How we would dance in the kitchen while cooking dinner
All the times I'd fall asleep with your hand stroking my hair
Those moments were tender and felt so real
But how is it love when you scream in my face
When your words drip venom and your fists are clenched
Love is not violent
Love does not breed hate
I don't know how you can separate the tenderness and the poison
How do I wrestle with two realities at the same time
I struggle often with my own guilt
I never wanted to hurt you
How do you sleep at night
With the memory of your hands around my throat
How were they the same hands that tussled my hair at night
The same hands that cupped my sweaty face after birth
The same hands that softly grip our daughter's
In case you're wondering I can't sleep at all
Some say we become obsessed with our abuser
How can we not
Survival mode does crazy things to our minds
I'm tired of the madness

The noise of the seashore.
Screaming summertime children, drown out their decibels.
Those thieving flaming seagulls.
Still they hover over seaside dives.
Humming, squawking on the rob.
Fearless pirates steal from the unwary.
Not mysterious albatross or any sailor boys
These birds,they are true ancient mariners.
Sail not upon the sea, but bathe in harbour lights.
Flying on the warming drift.
Carried on sunshine.
Immense, scary birds.
Just to pinch a pasty.
Cornering a cornet, the eater hath no place to hide.
Tussled and tangled in flowing summer hair.
They want your pasty,  you are their victims and  they really do not care.
Fearless Herring gulls, not just after shining fish!
(C) Livvi

I caught the kiss of the weekend

throwing my paper plane

into April’s surreal refuge

philosophizing from a tattered

hammock stitched of rainbow

legs let sway pendent

toes feather touch dusting

lapping as brush strokes

tickling blades of tender Fescue

where unruly plants

begin to heave

haloed vines at the Sun

tongue jutting from pucker

sprouting at lip’s edge

swift nimble fingers cavorting

under cumulonimbus explosions

origami romance slouched

geometric in the backyard

letting the symmetry of the mind

crease the leisure of the day

into colored paper

all of those delicate planes

all of my tiny moods

each an intelligence

spanning the spectrum

fashioned the moth to the flame

then unfurled came the Buzz

The Sprinter, The Stable

a Sea Glider in eight folds

the Hunting Flight of epic distance

then acrobatics of the Royal Wing

psychedelic parchment for The UFO

100% bond paper persisted

for the Eagle Eye and White Dove

enraptured in the moment

my mind came to insight

before the wind up and the pitch

before she can split the winds

I must know the sinews intimately

before she may bathe her

formation in the sky

spread wings and dance the distance

I must delve to atomic intricacies

search further like an arrow

to the soul of her dynamic

watch her parallels unfold

between Earth-measured aspects

and the indispensable

prism of her goddess shape

my hands began to weave

stories in foreign tongues

melodies I’ve never had the voice to sing

knuckles Mamboing sign language

in rhythms the Universe has yet to show

the dusk horizon eclipsed

by stars and a paper wish

blessed trajectory

through the tussled hush

that hugs the wilted pergola

a well-folded fantasy

hung up where the faded pinwheel

spins it’s humming silver

the season’s scents

standing in a prayer circle

amid ice cubes slumping

collapsing in mason jars

ales foaming in pint glasses

hugging the shifting night air

melting and mending with the metaphor

of God and the cacophony of frogs

these days finessed from fingertips

that lock hands with shapes

built by children

hideaways kissed with dreamers lips

folded secret love notes

tucked between privacy fences

there were said prayers

upon those movements

upon my lawn

unfolded suburban satori

hands bent to mudras

giving imagination’s cursive voice

and it went outward that day as such

a breath, a meditation, a spiritual gesture

How do you make your triangular squares,
Spin into yellow circles?

First they were blue,
And, before I knew,
It, they were fading into pinks,
Unglued.

I've tussled with logic,
Inside of my pocket,
Picking you slowly apart.

Now, I've given in,
That's it - You win.

Poetic - Your soul is an art.

It was the child within the woman
Who could not let the heart believe
That a mere man could be so trusted
Without reason or reprieve

So they tussled through emotion
To see his thoughtfulness unveiled
But left invisible, unnoticed
It was the child who had prevailed

So the woman's barren heart
Bled in oceans on the floor
As once again she was transparent
Behind the tears which she endured

And so this man who claimed to love her
Called her Goddess, his living dream
Proved indubidably that in the heart
However pure, lives perfidy

“Do not worry my love. You’re with me now.”
I smoothed down her tussled curls
and carried her towards my bed.
Sweat smeared the insides of my elbow
coming from the fold of her bent knees.
Again she screamed
and struggled against me
but I held her fast.

“I can’t let you go my love. You are my chosen one.”
My eyes widened with the realization
that I have finally gotten what I need
and more
was still to come.
She became still as if in shock.
Her lips pressed together in a hard line
and like child she went into herself
thinking that she would block the coming
experience
from her mind.
But there was no place for her to go,
for not even in the recesses of her mind
would I let her go.
She would feel everything
that I gave to her,
and in the end she would
thank me.

I am death,

and it was her time to leave this earth,
this was my way.

I laid her down
and her whimpering became less.
Her eyes were moist
and glistening with unshed tears.
“How beautiful you look.”
I whispered in her ears.
My lips closed around her lobe
pulling
down on the cold skin.
Could she feel my growing heat against her?
Each wrist I bound
each ankle I tied,
I will not let you get away my love.
“I want to share myself with you.”
I kissed her chin
I kissed her eyes
and warmed my hands against her *******.
She whined
I soothed her.
“Don’t cry my love. Don’t shed unnecessary tears.”
I looked her over slowly
lingering on her *******
gingerly
touching her heat,
which I could feel pulsing beneath me palm.
She wants me.
I knew she would.

Staring into her eyes
I could see the fear that
I wanted,
could she see the lust
reflected in mine?

Dandelions thrash to the opening chorus of rattle clank by the chain links
yellow heads bobbing
tussled mops of white ****** back defiantly into the wind
until they lean against one another
exhausted and bald

Foxtails sway
feathered limbs thrumming
raised in the air like they just don't care
drumming to the beat of highway traffic
never alone
but gathered together in tight clusters
wary of outside influence

Thistles nod to smoother tunes
the conservative hemming in the edges
seeming almost out of place
until they throw down with their true colors
sporting mohawks in ever shade of purple

The show ends with deep shades of night
falling like a curtain to quiet the floral concert

Until dawn when the show goes on