Friday, December 11, 2009

the similarity of the unknown

a recollection of future phrases,
as wavelengths of our syllables
are hungered, just
swung up, O!
to meteoric atmospheres
to eventually shiver downward,
(now intersected)
and break off
to be caught, by our bodies
in a single movement

while above us,
drums conduct
a froth of broken wires
melted, but now conducting a propelled
fetused fusion
formerly glittered, textured hammock-like
from above a neo-colonization of birds with half legs
and tiny bottled messages tied to their toes

splitting off and rushing through the place between our lungs, we say
the same
words before we speak, we
perform resembling movements, we
love in complementary ways, we
are reciprocal, parallel parts
but still, one
and a Third
to be thrust into a congruent civilization, (where we both align)
but always to a

(a poem to be realistically and eventually bound together with mariana's, of the same subject matter)

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

be rid from my dream!
out of the second time on twelfth street,
rid of the man romantically playing his guitar
on a lighted platform where i dragged h.
without payment, i understood
brought him there, knowing!
just knowing he could not, but knowing that i could!
O God,
but an illuminated, removed manhole from the road where i grew
was releasing the underworld
in a swift circling of events,
more quickly than it could be removed
or shut----
we were packing cedar doors
from buildings to darkened automobiles
and i saw j.
previously dreamed of him,
desiring to possibly
cross paths between buildings
balance between trees
to fall into a reconciliation
instead of a flickering to nothing
a father, but
a child to be left
in a basket

on twelfth street

Monday, December 7, 2009

inside a banjo during july
we slept, nodded our heads silently during battle,
pleaded for a recollection or even
a collection of energies
to be held in our hands
but realizing that the breaths between words can yet be
deciphered though,
O God,
a rendering of perfectly symmetrical forms
is to be utterly incredulous, or maybe
just worthless to the incredible
weight of all the syllables
and faceted nailbeds we gather up
like tiny ships heading to,
O God,
a stormed fracture of ivory and statures
that we refused to incorporate
further into our slight movements,
such as the slowest gaze north,
an adjustment to the hem of a purple dress,
light purple,
almost translucent as particles of pasty light
pass through our bodies and extend through each woven corner
where estellia flowers are singing in tune
with the voices, as one, in the wind
through the olive grove

Sunday, December 6, 2009

let me slip into an unconscious slumber
and sail through a thousand eastern landscapes
where i can be nestled between pink pink petals
into a bed of lavender
where everything is pretty,
where voids exist only in fallen stars,
rather than inside my form