Verão, Eternal

These are our ancestors.
Arms reaching toward depths of seas.
Heartbeat pounds against winter wind.
Formulating equations from aquatic laboratories.

We jumped over seven atmospheres.
Orbits calculated, clashed our stars together.
I was entranced by fireworks glistening
above our shifting, laughing expressions.

Manufactured artifacts are dug from the soil,
only decades after they'd been planted.
Earthenware gleams gold in brisk sunlight.
An esteemed, argumentative ruse if I'd ever heard one.

So often I dream of you in threes.
Personalities tessellate above themselves.
Stacked against symbols in a dark vehicle.
Our hands entwined, immovable.

Soon, I'll give a hard repetition of harmonies.
Three tattered branches will rise to summon a final growth.
We chose clouded vases in the city of your youth.
A vibrancy infused in my veins.

It's only my second presence,
hands not yet soft against your touch.
Engineer your chemicals to interact with mine.
Where is the edge of soil, where the root of the fruit plant begins?

Shiver // Awake

My ancestral form awakens
from this increasing southern freedom.
I exist,
I sweat,
I am naturally human.

Hazel dusted irises,
eyes stretching forth in want.
All of the earth's water flows from the fount in my palm.
Spin next to me and let me connect to your shaded touch.
I notice forms in the darkness under my eyelids-
individuals tesselating above each other
All of them whom I'd like to be.

When my positive expectations no longer correlate with our stinging realities,
yes,
my heart descends into an extreme, dark shiver of truth,
but it immediately rises in reverence to a higher resonance.

And therefore:
Rivers flow from my electric brow.
Rest beside me, and let me spark your shadowed animation.
I notice movements behind my eyes,
all of myself, wondrous forms.
When I awake,
I am increasingly wild
and curls expand like ancient bush atop shifting, desert sand.

What is it, then, the great fascination with hands?
Despite our separate orbital movements, our realities are concentric.
Let me be your technicolor.

Lineae (or Paper Patterns, pt ii)

Circadian circumference rhythms from the earth's core
flow from the center of my outstretched palms
towards blood/red-moon/shine
Down on my skin, fading to transparency
As you, thousand-for-everything Southern child,
convey a similarity
a parallel, which
I must find in wildernesses, pomegranates
to smash in my hands (probably four years later)
and therefore redeem a powerful phrase I uttered then,
when I (now) realize, my previous orbits were unaligned.

I will forever call you Aeolian,
Your laughing breath stained through seven exhalations.
Midnight silence still burns on my eyelids,
but this quietness is ever-cleansing and ever-revealing.

I'll ask you three questions, then:
Are your origins atmospheric?
Will you allow my wind to carve your name?
What colors are bursting from your hands?

Just please don't say red.

Notes on the Chronicle of Soil

Head spinning // Heart spinning
(Both in flight)
Room misting
Christ above, silently watching

I am not awakening!
And I wrote:
laughing forever and ever. In Holy, hilarious ecstasy.
Still asleep,
So much more alive.
It is all under His feet.
Heart completely on fire.

Stained:
Strong
Courageous
Crowned
and intimately woven.

Were we:
Spheres of brilliant energy
Tangled in forces
In the heaviest depths of night?
(And no, it is not what you perceive it is about)
But much more brilliant, and increasingly brighter.

So now, let me ask:
When do we crack to share the balance of multitudes of brilliance inside of us?
When do we rise to then explode in front of our open eyes?
When do we open our hands, compare our wrinkles and then rub them together to make electricity?
Tell me, when are you ready?

Earth Witness

Crushed wheat,
Background tintinnabulation
under forest thoughts and vehicle prowlings.
Pulled from the earth, a brother, and thus water flows forth!

A demand: triumph, but continue to eradicate stagnant knowledge.
And therefore shatter unethical particle movements,
and thorough hands-
A seal, a mark, a gesture:
all orienting to the North.
And truth.

Your words are substantial, yet I have not yet processed their meaning.
Your sounds are heavy, yet I have not yet understood their nuances.
Your atmospheres are energetic, yet I have not yet interpreted their essence.

From the earth, a sister is pulled.
Brought forth from ash.
She rises, with gestures of fearlessness.
Christ in ecstasy. Hand touching greenest grass. Hand touching desert dust. Hand touching transparent waters. Hand touching heart.

And I intrinsically fall, to the fairest of feet. Eyes expand to increasing brightness.
A witness, I'm aware, is farthest above, yet still unseen.

Evening Pollinate

Eyes wrinkle towards central summer bee stings and strawberry blush cheeks
Blonde pollen stained tips of my fingers
Bright with electric monochrome yellow heat
I enlighten to dawn; and slide closer to the dusted white border of my room
Yet so close standing between the lengths of our folded arms
Eyes constrict and yet we gaze at each other in corresponding two and a quarter seconds- any longer leeches a journalistic or entitlement danger.
And we mustn't! We mustn't! Mustn't! But why (barely referential) not?
Because you see, three dusty parables:
The Incident of figs in mid-evening: crackling syllables to motion.
Two: Welded gilt mirrors collapse, shatter into two single pieces.
Finally: Sky turns gilt bronze, jumps into essential Icarus-lightning, eternally.
And now do you yet see? Eyes flicker wide to archaic flattened seas.

