In Dying

And so the mist swelled up from the snow
dancing in its own gloom glow.
Swallowing sun rays whole.
The roses crippled in the darkened night
begging for the return of light.
To burn out the blight.

Gold hues abandoned the circlet in the sky
and dust replaced the eye.
Permanence in sight.
No more in love's ache and never in hurt.
A frail existence subverted,


And for the body?
Burn it.

Permeable Ghost

July 4, 09

Empty words waver into songs,
Into souls you don't care to feed,
Cigarettes burn into tongues,
And liquor is the eye to infinity.

And only.
And only because you want
You want your words to be empty.
Feel them and desire nothing,
Permeable ghost,
You can die but you don't die
From the constant way you bleed,
Beggar from the few,
You feel your life is empty.

Haters.

May 12, 09


Rap gently on the door,
The flap of skin before your heart,
Taking the needles' eye,
Closing it with thread as you stitch.

Winter Sun

Feb. 22, 09

White swans envelop and circle,
Heads bent towards each other-
And bodies farther away.

Just in between and below,
Dark blue against ice blue,
Fight and swirl against.

And within the midst of that,
A colourful black brightens,
When the winter sun touches,

Cold brightness with no heat,
Sun shined down on empty,
Just given a light against shade

Eyes, you are, look upon and up,
See nothing in cloudless sky,
fighting with sea and horizon.

For the end of Winter Sun

Charcoal

Feb. 11, 09

An addiction to sky and charming nicotine,
Smoke rising giving me something like hope,
Grey and burdened lace my dreams.

Retrieve the moon ink from the heaven's lake,
Take the reed's stems and heed the songs ablaze,
Stencil change within the placid grave,
Give life, a dew, from above Sun’s high day.

Tainted dust giving butterfly flight,
Swirls of outrageous orange and black,
Beckon the watcher’s eye.

Then burden the dye of the butterfly wings,
Give yellow eyes to the very edges of night’s rims,
Shade shadows in the soil’s depths of Hell’s rings,
And silhouette the moon’s crescent in dreams.

Do lay imaginary wings on my back,
Tattered ends with raindrops to encumber,
Destroying the magic in chipped snaps.

Draw in heaven and hell, weave life and death,
Paint sun and moon and man to their rest,
Beast rein onward to the moon’s ink bed,
Charcoal drawn world held smudges of tread.

My wings had cat eyes and lips,
Readily speaking, drinking, dosing for something,
Beckon for the dragon fly; give a kiss.

God Given

With(out) Intention

Reformatted from original: Feb 12, 09

If one looks too closely, heed me.
Then crack, will the mirror and glass.
It beheld intricacy. Or are you lying?

The stencil was chosen randomly,
You needn’t even bother to neither ask,
Or look too closely, heed me.

Formation was a spur of imagining,
You’ve only found paper once unmasked,
It beheld intricacy. Oh, you are lying.

Can one imagine the flow freely,
From mind to mouth to hands, untracked?
Only if one looks too closely, heed me.

Not exactly without intending,
For the words of beauty to lack,
Because it beheld intricacy. No lying.

So must you analyze this poetry?
Set it upon to be your own task,
If one looks too closely, heed me.
You’ll find no intricacy. Or am I lying?

So Control (Me)

Jan 7, 09

Taken away by the breath of screams,
And the smolder in painted finger tips,
By passing freedom for what's free.
Love is payed in pain; so forget that.

Take this parchment written in blood-
Your heart's ink writes as you read:
'String are broke -Chords are smashed'
Just as you play them and sing.

This is a freedom march of ballet feet,
Which spin only in circles around-around,
In circles of hell and past the many gates.
Oh please lord, wear the matching leotard.

*

Fake my death in harmony with the sun's set
That's how I'd like it to go. So control (me).
So I can control me; death life and breath.
Breathing isn't living and dead isn't death.

Pitiless

January 24, 09

Tomorrow is gone and yesterday is here.

We've rioted against the conformity,
Only to show we conform in fashion.
We've dipped stencils in oil and ink,
Only to hear that it has been written.

The only inspiration of anything new,
Is the dawn that mimicked the past,
Still seen and awed and applauded-
Until the sun turns into the same ash.

We've doodled and called it art,
Brought it into galleries and out.
We've said nothing trying to convey,
And our eyes have just gotten weak.

