Wednesday, December 28, 2011

hurricane diptych

You were quivering, and it was August.
My feet tracing rippling water, in Muskegon,
and behind a coffeeshop, a history descends!
A remembrance- of forward moving motion,
and an exposure to a yellowing sun.
I can equate movements to rhythm,
but the flower I am waiting for has not yet descended
to your fragile, open hands.
Shouted loud to protect your name.
I find it hard to differentiate between structure and form.
Your redwood lips are tea-leaves,
my fingers graze over them, in the dark,
to find eternal meaning, or evidence of creation.

manuscript fog

Yesterday’s brilliant sunrise,
and today your heart turns to magma.
Glass melts to liquid, which hardens into stone.

I've fallen seventeen stories.
Woke up in a cathedral, in France,
under an in-situ ceiling.
Samuel said, “leave nothing to chance,” as if it were a person.
but no- it is a force: forks, twists, pulls together, and tugs apart, with no discernible reason.
Metal wedges against itself, but does not rupture.

The kaaba which we have been in worship to was fetched by Elijah,
bursting into a knot of neon flame.
A fragrant ascent, in Arabia.

Yesterday's brilliant menagerie
gives way to today’s cemetery
of desert-bones.

in woodlands, december

I have wrapped your arms in tin,
and with it, a certain eloquence.
He notices beauty, and I, transformative nature.
and terrific unholy material.
My inner spirit dwells in the natural environment;
I pulsate under stone bridges, in flight.
Body yearning to collide with spirit;
to exist in open landscape-
for knowledge to permeate its form.

Decay has no ideas of reference,
no planetary constraint.
It arrives and it flees,
from our re-opened eyes.

I fall below you in mid-morning,
as lightning stretches from your fingers to the sky.
And yes, if your mind extends and begins to wonder,
I do. I finally have my quiet satisfaction.

Monday, November 21, 2011

paper patterns

and we passed our brother's home.
in moonlight, demanding entrances.
paralleled yet reversed (in unconscious floating worlds)
cocoa at 9:30;
rushing to attend to discoveries.
until an orange light bursts beneath my skin,
i trail down mountain-turns, three sets of three:
seven/cocoa/cold scarlet floors

pomegranate hands, be yet afraid,
and do be unnerved: Gaia is a dark, tumultuous place.

and deep red.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

i found constellations painted on your back.
search for me in autumn wildernesses
my lips stained of wine
from the cellar of your heart!

clouds congeal into a single terrestrial object;
flowing newness and a hard-earned obscurity.
falling between my fire-eyes.
but no distractions can pull us from our slumber
where music penetrates our physicalities
and herringbone patterns are etched into our skin.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

evening west

we have wildflowers in our hair
and a spirit moves across the lake-
rebuilding skin;
hunters in July.

i have returned,
i have returned,
but not so fast, my hearth in daytime.

fires settling under our feet.

sky descends, and we turn new,
and maybe i have not sinned,
and maybe i have yet to become new!

a found magnificence
i yearn for a life of white

pleasures: renaissance art, cliffs, the human form? i am guilty. sleepers, or sleep.
from far away, one may be convinced we have wings.

"no, nothing. i gaze at the sea."

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

S, with ladders.
in a green labyrinth
follow you into water.

a crowd of people,
amazed by rectangular, floating magnifier
and afraid of confrontation

told him,
there are two ages, and we are moving into a third.

and love
and a third: love.

Saturday, February 12, 2011


How could a single, breathtaking blueprint
of a swirling river bring us back
to yesterday's acquired certainty?
and--- I realize I have esteemed you higher--
on a pixel-landscape in a flickering culture!
More integrated, and more afraid.
So may I stomp and stomp
and stay afraid?
And He- He who is buzzing in the empty
space between bodies quietly held my hand, and spoke:
"You, my quiet daughter, have a single harmony, split in two."

His splashing eyes are garlands of an altered consciousness!
Thank a most grateful God!I am biased, but
I might still hold innocence.

An innocence named Anthracite.