Lovesick on rusted shirts
brushed to quiet pitch black desert dust
Hands, plain and mighty
lodged in the pockets of your evergreen silences
I want to twist
spin
extrapolate data
from western evergreen irises
the interior of poppies;
black, twisted, mighty
there are specified inflections
noticed gracefully.

Exacting,
my hours twist and turn from crimson to dusty merlot.
My touch is reddening,
and until I received it, my entirety was fresh.
But unfluttering,
unrefined and defined.
There is nothing too small,
but my tenderness paints it large on a background of gold,
and I prize it, not knowing whose soul at the sight,
released,
may unfold.

Windspeed

Closely reveal your finalized lifeforms

in progressive half-time.

Consistent regression 

tarnish feather braids. 

Moving towards blackest experience of night.

Fires felt and towards your trial-fate;

tropical seas. 

North from the eyelids of your ethics-dreams!

Default 

to your lightest eyes.

The point-- to feel the deepest Father's yearnings.

Eternalities
flow from your quietest morning heat.
Amber eyes stained bright
through effervescent spirit-wombs.
Recurrent relations,
foothill majesties.
Migrations to recreate folded rip currents.
Escalating
feather forms
Discrete // Fascinate // Assuming fables are the least of these.
From holiest origins. 

If // then: return. 

To your brightest house!
Tracing youth.
Basis: A tree of 1 node has 2 nulls, ok!

Safe in the windspeeds

of closer second-lives. 

Esteem from entireties,

shrouded in glass. 

Crackling and wild. 

Egret Star

Newest sounds
glow through your clearest eyelids
Eyes lighten
to coming, broadening heat
Marked by your partitions
And I am sore.
Sore, from heaviest marble spheres
Pulling arms to higher elevations
Cardboard numbers
Scribbled across the floor
Your face--- in early winter!
And we magnify the day.

Fireforms

Double dreaming of matte lakes,
stretching across landscapes.
Azure // bursting,
and my eyes continually yearn for neon. Intentionally.
Or darkest indigo tree trunk rings.
Stained inky from your poeticism,
compacted.
Dated you,
found your origins,
chronology, counting sunspots.
Spring wood // Your youth,
which I cannot yet comprehend.
And your tastes.
And your explorations.
Species // Special
Hovering horizontally across waterforms
Intellectual property
Lake turning bright Louise-blue
from aforementioned, greying
Fading dendrochromatics
And I shiver in
B R O A D // D A Y L I G H T
And I am unwell,
untidy
but continually overjoyed.
Dreamt of fire-forms, a distance consumed
Rope swings, bearded and shirtless love, endless freedom.
Laughing, and entangled.
Consistent continents
bang together,
rupture // erupt
eyes  w i d e n
to coming mo(u)rning

Winterfear

There are no evergreen sunrises,
or eternal records stained from woolen wombs.
Greeting my silent eyelids in crystal mornings:
"I must be intentional,
but I also must be free."
Fashioned several knotted statues in your honor,
and they haunt me when I move away from softening lightness.
I revel in autumn.
My spirit enlivens.
I realize I am both increasingly wild, and infinite.
My spirit rests and tumbles above my head.
Flickering sunsets, to blackest diamonds.
There exists a deepest curiosity in the back and forth,
the push and pull of emotions.

We are ultimately fully human-- bursting at extraneous seams.
Seams we do not need.
Seams which detach and retract,
as thistles shiver to polished wood.
Heartlight travels through physicality
pulling and pushing to everlasting.
Teeth clench as inspiration is formulated.
I maybe am meant to be a writer, poetics bursting
at the tips of mountain-frosts.
I collide and continue,
until His depths cease to penetrate.
Early autumn,
we squint and subsequently become entranced.
Souls to mingle, hearts to come entwined.
Are you completely confident in your choice, to move every molecule?
Your energy space, pulled back, to include?

Postures

I was weaving fabrics from bottles

overlapping shadow hands, fingers not quite latticed

soft but getting stronger

tossing scraps in tiny piles

“a sign of terrible frustration”

had you yet arrived? towards a glorious, expanded well-being?

entranced by serious,

pitch black fire glances.

i know why you fled

and I suspect a dark posture,

pushing your ankles deep in mud.

crushing, morning heat

will burst inside your dented atmosphere

cyan breezes chill the cliff edges

closest to your seaside home.

and found myself in weathered arms.

shimmering, kissed with spots of yellowed glass--

eyes transfixed in disco moonlight.

golden, dusted shoes and faded curls

burned the sleep from our eyes.

my arms uplifted,

fingers brush through veins of clouds--

aged and wondrous

a form shrouded in dimly lit textiles,

woven intentionally

by my tropical hands.

physicality becoming clearer;

your form etched

rough, bent and gleaming-

in coral sand.

gilt roots

pulled by the tumult of your hurricane.

swirling in soot from the bosom of your womb.

said would not be I,

not I, 

not I. 

but it was I. 

