Friday, December 17, 2010

Sleeping under wings,
and red stains my eyes!
You whisper, a dissimilar variation of languages
borrowed from ancient ones;
yet! my!life!is!not!exactly!what!i!expected, love.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Bones on bones on bones
and marionette skeletons.
I awake, but there are leftover feathers in my bed!
Staircases and yellow sweaters
still, no longer exist;

I am human, after all.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

rabbits, under two nests, in the field,

the sun expands! and it expands under my feet!
but waterfalls, black waterfalls, and diamonds spin and shiver
held tightly
in my hands
there seem inverted mountains
that'd be fine, to wait
"no. no need,"

and red, also/
hard to not repeat the same things overand over, but might be significant cycles
and three years, or two
and three years, or two
and merging together
and merging together
afer darkness, but still ancient songs
in bones, exist
wait, it is here,
wow, now it all comes

Saturday, November 27, 2010

A deep red bed,
and circles, rushing inside circles inside circles, inside circles
My eyes look above but,
"At least I know. Yes, yes, at least I now know,"

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Communion Song, Pt I

In a church with high ceilings,
vines encircle a piano
shaking the floorboards, where lilies are planted,
and inhabitants are curled up
under the pews
as stained glass melts and
hardens each body.
How each heart is looking towards pleasure,
in a time of despair.
Yet still, my brother plays
a funeral song,
one about disappearing
amidst a divination,
at a shared dinner table.
Yet, my heart felt at rest
and my small hands
held on to each passing note.

Stars moved from their assigned paths
and fell into my eyes
where I saw the lungs of the Creator.
And in their exhales, a most
beautiful song--
one about disappearance,
a greatest hope.

Communion Song, Pt II

I am disappearing
but I am at rest
inside my brother's song
in a historical meal
and a hopefulness fills each soul
as we move into
a parallel'd position
where we look towards a mystical
coming, as two, or a single being.
I am yet flickering into nothing completely.
I am being twisted
in a tiny sphere
amongst black stars,
and a furthest heart
rumbles into the center of a fragmented hemisphere,
where a bedroom in a dark wood is filled
with embers, and you
held the match.

Tied to my hands are ribbons of red
and a man pulls them
to lead me to my tumultuous demise
steps downward
I am disappearing
into a brook
where there is no shore,
only branches,
and branches for miles.

I am going further
into shades of black--
sometimes crimson.
each time he taps an ebony key,
I stumble,
and my ribbons are tangled
and I become close to
my oppressor, a man
in woolen blankets,
telling me to rush,
to not stumble,
for what I have to do is an important task,
one to be done immediately,
and never feeling so far from
a clearly recognizable point,
in my mind's map, I know
exactly where I reside, but
the universe expands with every
step I take and it expands under my feet.
I have no home
and my heart is not found in the steadily
increasing heat of my (body?)
How could I
fade entirely,
without a defined choice?
I feel my words have fluttered to a better home.
but your hands are made of clay.
yellow birds sing in the pear trees
beside the nook in my bedroom.
I could make you
a pillow to rest your head on, but no,
I cannot heal your disease.
three felt divine,
maybe there is less than i realize.
I yearn for white.
white on white on white on white
white for an eternal shimmer
white for my unchanging castle home
i am leaves
on the bark of your tree.
How are we all cracked to let
the Divine inside?
or are we slightly open,
to let It out?
one day, your heart will stop
and then where will we be?

holding hands, above the clouds?

Friday, August 27, 2010

I am alive; I am in wild wind
take not my introspection but hold my hand
and let me
show you gladness

Some snare-drum contemplation
caused sea to tumble;
sending me to my already packaged grave,
where birds gently hop
to illustrate the fragile nature
of resurrection

Are we breaths in the eyes of our fathers?
Are we flickers of immaterial silence?