If we are making up colours we see,
Does it still count as we deem it sanity?
Does insanity only cross a distance?
A line that we will come to soon enough.

If tomorrow is gone and yesterday is here?

*
And we've all lived before,
And we all live again.
And we all will live again.

Pleasantries Dire

Jan 6, 09

Still silver waters upon the edge of dying view,
A Lady walking, thunder following her wake,
Casually, created are ripples then to waves,
Down to our bled out feet; where the children lay.

Her story, is our story, and somewhere is truth,
Peace is no longer, simply, the absence of war,
O' nigh, the honor of our forefathers anymore,
Emerald eyes layered in the bridge of ill sore,

Slipped, we are, upon the blood we shared,
Blinded by short capacity minds which falter,
Stumbled in ruins praying at empty alters,
She runs from wolves called restlessly to her,

She is our babies smiles and kids' intrigue,
Calming still waters lapping at our frozen feet,
Gone only 'cause we can't stand the utter heat
Of natural desert sands and our own defeat.

Go Away.

Dec. 29, 08

You ate me away,
Took me first by my lips and then breathed very deeply.
Taking what was mine to yours, kind of like beautiful words.
I believed in beautiful words, just like you believed in chaos.
I took the flower to my cheek and let it pet myself to sleep.
You took each petal and ripped it off saying perverse things.

This is unreal,
How could I look at you, and why did you never look at me?
These years made differences in our fashions of each other.
I was your shadow, trekking two steps behind your hands.
I still reach like I think I want to feel vanity, though I don't.
You somehow are everything I want to be and what I hate.

Cracked Voices

December 20, 08

You promised egg shell pieces,
That you'd read these words,
Glue together my potent misery,
And create a healthy new picture.

You promised a human knight,
You'd paint me the newly lit sky,
Illuminate my ever dimming sight,
And trace fairy dust on my hand.

But most of all, you promised to hold,
Love and cherish, till death do part,
You took my hand and vows with it,
But forgot to listen to my own words.

Chimera

Dec. 17, 08

Leaves in the broken dried state,
Leave skeletons on the sidewalk,
Material living noises reverberate
Backwards in reverse uncommonly.

Touched by blue living lips she was
A singer in skeletal bones (she was)
Walking, tripping, in backward motions,
She's the wind and that's how it blows.

This story, my friend
Begins and ends in this stanza,
This story, my friend
Begins and ends in this stanza,

We feel like dancing like the ripples,
The averse 'time and space continuum'
The world is the art and paint dribbles,
In colours that make souls and scribbles.

Parallel world within the imagination,
Taking bits of reality and placing my own,
Water droplet of the rainbow my creation,
The snow that falls in June's complexion.

This story, my friend
Begins and ends in this stanza,
This life, my friend
Begins and ends in this stanza...



*
Has a tune to be read to (or at least in my head)

Matching You

Dec 16, 08

This is the introduction of you and me

If you are the lightning blue of the sea
left in the sunshine collecting sparkles,

I'm then the burnt red from the fire
left in the ground to ember and fade.

If you took our essences and mixed
shook, swirled, tampered with over...

We'd still not mix in that soluble way,
We'd merely slam against each other.

Slam against each other

And this is: You and I

How we like how we only link and not
mix despite swirls, shakes, or tampering.

I'm the fire in your heart and you are
the ice that slips us forward in thrill.

Together we were nothing more than
what we were when we were apart

Yet less of what we were to ourselves,
I like the way I am with you, vice versa.

Vice Versa

Take the petals of purple flowers and red
And yellow and brown and thorn branches
Bite them and take a picture of my mouth.

Take a picture of those words I send to you
Through my eyes, the way I let myself sigh,
Lastly, take a picture of yourself watching me.

Watch Me
Match You.

Conjoined [Who Died Tonight]

December 11, 08

This place was like seeing in shades of purple that somehow turned to gold hues but was only like lightning flashes of a light cold-blue. Perhaps it was the irises of the eyes that didn’t expand right, or the mind turning the colours too quick into the mind changing what the everyday person knows as green into the colour it desires before it registers. No control of what reality is but only what the brain and self desire. Desire to see.