I who knotted myself into your marble carved trapdoors-

scent of water brushing through intersecting roots.

facedown in clay

quicksand

whispering desert poems

air follicles 

bursting at the surface of your brunette-painted dark assumptions

sentences crack like dry bark

anchors drag me to deepest indigo sea

away

away

closest reddening eyes

for the shivering slash of dawn 

hits my transparent eyelids

a futuremelody

played backward

and not a trial heard for reckoning, 

yet.

rode newly furbished bicycles through darkened downtown streets

illuminated ice- 

dry, thick with wool.

steeped in dusty hues of mountain sunsets.

rapid annihilation of curated sparks

or mingling sentences;

wavelengths snapped at their seams

reveal dazzling individual crystals inside.

we ourselves are individuals.

shimmer 

and continue hovering.

scale stagnant waters; 

be risen up 

and completely anew.

Skychord

Hum of moon's light

Spirit rises to glistening 

silences.

Curving flowers are still blossoming 

petals burst to illuminate

pleasureform & 

simplicity

in spreading darkness;

explosions of grey, rosy brights.

Soulful 

midnight songs 

resonate.

Absorb into the rocks, atmosphere

until they burst,

skies shiver,

disseminate primordial, classical wisdoms;

explode into harmonious 

biological choir.

with outstretched flora

we view the world in stinging textures 

reveling 

at sun washed seas,

baritone mornings,

adagian sunsets--

whisper;

and knot your harnessed variables 

to the worship of an evergreen freedom.

silence awakes, and with it, a growing tension.

watching your eyes darken,

dialogues transform to striking match, float to embers, sparkling in a deepest well.

we view one fortress open up into another-

same thought wavelength, different resonance.

I compared you to a forest, years ago. 

thick with brush. dark, dense, with a slight scent of falling night.

rockets consume into flame.

retreat closer towards a watercolor floral.

black and white seems to be of importance.

stark contrasts and the extremity of feather nights.

dissipating my spirit into

emerald clouds, 

malachite evening

and the promise of continuous renewal, until finally,

transparency.

There are several close-knit statues---
facing Jerusalem.

Men bang on their knees
like drums.
Mud of the earth
shakes and dries to coal.

O how distinct conversations have awakened me.

O how pitch black desert hair
flips underwater, swims
in the dark of night.

O to see your laughing,
morning face.

Violins wail as ships flutter
to their ocean-floor deaths,
iron consuming iron.
And cosmic awakenings.
Rifts across the skies.

Indigo dreams.
Cotton stained navy
from Israel tears.

O Zion how your empire has
woken me up from a single
beauty, a son in early winter.

How one conversation,
How one single fact.

Has made everything shatter and rearrange.

A man exists, the same lineage as Christ.

Begging to be risen up

or sunk down into the ground. 

Twisting under coverlets, tucked inside coverlets.

Dreaming of black and white mannequins, inside city boutiques.

White on white coffeeshops.

A birthday planned in a Carolina, where clear water passes through logs, of variegated spaces.

A sudden retraction, waves pulled back

A tide unknotted

To reveal the skeleton sand beneath.

11:01

Crater fields harness energies from panels rippling overhead.
In our atom-stained womb.
And fireflies buzz in star formations above our canvas stretched wavelength voices.
In night, broken lintels crack throughout our minds---
Where is newness?
And where is the progress I was promised?
I just don't know.

Cathedral walls stained crimson
from your already glass-sculpted hands
I admit to you a sowing
freedom
but gather not the totality of half-petals
or half-fruits
or half-stalks
to assemble into a single machination
of a pulsing beauty.

I can't bleed enough for you to notice
the sores on my palms.
Regular undulations,
shuffled to indifferent names
with indifferent scents
and different motions of intimacy.

But by the power vested in me,
by the substrates of anatomic molecules
bound and shook together
I now pronounce you
tired, alone, wasted,
and knotted together with one who you will weave yourself into, and trip over,
until eternity ceases,
until the skies shriek

I am knotted to bouncing matter,
glued to fleshy soil
molded bronze pulled from the gelatinous earth,
now worn on my wrist.

I have yet to increase a gracefulness
or poise, or floating confidence,
but the light creeps up upon those in darkness
the snails, the tiniest ones who drain themselves
into empty vases to conceal,
and therefore reveal dazzling light.

This is all worn down to fingernail pigments,
and eight silences arise
to bring mansions of not my desire.
Enter into clear rhythms
blushing wind when holiness is acknowledged. I sprouted in closeness
in Grand Rapids, walking to a sunbathed lighthouse
moving closest to a highest heaven
Safety and connective tissue.
Distance and coldness.
I'm not great with vagueness or sleight of hand.

See your greatest movements in the flesh of the night
air dense, and cold.