But brother, I want to be delicate; I want to be free

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

in moonlight,
my kaleidescope beast
is gnawing at the simple existence
of petals in our outstretched hands/
he told me we cannot be our own solutions,
yet we still scream
from our rooftop porches,
"alive! alive we are!"
as our Earths shatter to the ground,
birds rise up from their graves
in endearing silence
as they get tangled from our torrential foreign winds/
you are flickering!
you are flickering!
but i realize,
i still have two;
when did my substantial life
become hour-counting,
and leaping off couches to avoid incomplete affections?
and also buying secretive items, for your unnerving stash?

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

We do not love things as we see them,
we notice them as deeper than they really are, you understand.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Have you found a final message
for the everlasting offspring you possess?
And still waters
float beyond our stagnant beds
and bells
and bells
and bells
ring so very loud
a heartfelt
of sugar-sprinkles
in mid-morning.

A singing mother wondered
about the truths being
thrust towards her
fluttered with the thoughts of seven sailors
and writers- bound to the feet of their lovers
and beds! with a staggering memory
and a thoughtful recollection of singular promises
told in darknesses, we stood

Knew it had been,
for quite some time, but still
pretended naivety along silvered shores

"You are a thing of mighty, shaking beauty and yet,"
Still I stumble, quietly against your feet.

I am
yearning but do not move,
while you, a prince,
shove your way into the Kingdom of heaven,
but who now is the stronger one?
Be not the controller of super-faiths but fall
through your present shiverings
to wild ecclesiastical thrustings.

Friday, June 4, 2010

pasting similar words, and giggling with a porcelain guitar but
did you still not quietly notice,
you were giving attention to a single one;
one you disliked most!

Friday, May 21, 2010

With violeted thoughts,
treading through enforested landscapes
fuzzy photographs
and a single one, believed,
was the turning point in serenity (in rome);
and rosethunder that perhaps, was a breath!
en estralia, manipulated,
and yet our arms are still thrown up in flames!

and a flower, lying on your chest!

explained about an expulsion, of physicality and light
and a remembrance, a familiarity
with the moon, and little tears
and gashes! and gashes!

flee from me, springtime, for it is your laborings that brought us to exist!

Monday, May 3, 2010

an expanded detail, but yet still, I love!

Thursday, April 22, 2010


Be close, my dear-- lest our love
becomes ruined by metropolis sufferings.
oh! Lilies, and
violets of two-toned fields!
and one in seventeen-
and desiring a twin, but needing variance
from a single multitude, held close, and O! As the one in the similar city!
Noticing, what correlations between unrelated objects hold,
like a pair of doves, and the leaves beneath our boots;
or even! Wildflowers falling from our hair!
Inside a yellowed albatross
in a jungled forest town
and a professor in a dulled shirt
and a treehouse overlooking the rustling bay
even--- to be dissipated
tomorrow, to be sad
and grey arched troubles
of harmonic gauges and

the freckled eyes
of an entire army
marching towards the sun
and eyes beaming into carbon particles
begging to be seen
by their stargazing lovers.

and bells tied to our ankles,
shivers make them
clash wildly into each other
demanding birds
to arise from their enwintred slumber,
under crumbled summer
weeds and frozen
bulbs of forever-flowers,

portals for our eyelids
tea leaves
held in our apron we saw-
a sparkling of light pink roses
from our knitted purses,
O, to be alive and wildly tumultuous!

Tuesday, March 23, 2010


i am always shaky in the dusty mornings
when lighter-than feather thoughts
awake from their shuttering cocoons
and the sun sits next to me, in my fisted but delicate hands

whispering violet'd but opaque desires
through a coffee filter,
"i have become slower,
i have become at peace,
i have become a lover, but yet,"
and red bursts from beside my head!
o, and granules of sparkling water
are present still, in my almost-sister's weathered boots

like suns shining, we are!
her treasure walked through the painter door
hands morphed inside constellations,
draped above the slow breath she leaves,
a mobile in the night, and silenced waterbodies, held by plants.

had we held her as a child, (do not falter now)
maybe a painter would have emerged from her cracking bones
maybe a wonder would have appeared on the corner of madison
well, try to change my nested qualities
you will not, you will not, you will not
a drawing, lost in a sea of leaves
and even spherical candles cannot whisk you into a life undeserved