An ever-moving, floating thought transformed:
purple, twisting and turning above my praying hands.
What I have to wonder about is immaterial,
given the fact that your eyes are a bluish grey,
and not at all close to what I had expected.
Of course I have acquired different realms,
but my heart is in none of them.


And the moss on the temple doors show
a silent awakening.
How I felt compassion for his damned son,
caught in the frequency of a transmission receiver.
Along the shores of the Amazon River and
running with him through
fields. There is no
coincidence that grain blows in
the same direction of our dreams.
No, not at all.
Replaced your feathered pillows,
because your body decays
in front of my clouded eyes.Yet,
I look to the sun and realize,
Your eyes are my eyes!
Where are you hiding in the wooden house?I worry for you,
and your thoughts.
But more, I worry for my self-satisfaction.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


A gong sounds
and I am gone: seeping into the sand.
half changed to glass.
But your snow melts in my hands; secretly placed on a reflection, during shifting sunlights
to hear evidence of physical life.
Silence overtakes my eyelids
in the deepest night.
in the dreams of a mothering form
who has no concern for my existence,
only the bones, angel, that you gave her, and the glittering skin that was cloned for her own.

to err

You have the whitest eyes.
She spoke of her trips to India,
where she sipped chai
and bathed in ancient Rivers.
but how does our landscape seem to an outsider?
I understand the movements
if migratory birds, yet
I don't comprehend their choices.

Come stay, little fawn
come, and lie down at your grave.
Your soul is thin,
as a tissue is thin
and it can be wrapped around
your quiet bed.

"Don't fade,"
1096 questions,
one for every day.

spinning seems to be of some significance.
also: springs.
But a desire for exploration took us to the Netherlands.
No, I hadn't planned
for it to be this way, but
I saw a photograph and my intentions quickly changed.

I also wrote about your hands.

re: presentation-fear

I slowly disassembled the weave I
anticipated the most revenue from,
and yet I mare a pattern I myself
would like
contrary to heavenly doctrine.
Could a dissatisfaction be more vibrant?
And I would associate with desert animals,
be they less intrusive.
Find me terrain where I can spin in circles,
or electromagnetic springs, which show feelings of longing.

I am slow and innumerable,
and tigers warm my feathered bed!

I still hold your teardrops in my weathered eyes.

A natural renewal
made my physicality twist,
have I yet chosen this fate?
Decided this, for a complex growth?
See that l won't fall, love.
But He is still the brightest light I see!

precise representation

Dreamt of two avalanches,
one after the other.
I am whispered to, but I
want something greater.
A surreal doctrine,
or immortal soul.
Not wood on wood, but gold on gold on gold.
An Emmanuel,
for a regretful earth to behold.

A turquoise freedom,
but what does my triumph cost?
A feather, floating in the wind; or a sovereign trip upstream,
to find your mother-soul.
But I am yet aching in the heart
of my one-ply ascender.
I want to wrap up my hope,
but my tower is far from here.
Chose letters for you,
each less important than the next.
My intuition isn't so good, now.
So find me walking in the clouds.
Whatever I have sacrificed here will be present in the next world,
and I hope my personality will
reflect your gospel of love.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Trembling Sons

We have a distinct night, and
harps swing, under our chests.
tomorrow: Previ, a city under the
to pack beads in my pocket,
beside a linen satchel. and it even
held your name!

Felt a moving tirade and ancient cities,
far from Trevino,
a powerful age, and terrestrial
manifestations of your physical

Naïveté reigns therefore,
and when you explain you are leaving for a
better city, I will let you be.

I cannot hope to wonder beside
honeybees; are your eyes as
distinct as I remember?
Late telegrams assigned to your namesake
sat at my doorstep, but I wondered
how close inhalation is to ------.

Shying from your tessellations, we
visited castles carved into rocks,
and I hope I will be somehow part
of it, in a coming history.

You see, the past is ours to claim,
as the messiah rises through infinity.
Wandering ought to be
accurately renamed 'destitution',
at least exploratory knowledge
found in petit sea anemones and
other such ideal lifeforms are existent.