journal-19, lie to me

sometimes I need you to lie to me. I'm almost begging you, please, save me from the hurt

it's a good thing the soft sand is forgiving tonight. it's more slopes then slop. and there's lightning in the clouds off in the distance. I passed by three turtles making their nests and one more in the waves making its way back to the sea. one of four girls in the group yells out hey, I love you without ever seeing my face. the order of things is inconsequential. everything is random. on purpose or by mistake

prove to me that you're really here. prove to me that you're not someone else's desperate observation. love me with undeniable pain and pleasure, given and received. let's wear out our bodies, down to the bones turned to dust.

it's time for me to go now. I've breached the skin. there's no one else around and I can't prove any of this. maybe I’m lying. maybe I'm not really here. I will save you from the hurt. there was no pleasure, and I didn’t feel a thing

surface area

smoothing surface
disrupted by the random
once of chance

cause of causation
fix of fixation
pulse of pulsation

temperamental equilibrium
asymmetrical pneuma

forever stirred
into new vitality
dysrhythmia

(image edited from forbes.com)

- by dawn it was over

the children play outside under the porch light where the insects collect

I'm trying to text on an old flip phone as the neighbor's dog takes a shit on my lawn

there aren't enough frogs or bats nearby to eat all of these evening mosquitoes

thirty-eight can be lonely when you've got too much to do but nothing else really going on

memories still care, they come around once in a while giving sweet forehead kisses

I remember pulling the window screen out and hoisting myself up into a room full of young comfort

by dawn it was over. I'll be turning fifty-three soon. the children are in their twenties

I find myself staring out the window more often now

(unknown internet source)

journal-18, climbing

I’m climbing up high enough tonight to meet the fantasy of you halfway through the air. and when we meet, we accelerate, leaving beyond the sonic boom

but caudal lag, in backward drift. the suffering I’m climbing away from. the voice of a poem that needs to be heard. not by many. perhaps... only by me

    ------

   aquaswirl, death-blue
    indication of transition

    I’m exhausted feeling
    this way
      so weak
      so exhausted

    pull the plug
    open the drain

    feed me to the stream
    that leads to the river
    that leads to the sea
    of higher ambition
    of retroactive intercourse
    of harmonious trust

    life-white, etherdeep
    simplicity of existence

    ------

that being said, I can only smile with you. a hundred smiles. a thousand smiles. I’ve lost count. its seemingly endless

catching up to your flesh, and I kiss right through you. it is a fantasy, a dreamland, as I’m climbing up higher into this mystical expression

(image by http://dihaze.deviantart.com)

journal-17, daylight

most nights I feel okay enough to die. the nights I don’t feel that way are the ones that frighten me

I’m getting used to these mornings without you. the stagnant hours, the last speckles of darkness before your arrival. that’s when I talk to myself, when I talk to the speckles. we discuss things that don’t concern you. we hide them, we tuck them away in drawers and under pillows before you get here. and then you intrude. such a pesky rabble-rouser. instigator. seeker of secrets

give me some more time. I’m just beginning to compromise with the voices in my head. not that we’ve made any significant progress either way. but the systems are in place, and your rainbow contributions are scaring away the intricacies of our recently established quasi-solutions

buoyancy - the enabling of rest and unrest without the adherence to direction. you’re a god or a devil, greedy at the tooth, resplendent by design. but why travel all this way to act as a spatial undertow when you know damn well I’ll only burn up upon reentry

(image by Bock Felix on https://daylight.academy)

realm of the earth

unique blue,
third stone of
such beauty and
such horror

tumescent hope,
keeling doubt,
this spinning lost
respiring

terra mater,
untamed disciple,
mix of wars
and cares

perfect place
in perfect space
at perfect pace
until

(Mother Earth by Karen Howarth on fineartamerica.com)

night of the moon

silversharp,
cool reflection
in dusty glow
neutrality

grinning phase,
mischievous
tidal force
of jealousy

haggard bulb,
lethargic knell
... the droning
... the drone

yet peaceful presence,
a dream companion
in monotone brilliance
by default

(image from elegyforadream.tumblr.com)

day of the sun

local flame,
crescendo of
ardent beat
and climb

fermata
over birdsong
seawave
and petalflesh

carrier,
igniter of
frenzied scream
and metaphor

arc-fallen
with heaviness
more beautiful
than blaze

(image from pinterest.com)

body heat

the glistening, as movement

  what exactly have we

  found here

  could it be possible

  that comfort is not much

  different than bliss

O, but this is both

yes... this is both

bodies melding, merging

allowed to explore

and be explored

each giving in 

to the conquering of

the other

  what exactly have we

  found here

  within movement

  underneath glistening

(Image from al-quraini.tumblr.com , my color edit)

some semblance

some slight semblance of god
out there on the horizon
in cloud patterns and maneuverings
and things lost in translation

out there on the horizon
there’s a familiar sense of mutation
and things lost in translation
behind the eye of the beholder

there’s a familiar sense of mutation
in every chosen disobedience
behind the eye of the beholder
swells malignancy and comfort

in every chosen disobedience
in every dissident’s configuration
swells malignancy and comfort
and some semblance of a god

while walking the fish

we don’t have a dog yet
but we talk about it as
a maybe

I’m up again at 2 am to take
the fish in my head out for
a walk

she wants a rabbit someday,
I want her and whatever animal
comes with her

we are water in water,
a crab mingling with a scorpion,
a perfect match

there’s a predator flying high
above her daydreams, a raptor in
the wind

all the insects that I’ve killed
come alive again at night
seeking their revenge

  sometimes at dusk I hear a
  dog barking in the distance
  and hope its happy

  the fish stop swimming for
  a minute
  as the raptor dives in

(image by Arun Mohanraj on fineartamerica.com)

zero-elevation

at zero-elevation I keep the lamplight low as someone else’s cigarette butt gets pushed along the sidewalk by the evening breeze

I recommend keeping your distance and speaking less about trivial things during the atomic blast of inner peace that comes in the smallest moments at the end of each day

I’m a scavenger in my own heart but meticulous and mindful of the subtle differences between what should be discarded and what should never be thrown away

I use one fork one knife one spoon two plates two bowls and three cups adhering to simplicity and a voluntary needlessness as the sea level rises outside my door

  at zero-elevation the earth is crying and the tears have nowhere else to go

(my photo)

the willow, the weep

in stasis, these hands
these lips, this body
cooled to a death.
the stillness of interlude,
the physical silence
untouched, unmet

I am
  bowed, like the willow
  sunk, like the weep

harboring the unforgotten
behind these crazed eyes,
the warp and blur.
down in the depths of it
where shadows are the sum
of Beauty’s departure

I am
  bowed, like the willow
  sunk, like the weep

fault me not for the
weeds in the garden,
the vipers on the vine.
these grounds are unkempt
and the aching hollow of
dusk now arrives

I am
  bowed, like the willow
  sunk, like the weep

(image from paintingandframe.com)

between (my photos)

I want to be

between your cycles

of ups and downs,

somewhere neutral

with arms outspread

grasping tightly 

helping you to

keep it all together

I want to be

between the distance

from here to there,

somewhere irrelevant

to the outside world

our secrecy, our garden

behind our walls of

evergreens and pretty violets

I want to be

between your legs

with lust and love,

somewhere everywhere

from outside to within

as dashes and dots

and bold exclamation points

extract your pronunciations

I want to be

between your heart and head

providing certainty,

joining logic and emotion

in a stronger bond

and allowing clarity

through the thickened clog

of swelling indecisiveness