Pollination

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.

topiary

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.
Stuck
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,
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.