Life is a mandala!
Everything is a mandala!
-oh my God, I can use my lungs-
Nothing lasts and nothing
matters, however lovely
or terrible

Murderous fingers ripping
unimposing string of
yarn, row by
hourly row

Effortlessly, I lose myself within You:
Forgotten, yet never quite out of reach,
Your name penetrates the thin arch of my spine,
As I curl my legs up towards my arduous chest,
Burrowing deep into the cavity that
Should hold my red, pulsing heart.

I can feel You all around me;
Memories dance like poetry,
Tumbling out of my lips into the empty air,
And, for a moment, Your warm breath
Caresses my face, as I shift toward
The unimposing wall, letting the cool plaster
Press up against my outstretched palms.

You're never more tangible,
Than when I lie in silence
And listen to the rhythmic hypocrisy
Of my own, insidious breath.
Even spoken sentences, are full of white
Spaces, in between pauses and punctuation.
Empty, and cavernous- blank canvases
Awaiting Your subtle presence.
Hungrily, words rush from me
As if to pave the way for Your fleeting occupancy.

Is this how it feels to be alive?
Father Time wraps his long, gnarled fingers
Around Your soft, golden neck,
Until all the vitality is lost beneath his sorry,
Decrepit hands, which yearn for Your being,
So much that they crush it into yesterday.
While, I sit helplessly observing, a defiled bystander,
Preparing Your eulogy while You laboriously heave for air.

Now, alone in the cool dark of my bedroom,
I repeat my penance a thousand times,
Silently, whispering a lovers remorse,
While twisting and squeezing the last drop
Of feeling onto an indifferent page,
Diluted by almost there prose
And ambiguous metaphors:

My wilted rose, I feel You now
Your once silk petals pressed upon my lips,
Hardened by all that has passed,
A frail remnant of what You once contained.
Pinks and reds of the sunset fall stagnant against
Your rosy cheeks and evanescent silhouette.  
Oh, flower of all flowers, why must You wilt
Upon my plucking of Your fleshy stem?
Is not the beauty of Your ardent life
Strong enough to flood out
The doubts which devoured Your fragrant
Body like malignant parasites?
For while time must tread along,
Can you not stay the way You once were then?

You showed me life, yet took it away
When You exhaled the world with a final leap,
Leaving me here to gather the fragments of a story,
And a vocabulary of feelings
That I can no longer sense.
So, instead, I hover motionless
Above my vacant corpse,
Filling the spaces that You left
With the skeletons of words.

My Sorry Muse, my Own Remorse
Embodied in a Soul,
You took Your  life and gave me words,
But my voice: the afflicted toll.

Unimposing to the objects around.
Visualizing each item with vivid detail.
Haunting the forgotten sleeping synapse.
Hidden deep within the fiber.
Feeling lungs cascading violently.
Sundering pops of adrenaline punctuate.

Shadows cast doubt over courage.
Crossed eyes seeing double vision.
Tranquility forbid the beating heart.
Shaken steadily upon each migraine.
Broken toe acting subtle.

Windows eviscerating the light.
Dimming color and pigments alike.
Dancing brave the wildly fire.
Black and blue, mildly haze.
Images of demon and ghoul take the hour.

Sickened sunken skeletal room.
White tiles caress coldly as ice.
Air circulates with grim agenda.
Hands riddled with obnoxious arthritis.
Brooming the dust, sweeping the fear.

The beautiful black steed champions it away.
Red are the hoofs painting the scene.
Vaporizing the light by any means.
Delegating everything entirely serene.
Shootingstar, throttling deemed.

Brilliant cloud looming so high.
Setting the Sun into the sky.
Benevolent brother opposing shy.
Sorcering wisdom allowing to fly.
Devilish the Moon, waking my eye.

There is a water bottle
on the side of route 3.
It's blue and it's plastic
and it's ***** and old.

Reusable, but unused.

Just a piece of garbage
lying on the side of the road.

I look at that water bottle every day.

I take comfort in knowing it's there.
Through every season of
the last year and a half it
has remained in the same spot.

Sun beating down on it,
leaves gathered around,
covered in snow,
it stays where it began.

Whatever music I'm listening to,
whatever emotions I'm feeling,
through elation from a grade
or depression from a breakup,
the water bottle is there.

What a concept,
what a constant,
what a weird thing to notice
on the side of the road.

But there it is every day,
a ***** blue water bottle,
unmoving,
and unimposing,
but such a big part
of my daily routine.

