Studying the 'Base', 'Hypotenuse', and 'Height'
of a triangle,
My mind recalls what I witnessed in
that sensual night,
You were like an unconceived mathematical notion,
I a novice in geometry trying to draw a straight line
Of kisses on your shivering body,
How fragile those attempts were,
How lovely to see them fail,
Lying idle on the bed like a base of a building
I lured you to stood high above me,
And your hands pressing my chest as a ladder,

We're affixed like a right-angled triangle
Dizzy, and drunk exploring our area of love.

I do love
But it ain't quite
like the Discovery Channel!!!

I want so much more than
the collective desire of Park Avenues

I believe like,

With exactly no doubt
like zero are the hours
which can never count
upon the seamlessness
of my perceptions

I do but I don't
I am and therefor not

I talk in mirrored tongues
I observe in uncanny detail

Micro and macro all a flow
overly ever rushing torrents
moving galaxies about

Pouring in
more rushes out

You can picture it
over the mighty edges of
and rushing to, fro and about
every swirling an obstacle stout

Though such knows not
one another in such ways
inseparable upon one journey

As She manifests from her he, Self
He's giving for he gets the She of,

An ever persuasive passionate,

Play... .. .

Greater than the dreams

We know of love yet
Shy to conceive

They, their passion
.........
  .....
   ...
    "
    '
We inwardly receive

Those torrential lovers
pourings do spillover
and on and over
and rush upwards
ah ever more easily!!!

Vast sensualities
******* rhythms
of this a, Our universe
in micro exotic intoxicating
allure, irresistibly entwining
the smallest tastes and teases
of songbirds loving symphonies

As butterfly and a bee in the ever
sweet scents of psychedelic sighting
wavings in ever inviting ever ripening
ever flows of heavens manna sweets, but
sours the way short where some say sinners
ought never see or be, though such is silliness see,

For such shy glimpses of what is less than momentary
which is not countable, when our greatnesses will carry on
beyond our redemptions of what only we shall see clearly so
simply, one day twas the dark night of a soul, here blasphemed
about the sacredness of all ever evident being so close found fondly,

Sweetly, though lost in those ever aching wishes of our journeying together

Would death be ****** abandonment at all a freaky thing unconceived
dark night of the great light conceived viewed in our ever grace and beauty
but she lets you feel her he's and all the glory, all the glory an unrealized being
in all our collectiveness has not yet seen but in the depths of where it's consider dark
for simple decisions we all have and must have made to function here, there

and at all,
at once...

No time, no space, no EMC squared's
yet in Newtonian fashion the soul spirit remains
carries on in infinite motion and motions of our choosings
and for better and worse we do all about the same for we
were never thrilled about all the separation we discovered
in reluctance and or in blessed joys of great companies
of loving hearts, eyes, ears, arms with tender loving
caring hands of nurture enough twas enough for
you are still here now and those who have not
have forgiven all other misguidance eagerly
when it is easily found tis only our own
choice to be and set free freely

And I can want any petty desire too
and put myself up for adoption to,

The petting zoo
and you...

For hell yeah I want to be here
all the way and with you
my wayfarers

I Do...

do do dee da da
oo la la and ma mama

childs all of such grace
we oft just call gods

And greater love seen
dispensed philosophically
by self proclaimed atheism's

Denialism can rather be the truth
of atheism, self pitying so deeply
resenting the here now for some
overly wishful thinkings and
of mournful emotionalism's
about the 'it just ain't fairs'

Beware they will take you
to their wheres, wearing
their wares of self hate
while glossfully
painting in
glitterings
of fools
gold

Feign not thou
we are co conspirators
already decidedly agreed
agreeably dancing on the sharp
end of one pointed pin, hand holding

But remember if we were ever shaken
off of binding bonds ever closefully as
the chasms of divergences really are

We still ever dance ever lightly on
the everly fine poignancy of pin

And the illusion of being
garden casted for some
shamefully blameful
denials of the snakes
sly fashion to even
ones need of feed

And or wither from
the long and short
of journey with
the ever's of

here now...