This place was a concentrated stare of hypnotizing-ly original in the everyday decor of it despite that he knew he never carried a gun in his trousers before. And despite he knew that the leaves on the trees were never this intensely orange fire, he saw insanity as he breathed in through his eyes; he felt insanity as he knew it was December where he stood...Yet where it really was spring. He saw her then, and never noticed his hands taking the gun out.

In a black tank top and dark jeans, he tried to see her features...but just as he saw he forgot. It was as if looking into a fish tank, he himself was a fish and this girl, and another half of him stared from the outside. He could not concentrate on both and could not tell you the colour of the fish...but only that it was.

He bore the gun with a quiver the girl not looking at him but past him and walked through him the first time. He breathed in and turned to say, with a voice he heard when he recorded his voice...but not the voice he heard in his head, “Stand where you are, I’m going to shoot you,” The words were not his own and he only watched it play out. She turned back towards him and laughed.

“Kill me? And what shall I give you in return?” She walked up to him, seemingly uncaring of his threat, slivered her arms around his. A hand on the gun arm he had let fall limp, his surprise with her lips so close to his ear.

“What shall I give you in return? Riches, money, fame, prosperity, peace of mind,” Her hand drifted downwards in the most seductive of manners. If she were death she’d conquer them all to suicide, begging for the breath of her rebellious calm nature. Calculating and cold he felt her teeth would be, but she spoke down just brushing the zipper of his jeans.

“Self satisfaction?”

She fell back now, and leaned against the fence which he had not noticed. And noticed now what he had not noticed was that they were on a bridge. He had no notion of why he cared now, nor did any reason for why he realized the water was disgusting and there were little boats of what he know were from his childhood that docked along the sides of the canal the bridge crossed. The rails of the fence were an ugly blue terribly painted by the lazy slob he’d make faces at in his free time at the opposite way where his apartment used to be at his age of being young. He didn’t look, because the non reality had taken a hold again and spoke for him,

“I’m going to shoot you,”

A wretched pain wrung him. Despite him standing still in the fish tank, outside he fell in contorted circles holding the head digging finger nails into the tender flesh begging for some release. And from the girl he heard dim shouts- too distracted to see her image now more than ever- “Then shoot me damnit! Shoot me!”

“Aren’t you cold?” He stares again, his breath harsh from his outside view torment. A gleam in the eye with the smile and a soft answer,

“Do you want me to be?”

“It would make more sense,”

“It doesn’t have to make sense here.”

Where the decision came he does not know. And he shot her. She fell and he felt his own chest for a wound not there. Walking towards her lifeless body he stooped to her tender flesh, milk coloured and smooth neck, and wishes for her last words. They fall affectionately as if the first drops of rain on the first warm spring day into the unconscious of his mind,

“I only wished to be loved and never lie,”

And he points the gun to himself. The fish tank shatters.

Shadow Baby

Dec. 7, 08

Shadow baby,
What have you learned from your stalking
Of the old despaired man lighting the lanterns
Across the way of a church with broken windows?

What stories have you told him yet, winter?
What metal work ways has he poured into your eyes,
They seem colder now like freezing iron-too soon seen.

Make believe his life as you've made believe your own,
Tell yourself you're different and by what you know
You have a father truly and he was as different as you.

Shadow baby,
What veil do you toss behind you so none can see?
What intelligent eyes don't tell and what a mouth
won't speak with too many others to listen around.

I'll laugh a smile and you'll smile an inward cry,
I won't notice my winter, because you hid in your cover,
And you may say I may have given them to you first ...

My darling, I'll tell none of your life you wish to know,
Take your future upon your stride and wish for well,
Be an adult with chickens and a baby with ignorance.

Shadow baby,
What have you learned from the metal sheets,
Your cold feet demanding to step inside his mind,
Keep blowing my winter, and by the luckless seasons
You'll never ever die.

