past the thousand misty hills
i hear her
(hypnotized
in a devout circling stare)
"her legs were long as the devil's ----"
I asked them to please do it over
(with balance beam focus and dark energy)
"- A black marble goddess, sad and desolate..."
and all I got was this definition of rage
*
rolling swirls from the dream side of dawn
gently wash the moon's emotions
into a nostalgic painting
a trespass. a journey
his or her weather
that may all melt before it ever gets delivered.
.
.
surrender
To what's under a deeper dust
unneeding of a rub or polish
indescribable like
the evening of spiritual energies
unpredictable like the scanning of a text
altering the order of words.
the natural order of unqualified dividends
and life's secrets.
Truth be told, i'm just writing a memoir.
about someone writing a memoir
and sometimes were
on the same page
,-
energetic eager proud change direction
what do words like these even mean?
Flint steel archer Jupiter
they peninsulate whatever carries them.
Like signs in the water and bright spots.
velvet ghosts as natural as teachers
laughter and trust gained goodbyes
and the bright spot happily restored justice beauty and harmony filled with new love
Hello, please number all words including sapphire
I nap and dream haphazardly tapping
the portals of whispered fragments
inside the words I see letters
animals
screaming from their cages
pacing
waiting to be unlocked
from shelter
survivors of floods famines and fires
born again
Love unlocks doors and opens windows
frightens and exhilarates
A journey that contemplates the heart shape
because we can't know the shape of a soul
only dream glimpses identified by silent truths
love is a ghost everyone talks about but me
a trace of perfection unlimited by the mind
There was that one time I didn't recognize your voice
with all the rooting and uprooting constantly going on
it was a cloudy night there were no stars
anywhere
(#
silence between sounds
the steps into forever filled with undertones
like the glittery lava
shaken out into this cold dark
unfeeling place
or the tiny life inside a fragile voice.
it's going to be someone , and if it's not about
how love can't rest or learn how to listen
or making me as every
if I
for a short piece go too long I just stop
%
born in silence the sky speaks
to the places of your imagination
symptoms drained out of words
capturing a half empty image
prismatic age caves of flames
turning behind shadows
My thoughts
convicted
traitors
my lips assassins
of virtue
my language is
squeezing my soul to fit
_
the great beauty in shadow
it calls out to me
to be kissed and held.
once this was the first time
once without thinking of how i appear, talk
not everything was just chance
not everything wasn't that long ago.
in the end. when we broke up
i didn't know how to be happy
I was assuming
I was the thing they called me
and now it's all just something in the past
#
words weave inside me
caressing
spreading rays
into unknown dimensions
destinations
as far away as
unspoken dreams
them again
I saw another metallic bird going west
a chemelon roach drone or a cycaida gsx possibly
what is your destination?
I'm too exhausted to make a rainbow now God. said
39
detaching from the drama of life
experiencing situations through only senses
you allow a natural response to
what is
images without thought
the present situation
seeing
without the distortion of the mind
allows you to not react.
forget both up and down
smiles or frowns
mixed all together
Ago long ago
dreams rippled
through a lifeless
anatomy of antonyns
that swirled down, here into a heart
*.
maybe it's the lightness of empty space
but if it's not
I can't be sure about holding it all together
while trying to understand
the wind, the woods, the silence
so I continue up the path
and into air
in this way, events are twined together
and when they slow and stop
in ways that look like this
I remind myself - don't forget to look around
because if you don' everything could collapse all around you
)