Friday, March 19, 2010

We are walking to a meadow
a little girl slept there
while her thoughts ran free
and wildflowers stained the seam of her dress

Thursday, March 18, 2010

under blankets
in the morning, and at dawn
black, just black, I noticed
in the core of
some differing notation
"I can be near, I can," but yet!
A movement under ninth,
a drab harmonium,
or a dreaming among wolves?
Through sketched maps of a future colony
I saw
hands enwintered,
or ruins raised up,
or braids disassembled
all while drinking tea in the meadow,
which we knew
would grow and become a garden.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

"Yes, and even serrated misanthropes sleep in the dungeons of their darknesses,"


in a stuffed catalogue
we are three, astropomorphic
and greatest limericks bursting
through raspberry groves, where
i had (so violently, inside) left
the painted door cracked open
an invitation, into
a paralleled kingdom, but lips
were shivering under riverbeds
of drowned fragments
that had fallen from our lips!
and Yet!
Restored gradients, from metallic streams
but where had the dissimilar misogyny come from?

Sunday, February 28, 2010

"Bring me back to castles with wildflowers, sun blazing through the fields"
in a gust of wind,
seventeen stories were told with a blustering talent
where whispers (purpled words from the land of vipers_
told rumors of the most specific things coming alive,
for instance, the tiniest of insects who were dragging
mammals from their graves,
or the formation of opaque galaxies, fed to hexagon-bellies
that we, as sorcerers could, perhaps,
hold between our blistered hands, where desired diamonds multiplied,
and a furthest beat in a stormheart of thunder bellowed
from the depths of a martian's thought
where little bumblebees
fluttered their archipelagoed glittering wings
into a quicksand of trainparts,
and blots of skin cancer
moved through hedges of boulders
to get to parisian hearts
in darknesses bound for precision-markings
on their foreheads
but yet, a still, faint familiarity!
scarred pools of blackened cauldronwaters,
some brisk memorial for a single fish-noire,
one dimly scattered Asian country, from forward flashing dreaming
to a waterfall edging on the horizoned babies' connection to the mystified whirlwinds of slumbered trigons
and furthest twisting of ropes into tireswings for sons of seven arks.
all is completely, unashamedly destined to arise as quixotic tracheas map out
air follicles and demeaning scratches on the ships lodged into clouds,
to stagger and become a solitary entity!

Saturday, February 27, 2010

inside an editorial
and trapped
between unfamiliar lavender sheets
a lion, perched on a pew between us
leaned on her,
a video, playing above our heads,
showed us tiny whispered orgasms
disconnected from us, but two in the same
and before, a church, to fast forward so lights can flicker
like stars eventually bound for darkness

just as a thousand bells rung
how, how would i still not be thrust
a gift of love?

Monday, February 22, 2010


felt an urgency
beneath our skin to reconnect
and feathers
blew in the wind, to upstate georgia
where mountains were thrust from their foundations
into a sea beneath the largest glacier on Venus
"forget a humbled existence, and be cast into seascapes,"
she said, but
including i,
was unaware of your arrival and i began to feel
that same urgency to check letters off,
pound on buttons,
release it into airwaves,
just to see your face after months!
just to spin in circles beside the Hudson!
just to, O God,
be the most glad being, and bones shivering from the love felt
from miles between, O God!
a celebratory unison
to a shared ocean, to an hour away, to, O! a gladness felt: in artistry.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

we shiver under quiet depths
with hues of azure and iron
some yellowed silence
and an infant, a demeaning death
where we had fallen into a
wandering earth, or hell
so far gone,
in a scarred atmosphere/unknown
but yet, a protection.

some gliding movement
of towers,
two by two,
and softest fabric, spun between our fingers,
as the cradle of a child
loses its balance and vanishes,
so we are left to flicker into non-existence,
or-- total existence,
whichever is more fitting
to our deep, deep selfishly inclusive souls.

