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?