*
If you've read
Shadow Baby by Alison McGhee this will make sense...If not...Well then some bits may not seem right to you...
Excerpt:
"Clara first spies him through the crack in the stained-glass window of her church,
lighting a string of handmade lanterns in the Adirondack woods. A lone old man, Georg Kominsky
moves stealthily among the shadow world of his hanging, glittering creations."
---
In Alison McGhee's stunning novel Shadow Baby, eleven-year-old Clara is struggling to find the truth
about her missing father and grandfather and her twin sister, dead at birth, but her mother steadfastly refuses
to talk about these people who are lost to her daughter. When Clara begins interviewing Georg Kominsky
for a school biography assignment, she finds that he is equally reticent about his own concealed history.
Precocious and imaginative, the girl invents version upon version of Mr. Kominsky's past,
just as she invents lives for the people missing from her own shadowy past.
The journey of discovery that these two oddly matched people embark upon is at the heart of this beautiful story about friendship and communion, about discovering what matters most in life, and about the search to find the missing pieces of ourselves. McGhee's prose glistens with shrewd truth and wild imaginings, creating a fine novel that will reverberate in the hearts and minds of readers long after the book is finished.

http://www.alisonmcghee.com/shadowbaby.html

We Are But Only...

Nov. 25, 08
Dedicated to: Will(for my inspiration)

Flow the melodies,
Of your sweet insanity...
Lost in lustful trances we are,
We are what we made the keys to be.

Count the chords and strum the guitar,
Sorrowful the violin in the corner,
Of our minds,
Never escaping the dream like trance,
And talking out what we think and devise.

Flow the rainfall,
Of our dancing eyes...
Lost in dreamy slumber we are,
We are what we made the keys to be.

Sweet is the melody of our minds,
Combined and left solo to play,
We spin again,
Never escaping the drought we made ourselves,
Potions we create to slumber in daisy petals.

Flow the desire,
Of our kinetic bodies...
Potentially lost in oblivion we are,
We are what we made insanity to be.

Crazed in our obsessions of ourselves,
And each other's lips that speak our words,
We laugh again,
At the silly things that make sense to us,
But not to one another or anyone else.

Flow the craving,
Of our intuitive glances...
Lost only in ink and pen to paper,
But found ourselves a true friend to tree and sun.

Black Pearl

November 12, 08

What came forth from the inklings below the black mirror?
Not but an air bubble from the open mouth of the clam,

Far be it from me,
To deny the sharpness of your teeth,
I'll prick my finger tip upon the edge,
Begging for a Sleeping Beauty sleep.

Far be it from you,
To take your words and stretch true,
Devour your hopes and be settled, dear
Temporary bereavement for the lost dew.

So gather us whole,
Take us together and fall down to crawl,
So by goodness I eat what is spoken,
Forgetting hidden reprieve behind a shawl.

Once more together,
All as one we go again in this 'forever',
Succeeding in such a happiness we delve,
Never shallow but not to deep is better.

What courage did it take to believe in happiness, my dear?
In wickedness I've learned that venturing farther is futile,

Tell Myself

October 26 08

Tears dropping, rippling,
In opaque seen pond beneath the fog,
Marsh strands whisper above the cloud,
Coming forth like first soldiers on a field.

Air is heavily, crowding,
I push back the curtain of it's pearl dew,
Only to meet more as they attack my skin,
Staying on my agonized lips sighing again.

Love is enclosing, demanding,
And I push back against without realizing it,
Leaning away, again, knowing the mistaking,
Lies in my head coming forth as forced truth.

Tears dropping, rippling,
After or before I've made my choice anew,
This wall created against the outside fear,
Or rather, a wall of fear I created in control.

Against hopes hoping,
Like false hopes dipping in illusive appeal,

In Responce of Your Question

October 19, 08

Till time done apart stitches,
Draining the rainbow half full,
No colour will be justly dull,
If your eyes stay awide open

Don't weep with eyes closed,
Lick the salt from the wound,
The drought ends ever soon,
Parched throats can drink fire.

Burn aging phoenix take your ash,
To the fountains in your grave,
A baby cries inaudibly your name,
And the cycle ends with the butterfly.

Whirpool Effect

October 15, 08

Beguiled by the myriad of leaves in the oval eye
Spectrum of unfolding sheets dripping in dye,
If words became breath and raced along your skin,
Would you give eternity to infinite feeling?

Practitioners taking your breath as medicine,
Injecting what-not to foam underneath your skin,
Watch your skin mock your own flaunting dance,
Will you take away eternity -for infinite feeling?

Irresistible like the needing of spring after winter,
Cutting daisy flowers for each step of your saunter,
Forgetting the burnt crisp ground from your heels,
You'll take me to eternity; then to infinity.