Ever think and ever wonder
That you hit her heart like thunder
Tore it right out of her chest
Left a mark upon her breast
A mark of your possessive nature
The mark of an enragéd creature
Sold your soul to midnight’s beast
On her heart began to feast
You said that you would never leave
But left her in the dark to grieve
The loss of her heart’s other half
Torn by you on his behalf
You let the darkness in your soul
You turned hers into a black hole
Made her crazy, made her mad
Though she knew she never had
Your heart, your soul, your desire
Never made your heart feel fire
Of love, of hope, of childish glee
The only one that felt was she
She felt the love and then the pain
Now she cries out in the rain
The raindrops wash away her tears
The waters wash away her fears
And you, you monster, dark and grim
Boil the water past the brim
Boil her blood, her heart, desire
You can always see her tire
Tire of your jokes, your games
Tire of feeling ashamed
Ashamed of falling for your tricks
Ashamed of taking all your kicks
**** you, aggressive *******
The art of hate you quite have mastered
Feed her poison in your word
You can’t make sense of that which is slurred
Oh, but dear, don’t you worry
She’ll be gone in quite a hurry
Out of your way, out of your mind
She will no longer be of our kind
Sweet angel, so pained in this life
She pierced her heart with a biting knife
And still as her breath left her soul
Her body disintegrating as a whole
She thought of you, the horrid monster
Who brought this terrible fate upon her
She thought how you made her burst with love
As if you were a blessing from above

You knew she couldn’t live without you
But even as her face turned so blue
You held on to your use of her
Just as these hateful things once were
So was she, in the past tense
And no one could make any sense
Of why she loved you, dark and grim
Pushing her much past the brim
And now she’s gone, consumed by earth
Regretting so her day of birth
Six feet below, six feet in pain
And on her grave your tears do rain
Ha! You fool, you thing of loathing
The things you’ve done are unimposing
Too late, my sweet, the girl is gone
Her voice but echoes as a song…

When my channeled radiowaves groove
and reach your ears like LEDs
(and in mind's eye explode)
with colorful remnants of unimposing
ultra all-knowing, unimportant dues
You will want (if anything)
to pick up the phone
and (to no one in particular) call
and take a taxi beneath the moon

Yeah yeah yeah

I will hear from you and / or / and / / / / / / with you

Jackets flung on your branches; hair awry, mussed up

I will comment about it

(I'm gonna drink spiked yackety yack)

Giggles. Jackets gone,  jealousy comes

Cookie journey here and there

You are the jar-full never known half-empty

Juggling jerky perky jingles- lines ever single

(Funny Big Gag Bag of lol)

Brimming with oddities and chocolate chips

(I will kick you to where the words are satin ah huh!)

Let's comment / hey / why not.

Strike not the lizard my wizard-

Strike this book- but don't cool it from hot

For I will drink and I will dry it

I do not want it left (de)composing

Shut- obsolete and unimposing


I'm going to write with flesh and silken ties-

(And a lucky-horned side-brew

I do not like to spill on you)

So I will spoon it, sip, sip, swipe the eyes;

I will comment / I will drink it / I will try it / Will I not?


I'm going to speak like I'm an autumn leaf shrilly falling

Yelling calling to the tree of thought- of nought

Swaying in circumstance- until my voice is stalling till

"I will write it I will spill it I will shine I will I will I will!"

You are the ground I fall upon with

Each new leaf crashing each coffee still.

'It collides, in this master segment, records articulation's dead, therefore alive! The windsurfed purpose of those who didn't catch the drift is long gone, yet still beside, climbing downhill, consumed in praising for nothing in faith's genuine friend's infinite zeros of that, which has no self of its had.'
~

Winds don't speak my name,
just carry on,
foraging stone for beaches,
combing grass for a song
like a rasp on a bowsaw,
like a drop in a bucket,
galvanized and rusty.

Winds don't speak my name
and if I went to school tomorrow,
I'd be the the fool with the apple,
conjuring bribes of better grades
and gradients carved in sandstone
ledges.

Hedges don't smell the wind -
they turn noses -
let the stank come in.

Days of wine and roses
were nothing more than days of wine
and headaches, presupposing
that a functioning drunk
was less a drunk
and therefore unimposing.

So the winds don't speak my name,
but rather split and run,
as I stick my nose
in all that flows,
in all that liquid business.

every time i meet someone new
the first question i ask is always

"what's your favorite color?"

because what seems like such a simple question
with such a insignificant answer
means so much to me.

i believe every person has a color
that one color that just resonates with their soul
who they are as a person

and i always love when i can get a specific answer
more than just "blue"
because blue is everything from soft and unimposing,
powder fresh and feminine
to immense and expansive
ocean deep and holding the universe suspended in its darkness

my favorite color is red
like blood splatter gone tacky
a deep shade of ruby
the color of wine drunk
and a midnight bowl of splat hair dye fresh out of the box
its the color of bad choices
and intense love

his color is orange.
like a fox's warm coat
or the sky before the sun sinks away.
he is the color of finality
comfort and heat
he's the last chapter of a story
a satisfying conclusion
to me, he is orange, and orange is
all of the burn from red
with none of the hurt