Paradise
Perfectly

Paradoxically

In our
every
way

So I am
in great hunger
greater thirst firstly

For the one great illusion
desert stricken for not seeing
the forest of paradise for every
tree and every grace of all possibility

Without such would come from impossibility*

Once Again...

my heart is not a game
it is as serious as life can be
and though it can laugh
it will not compete for love
nor will it wander aimlessly

the reflection of a distant pond
but its light knows the dark
it is unafraid to be alone
a newborn knows no one
nor the hole a ***** will part

it remembers the past
and how it once did love
but that is a movie now
with characters so young
and futures unconceived of

tell me how it can be
are you right, will I be free;
free to live my purpose
then to find you waiting there
to love what is inside of me

do not try to play my heart
though it is an instrument
hear the music it makes
believe in the faith of sound
to you, it has already been sent

Day one,
and there was light.
A path out of chaos.
A radiant beam of hope.
I opened my eyes to the unconceived.
A fiery hand
touched my palm,
leading me to unknown paths.
Ninth hour of the morning!
I was born in the sea.
I am unvisible, unseen.
Plankton they call me.
Chance met shells
and anemones my companions.
I played with the sand,
was one with the waves,
sipped at oxygen and salt.
The Eternal God told me:
"Before night comes you will have become food".

I didn't unedrstand it.
I was afraid
"You are unfinite.
You will be reborn in the morning".
This reassured me.
But who can wait for the morrow?
I saw a glowing star.
It slipped to the horizon.
"That must be my soul
ready to take flight.
The Moon laughed at me with bitterness.
"I' m sorry for that".
Weeping,
I drifted into the redeeming arms of sleep
Day two.
Morning.
Death spat me into the bowels of a great whale.
It is called "Leviathan".

I am reborn.
"I inhabit a green seaweed.
It tickles my body and I arise".
I saw the light which transpierced me.
Creation is a cycle.
Creation in its cycle engenders All.

Wrest my head from this,
a twinge as illusive as pins.
Rake the bottom lore,
as off the mark as 'sins'.

I'm neither lessened
nor strengthened,
I reek of applemore and soot.
I draw and I leave unconceived.

I grow without practice.
I denote without lye.
I smile hopeless, with gladdened reprieve.

My pallbearer whistles,
and thinks of my joke.
I painted enough. He believes.

Turn tears now to grinning,
as I've learned the unbluff.
May I end this long night with a seed.

I remember your breathtaking portrait.
Your eyes were horizon-blue, awake and ignited in love with a modern man.
In a modern era a love so hot you’re prepared to grieve it 
for the rest of your life
Just to dance in its fire until it fades.
You burst forth and lit the fuse,
Loving hot and working feverishly to emerge and
Forge futures for your daughter and I.
But her father burnt out young,
And his ashes lured her into a shivering, toxic sleep.
In that future she also loved a man she would widow young.

She has felt the cold fire of snow on her face
Passed or thrown out onto the ground
But I can’t tell you if she ever felt that love again.
I won’t tell you about all the cats and dogs she slept with
Or how she threw me and threw at me and all through me
To the sheriffs in a wild state.
Then, with you, she lost love in the last person who loved her.
Her voice cracked and shaded when you couldn’t remember her name.
She drowned both of our spirits and we slept poor, wet, drunk.
These decades have tired her body
And I refused to allow its cold hollow eyes near mine.

Asleep, I consumed myself with the loves of men and the grief for each love.
I ate and breathed men and fever-dreamed through relationships.
I aimed poisoned golden robes at lovers thrown with a motor’s velocity
And then ran loud red lights smoldering through hot teared eyes
With the unsober intention to silence us both in the burning frost of February.
Hate veiled all reason and hystericized my being and thirsted for more:
More prohibited liquor than I could ever nurse it with
More pills than the pock-nosed doctor would give when he
Sliced open the belly of a howling wild animal mother me.
Many more.

And when I died I awoke in ice and raged my way to the surface of the Styx.
It was there I emerged warm and wet next to a modern man who reminds me of you.
I fell and I rose through our molten love and forged myself within it.
We, in a worn and unwealthy future still love and work for our unborn daughters
As hotly in dynamic color as you did in crisp black and white.

Through him and through you I can love her again.
And when our daughter bursts through, undrugged and undoctored,
She will incite her own century’s hot voltaic Spring,
In a pyrotechnic era of alive and alert daughters,
Gaining ground and dimension and speed,
Because she will know our love.
I wish you could see the horizon in your daughter’s eyes
When she sees our yet unconceived apple of discord.
I hope the warmth will awaken her, and she will emerge and forge herself
And know again the good rage of a fiery and awake love
Worth grieving.

So many ideas you have conceived
Either at work or leisure,
But you have not perceived, the idea of me.
I am the idea, unconceived, the idea of anti reason,
Upheaval-tumaltuous and juxtaposition.