forgive us of our innate curiosities,
of a joyous monument,
of a forest, annotated-
and even as the harp's strings
melt into glass,
our hands play on;
a tortuous morning
to a greatest age.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

some strange crimson marketplace,
a cosmic ballet-
yesterday's silencing heartbeat
morphed into a graveyard of the apex of steeples
where a single pulsing
under a crevice of fabricated directions, written on the tips of fingers
promised an eternal deliverance to the rings
that surround our quiet sphere
of still moving awakening,
a life,
beckoning to be found
lodged under
a darkness in ancient libraries,
an unresponsive brother,
or the glittering snowtides of the atlantic in february;
now be not afraid, little bee,
for a restoration seeps between your pores
and a lullaby
sung in several languages, simultaneously
will soothe a disquieted mind, as the giant
above our heads
steals momentous blocks of stone from our atmosphere
he sits, but holds tight
to sliced objects which could have possibly
created our interior to be
a deafening demonic force, to which it was originally hoped to be
before a fire,
before a fire fell.

Friday, February 12, 2010

only a large expanse
between two jasper rings
could be a resting place.

a myriad of croixed porcelain
and diamond combed feathers remained,
floating downward,
into the lungs of miniature fawns
who held the laws of the underground
in their exhales
and with each slight inhale,
an explosion in the airwaves
of sizzling Shakespearean language
progressed and cracked into words we had not yet encountered
as babes, floating towards a single destination
where a gate of a hundred locusts were halted
and fell to the seafloor
to be crushed into algae,
into the sediments of a hungered tide.

of an artemesian peared form

but antenna's delicate buzzing electrocurrents
spoke to your brother, amidst a slow uplifting
of marriages,
to which a foreigner had not been interrogated, as of yet
how can one of three, become a perfect symmetry
unrelated to the scratching of bones together,
the shivering beauty marks on various parts of various faces,
or the stance one is found in, beside unearthed waterfalls?
how, can one:
of three,
become symmetrical, to another, over vast distances
relating to the metaphysical magnets lodged in our palms,
the understanding of words not yet uttered,
or the feeling of being spun a thousand times
where the earth is tilted on its axis
for a split-second?
how, when three from the same inch of skin became,
a fragrant memory between a glittering snowbank in the pacific?
where had a childlike fortress of sharpies on wrists,
promises in deep darkness,
or a rare feather seen circling the habitats of seventeen mammals,
bound to their lovers
encountered the Light?
understanding became a slow, dreamlike annulment
of vows not yet felt
from a pair of friends.
a photograph in the 40's in a darkly stagnant
burial of stone and ash
was finally uncovered
in a trinket-box
in the sea

Saturday, February 6, 2010

A gradual moving downward, on both landscapes
where a single violin had been pleading for another,
under a fit of heathered snow
i wished
i wished
i wished

upon streetlights in daytime,
upon uniquely freckled eyes,
upon a silvered, distinct night.

from the multiplied pixels above, i saw it-
so romanticized, such a place of peace, and realizing
i could
i could, i could
and still not mind, though- so loud it felt,
between hands,
so mighty a slow descent.

Are we differing forms,
feathered wisps of energy,
meant for articulate explorations;
or a single lioness' grave?

Friday, January 15, 2010

major vessels and vibrant hues of multifaceted darlings, to be shattered between glasses. respectable men: fall.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

"he will be,"
G. whispered,
"but it will be differently from how you think it will progress,"

i breathed deeply,
and sighed and sighed and sighed and sighed.
a thoughtful nature,
a forceful (or even hopeful),
greater expectation of polarized
to be relished from
a singing child, or
a selfish mother's womb
to be
cracked inside itself,
over and over and folding itself over again
three gazes
to be reminded, and bothered when seen a second time (after 40 days)
too much alone time was never a solution,
even when desired
by archimedes,
but still he perished while traveling through the field, with instruments
seen by a man,
we still weep under blankets, still we
encourage an individualistic view of the snapping together of grommets
and the fabric to which they are bound
we are a still spring,
a powerful unit of measure
but in the open air, he was still killed
beyond his intelligence,
he was bones
bones and atoms and bones and breathing and bones

(we are)