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
no-
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?

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

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?

We do not love things as we see them,

we notice them as deeper than they really are, you understand.

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

reverberation

of sugar-sprinkles

in mid-morning.

A singing mother wondered

about the truths being

thrust towards her

while

cymbals

cymbals

cymbals

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.

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!

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!

thoughts---

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!

an expanded detail, but yet still, I love!

Acorn

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

and

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!

telma

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