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,
deciphered
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.

Trembling Sons

We have a distinct night, and

harps swing, under our chests.

tomorrow: Previ, a city under the

sea.

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

thoughts.

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.

Icicle,

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.

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.

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

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,"

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,
and
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
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?