i took a walk in the woods.
the rain pulled my limbs
into a humble slumber.
arms swinging by sides
with nothing more
than moisture trails
and crying fingers.
and mind
and eyes
that don't want to see
what the body wants,
so badly,
to feel.

walking through falling clouds,
under living bones,
and over dead skin.
the forest is about its self.

singing about screaming,
not looking both ways
before crossing the line.
we don't have to take it
from the top
to get to the bottom;
but i guess it makes
some sort of sense that way.

humble arms swaying,
tired eyes yawning,
and the forest watches.
it's arms holding up the sky;
still humble.
it's eyes not blinded by color;
still tired.
the forest never screams.

but it hears my fire,
it feels my ice;
and i can see it cringe
out of pity,
out of a lack of understanding.
Out of myself.

Shared breaths
leaving me breathless,
in another time.
kept fresh in the smell
of honey and your pink
shellfish.
and the forest,
understanding somehow,
my contained chemical
self,
leaking from my eyes.

It's nice to be listened to.

4 truths to be learned
8 folds to be made
3 eyes in your head
1 way to be paved
and the only ones that won't be saved
are the one that while living
stay close to the grave
so they say
anyway

I meditate
to alleviate
my fear of starting gates
and arriving late;
but this way's not working.

My lurking ailments
are assailants sent
from me to me
to see the pail's spent
much time
under leaky eyes
and roofs through
blurred lines in blue skies.

My demons fly higher than I.

Truths are lies alive in the
ears of who's hearing them,
and leaders are the feeders
of the power that's fearing them.

I'm searing them tearing gems
with uncertain vapors,
burning buds put in papers.
Rainy red retinas
want to undrape her
so I scream just to shake her
from myself
before I break her
from her shelf,
with rainy retinas red,
of self certain days.

I'm yearning for shades to start churning,
red back to blue,
you'll stop burning.
I want you
to stop earning
my dreary dream't gifts.

I'm still learning.

What faults have the sword?
What weakness the bowl?
What strengths have their union?
What power the whole?

I smile when I see your snowflake face,
unlike any other, the face of a mother,
making me awkwardly comfortable.
A face like mine beholding only my eyes,
not what's behind.
Often you see my complexion
a reflection
of ennui.
You think because it is dark,
that I
can not see;
But you behold my eyes,
not what's behind;
and the things that I find,
the thing that I've found!
The color and beauty and love that's around!
The sounds to be heard!
Don't think I haven't seen.
The frights to be felt!
The dreams to be dreamed!
Don't think I haven't noticed.
Your grace
and your snowflake face.
I smile when I see that face.
The face of a mother, unlike any other.

break the mirrors!
let their death songs
put to sleep
our vanity,
our ego,
our insanity.

only you
have seen the span of me.
our bodies given the jewels
of our eyes;
and a man at sea
with brine blackened spools
and dark skies,
without a plan or key,
says he's one of the fools
and he denies
thoughts of her thighs

the sea-man
broke the mirrors,
and windows,
and walls.
and left only doors standing

your black and white expression
hides the colors underneath,
and when death is your complexion,
to the earth you will bequeath  
that white and black wreath.
And the sky will claim your teeth

for stars for stars for stars

your black and white expression
to the earth you will bequeath,
and the object of your affection
longs for colors underneath.
her body will be the heath
and the sky will claim her teeth

for stars for stars for stars.