The mockingbird and the thistle

Me,
I am the bird singing with my colored feathers
always dreaming of you


...

solome

1.
mothered on branches
of morning sun

she puts them into
her blackest pan
and flips them
only the way she can

spreading butter like the sun on
its honeymoon

2.
there once was a time
before the sweet dreams you take me to

...

like this

from out cold seeing stars
into a trembling heart

stirring in the very things
prayed for 
these parts of everything
turning slowly like tides   

Today I made sense of it all.

.

hold me breath

hardly the definition of insanity
it takes determination to do the wrong thing
over and over and expect a different result
it might even lead to some kind of enlightenment...

learning patience
and to never give up the dream
sometimes the wrong way's the only
way to get it right




                                                                .......
                                                                   ..

only what fits in the ocean

the darkest part of everything
wears down the black sky
and in pursuit
moving eyes 
under guarded eaves
with stunning quickness
move into position

where night   
stops seeing
and becomes light as summer
with daylight on its back
like here and now,
where the only question you need ask
goes something like this

..
.

Escaping From Translation

Heart bound
wound round around
the inside and out
of everything

Adrift on this splendid
current floating gently
away from meaning
Soaked in earth
and universe

....
.

Arrhythmia

Through the nothingness of desire
you hear it
the words rising above the world
woven wildly in dreams beating
in precise rhythms 
pockets of wonder to reach out
and feed on
left unsaid spoken only
by the heart words unchained
wandering the sky


..

all there is is all I'm looking for

you spread your words like fire
my soul basting slowly over their flames

as this beginning  persists and fades
and as a result, I’m left here at another end

something that I know can be defined
only by the ability to feel 


.

To my mind's back

About
slowly perfectly being in this expression
about me the receptacle 
of weight 
the you and  no one of everything
like ribbons tied onto an echo
and feeling again in a range from blue
to white the surface of this sky
...
  .

Felt like oxygen

being  eating
a world worthy of laughter
and a cry
blissful as boredom
painted in soft light



.

Between Mountains

across the cool ivory bed of salt
wearing the uniform of grammar
sunshine flows over depth and distance
love poems that once were still
in faint whispers 
brush into the evenings long reach
and fade into an ocean of space



...

Slipping Still Silent

withering playfully into
impostors
flawlessly mechanical and efficient
like the ancient art of letters
rubbing our shadows off walls
mind gliding hill sweeping
heels slip sweating

the skin
this inherited reality
writes in its own language
writing in each other like the
flowers growing in your blood


...
..