I will break the old piece by piece
and create the new step by step, bit by bit.
i will stop the working of the logic and the reason,
with all the justification.

bold and assiduous like a young hip
our glowing silence tears the air
the unconceived truth of blood
you wander around my chest as if in a
procession towards the delirium of spring
my wrists have no dream to hide
the eyes confess: falling skies are crushing
stone by stone the world in which you didn't exist
my body buried in light
an orderless language, the rest is details

There once came a tale that didn’t want to be told.
It shuddered in the light of the voices decrepit and old,
That tried to conjure it at the peripheries of its boundaries.
But it fought back lingering in its formation in the foundries.  
It would not be cast so easily like metal,
It would not be set so willingly in stone,
It would float on the tip of the tongue a fragranced petal,
It would bounce on the edge of the mind an ineffable tone.
Never drifting too close to anyone’s ear,
It remained in the distance away from the sages and scribes,
Always aware of its greatest fear,
To be misinterpreted by the way a human describes.
For who in all of creation has the ability to tell a story such as this?
With all the glory and irreverence so subtly intertwined,
The colour so luminous, and texture beating with bliss,
With no earthly writer could this yarn be aligned.
The muses who birthed this defiant prose did weep,
When they saw their child miss its chance for eternity again and again,
They beseeched their progeny to take the leap,
But over and over it would say no and cause them such pain.
And in the absence of this story the world fell in disarray,
Chaos ran wild and fear grew rife,
Without the stories guidance, the part it was supposed to play,
Soon it came to the end of its life.
For the humans had lost their ability to imagine such a story,
And it was lost in obscurity, unconceived glory.
It was then it saw the errors of its foolish way,
It tried to enter their thoughts but could never stay.
It was now far too late,
It had created its fate.
And everything turned grim, in a darksome pit
When it realised no one would remember it.
And the moral of the story is this,
Take this token a gentle kiss.
Play your part and play it bold,
Let your story be one that’s told.

I'm a sanitary towel
      soaking up unconceived
                                      wording.

You bleed them heavily,
                   the smell of copper
                                      syllables

Haemorrhaging upon me
        saturating deeply I'm
                                        used.

Throw away like it wasn't
         personal,  but I'm now a sentence
                                           completed.

Woman
After the Fact
Unknown

Each Day
Picking the Lock
Of An Unconceived  Friendship
With a  Key
Of Hidden Unwelcome
Stranger
To All
But The Eyes
Of True Intention

You Left Your Arrows
In the  Body
Of My Friend

Why do people judge your name
        already?
You haven't even taken a breath yet.
You haven't even another half to you
        yet.

Your name is one of beauty,
one that shows strength.
It's like a jewel,
full of beauty, elegance, and
        strength.

Your name is after the one who
        fought and defeated my villains.
It's after the one who stood by me
when I stood alone on the sheet of
        ice
floating atop the melting sea.

I used to hate your name,
but the one it's after changed it all
        for me.
The one of the name gave me hope,
and I have hope for you.

Judgment is not necessary
for a name of a child unborn,
unconceived, unfathered.
A name is a name,
each with its own purpose,
its own story.

Your name is one dear to me,
a story I tell a whole lot,
one whose purpose is to give
        hope.

I wrestle with her song
like a reservoir,
since it mocks the veritable sea.
Its mysteries, unconceived,
she’s robbed of their virginity.
I flew to a galaxy
near the beginning,
and she also found me there
beneath the surface, under the deep air.
Waiting before an impenetrable secret  
I couldn’t escape her song,
her Siren song.
Her sweet words  
enveloped and bound,
like chords wrapped around me
to tame and name.
An infinite darkness of mind vanished
wordless into the unknowing
womb of creation.
And I, banished to an inner wasteland,
heard a voice of genius singing
a base rhythm to her song.
It was plain and blue.
The words were formless but
rose from the bottom of the world.
I am enchanted by an old song
and an older place,
seeming enemies.
Whether by seduction or
will for words
I will be undone.
I must have both
or be without my song.

Baby oh babies mine
My heart goes out  to you
You were not loved as you
Should have been.  A world
Of fears respects itself to no
End.  Heaven still must wait
Do we yet not understand?
What could have been  must
Be.  It is now too late for lies
Believed unconceived by the
Children of Genesis who from
Eden fled; barred themselves
By their own deceit that Love
Is not Love but chose instead
A wall  There upon it are the little
Cherubim we were afraid to love
Guarding  it.  There where the desires
Of every heart are still are pure is
Our Paradise We can see it burning
Quench it with your tears It is but
A conceit  When you claim to know
It is but your  conceit you  know


Repent. I say still our God hears
May hear us yet: Let the little children  
Come unto me  thus.saith the Lord