fallible uneasy nature
of things and these
variant of Cora Pearl, a
wild child descendent
tamed by nothing but time
and the street-cold hush
polished smooth by fright
and vehement smiles
serve yourself in trance and
begs of the opportunistic
feed the pigs sex and smell
before the slaughter
we need promises as much
as we need solid lies
when the ripe house burns
we are all incinerated
(Image from stayathomemum.com.eu)
motes of fate
in the
tenebrous air,
words written
in chalk
the wind blows
precious fret...
the pendulum swings
there's a high
to be had
on both sides,
she searches for
magnetic force
only Love knows
precious heft...
the pendulum swings
(Image from fineartamerica.com)
moon mood and reflection
disturbed by the tender trickle
of little waves upon my feet
rise of a glowing stone mute and
forgotten amid the lucid backdrop
of a piercing star-filled night
down the shoreline two strangers of
my imagination fuck on a blanket and
wet sand with smooth simple loving
closing my eyes to the sea-breeze
I strain to hear them but their moans
are low and private into the ear
their night is fine without us, moon
and I as mute and forgotten as
shadows drowned in their waves
this night is fine without me, I have
my own secrets to tell tonight
and the moon as my only witness
(Image on elegyforadream.tumblr.com)
anesthetize the 4 chambers,
medicate the selves within
chase those little inchoate
voices into a reprimanding
corner until they learn to
behave
but which one of I
will do the reprimanding
and who is really chasing
who in this rhetorical cycle
of questioning
the heart is becoming
spastic now and the
medication is kicking in
I am doctor and patient
and the rooms are all white
and padded and windowless
but there are trees in my
head and children laughing
and no one around to supervise
I am not here right now,
as obvious as the sign on
the door says
do not disturb
(Phot by S.D.G Photographie on flickr.com)
underneath
or over
grinding through
the overdub
and large hall reverb
of living
here I lie
waiting for you
below the cold universe
upon this burning earth
in this deep valley
down in the thin grass
within this loose sand
with the littlest of things
a single musical note
within the seed's shell
vibrating unique existence
in sustained resonance
bring your beauty
to my awaiting song
and I will show you
(Image from shutterstock.com)
"There was preserved in her
the fresh miracle of surprise"
-Jim Morrison
my security
my consistency
my friend fiend friend
my angel lover
my betrayer
my journey
my rearview mirror
I look ahead for you
without turning my
back on you
you, everywhere
you, nowhere
tangible intangible
ghost on a swing
voice of inside out
ancient
present
unknown
every miracle of you
preserved in you
folded
folding
unfolding
its hard to find the beauty
in a normal August day
with the heat and humidity
taking its toll hour by hour
the sweat rolls and collects
while the breath gets sticky
and thick making it difficult
to keep a positive mind
in the midst of monotony I
gaze to the side while
walking in a parking lot,
and there among the grey
there among the black and
sun-dried green and thorny
brown, there sticks out like
a shout... Red! Pink!
O beautiful hues!
such a surprise
so pretty
so simple
I miss simple,
I've missed a lot of things...
I cry easily sometimes...
today was one of them
(My image)
Florida was white with snow
in January of '77... my corduroys
were catholic school uniform
brown... gray was the smoke from
my first joint with Joe and Trey...
I remember Grandma's blue
sweater hug and Courtney's blue
eyes... pink was the bubblegum
in a pack of baseball cards or
a pouch of big league chew...
the lemon Italian ice and the
crossing guard's raincoat were
both a certain yellow... and
green was so green on every
yard of the football field...
red, red came deep from the
blood of a stab wound to my
right thigh... and blonde was a
loose ponytail bouncing from
Amy's cheerleading hair...
black was getting knocked out
chasing down an interception...
and orange I don't really remember
much of... ... but this is how I
remember colors...
by experience, not sight
(Image by Phil Perkins on pixels.com)
waiting for the words
torture is this time
in silence
a biting bug taking a bite
every second
deeper into the skin
until underneath and crawling
while I wait
it nears the heart
mouth open wide
and appetite still needing
there's no internal defense
against it,
it lives and feeds and
greeds and seethes
so torturous is this
time in silence
waiting for the words
every second, still needing
(Image by s8ndavinci on deviantart.com)
crux of mouth
where red and pink
are wet confusions
we meet the beast
all muscle and tough
that comforts or kills
deep come winds
in forms and passions
sensible or absurd
with grinding force
we entrants crushed
go down in a swallow
(Image from pinterest)
where does the night go
sucked into a small black hole
like one of those old tube TVs
when the screen disappears
after turning it off
gone like a magician behind
the wave of a hand and a puff
of play-smoke as the dazzling
assistant acts surprised
down the kitchen sink rattling
like a spoon that got stuck in
the disposal because somebody
forgot to put it off to the side
or thrown into the corner like
a sweaty pair of socks you're
just sick of walking around in
as you have been for so long
August can take her voice away
but her seeking spirit rides the air
From a higher West she gathers up
as she's done before with valiant care
I knew her not when last she passed,
her world is so much larger than mine
Scotland, Italy, Portugal and France
know her body, her breath, her mind
I speak in dreams to flashes of her
as she darts across the ether's expanse
Once we shared a meticulous kiss
and vanished away to chance, to chance
Time now shrinks as the hours retract
and her seeking spirit rides the air
September will bring her out of dreams
for once again our kiss to be shared
(Image from videohive.net)
sun or moon
dawn or dusk
I'm not sure of
anything
but I'm fighting
love keeps me in
the blind battle
win or lose
this isn't a drill
this is live action
there's no dream
good or bad
to wake up from
(My image)
licking the release of morning
off of this nubile leaf,
off of this wasted ground
feeding on the natural yolk of
things unborn and
these strange dreams unsettled
I need something useful today,
all gods have wanton needs
and many of us are awakening
to you also, wherever you are,
great god or goddess of You,
wake up with us, come with us
let's feed off of each other
and taste the day from these
sultry skins unfettered
(Image from teachmetarot.com)
as it stands, this night
is oceanquiet and stardark
left for me and my
sludged steps onward
the shoreline lies fallow
eager for trespassing
or any injected voice
into its fertile overlay
and then this shell
in its own decorum
rounded out from the sand
as if brightly displayed
calls out to me in reply
to an unspoken need,
sensed within senselessness
as if already it was known
my love lies away from me
as quiet as this shell
waiting for a reaching hand
and an eye that adores it so;
I stole it from the night
with good intentions promised
and sent it as a gift
something real, something honest
(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)
