tomorrow
remains
I'm waiting for the sunrise
naked and anxious
I shake
sounds of rising
stirs in the distance
an uncomfortable arousal
whispers of the day
winds that tease the skin
and blood flow
stimulation slows time
the grinding halt of touch
a/sexual encounter
and here
comes
the sun
wait for it to ripen
slightly sweet and
fragrant at the rind
dig in vertically
next to the core,
then top to bottom
side to side
into the fruit's flesh
press upon the peel
as it flowers outward
polish off the center
not to waste anything
and feed off the skin
I think delicate
I think delicious
I think of her
(Image by Marcel Milkthistle on medium.com)
I want to be a maker of things, not a destroyer. a deliveryman. life comes in small packages, discreetly, sometimes anonymously. a knock on the door. I'm unsure. shaken but enthusiastic. unmoved. I stare at the door. the knocking fades away. I live in a valley. I sleep by the brook. the water makes me happy. trickling water is a happy phrase. I've forgotten my address. it doesn't matter. the deliveryman knows it.
on any random Tuesday the empty faces fill my view. do mirth and gaiety know the days of the week? say "Friday" to yourself and try not to smile just a little. she says "FriYay" once in a while and it lights me up. her voice is home, as distant as it may be.
the Anhinga is sometimes called a snakebird. its adept at swimming and flying. two mediums through which to roam. the male constructs a nest before he even has a mate. anticipation... what a luxury of consciousness. a bundle of thrills... just... waiting... waiting...
when I was much younger, I used to sneak out at night. I'd open my bedroom window, take the screen out and quietly climb through. the change of environments was instantly palpable. leaving one known address for another place that didn't have one. I wanted to make something new, somewhere else. somewhere beneath midnight's umbilicus the forbidden fruit was spread out for the feast. I wanted to be the one who knew where it was. I wanted to make my home there.
(Image from fravery.tumblr.com)
absence runs on
two rivers flowing
simultaneous of
rivers running and
two absences
flowing
where the bends and
breaks veer sideways
and unstoppable while
the ups and downs
break and veer into
bends
come alive in the end
returning to confluence
and gather as a joining
alive with the return to
what comes as an end
in confluence
(My gif)
aye, the sailor grieves at sea
for love awaiting his lonely journey
come sun, come moon
come forth the tides
as hope recedes, the sailor sighs
aye, the sailor grieves at sea
as time becomes his callous enemy
come brooding dread
that love has beguiled
nigh the end, the sailor dies
(Image from fravery.tumblr.com)
we wait days
sometimes weeks
to spend hours
higher than high
follow me
into a kiss
into a bliss
into a giddy
recklessness
if our way
was to be had
we would
sometimes
be forever
making days
sometimes weeks
out of hours
frozen in time
(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)
I'm in my own head again
I don't like it here
it scares me
war zone
chaos in a blender
the torture of many inside one
lunatic tied to a chair
the beatings
the beatings
they don't stop
boiling water in the
cauldron
small sparks set the
flame
keep the lights off
I don't want to see these
me's
these ugly
ugly monsters
(Image from georgepratt.com)
quick-killed
atomic blast
fission plays above a body
where the scorched skin
still leaves a reek
the sandbox is empty now
dreams
like childhood laughter
of a once was
have dwindled away
all the earth returns to fire
still green and blue in
someone's eyes
a memory relived like the
yesterlife we once had
all we have is now
hold out the fist
open the hand
where did it go
(Image from georgepratt.com)
faultless body in the
chamber
lubricated ripe
and ready
love me the way of
being cocked back
and fit to fire off
small target of this
heart
off in the distance
you are
live ammo
aim for me
I am wide open
for you
head back
eyes
trembling in rapture
wrought iron is strong and malleable and becomes stronger the more its worked and has a melting point of 2804°f
I feel the first stage of burning at 118°f and my skin is destroyed at 162°f
I am hardly a wrought thing of anything, lush with flesh and a higher percentage of carbon. I am being worked by the day-to-day and the hands that've dug themselves in keep digging themselves in
the grind is making me stronger. stronger than what though? stronger for what? just enough for this weak body to live on for one more day and for one more day and for one more day?
finish me off at 1400-1800°f reducing me to a fine ash to be sprinkled upon the oceans
there I'll be dispersed, across great distances I will make my rounds. wrought by nature to become a stronger piece of my surroundings. a thing of everything
(Image from grunge.com)
up in flight
my little sparrow
high, so high
you've lost sight of
the ground
lost in flight
my crooked arrow
blind, so blind
you're unable to
be found
fear as you might
the trailing shadow
unkind, unkind
as a predator
that hounds
into the night
escape to marrow
thriving, thriving
as if banished
but rehoused
(Bloody Sparrow by joshgalacticos on deviantart.com , my editing)
because we are in motion
I am clinging on to you
electric night of current
adding silver to your
copper conductivity
we flow at varying speeds
and distance is irrelevant
think of me as I think of you
living and alive in the circuit
(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)
heavens in the sky above. mansions on the beach below. both are dwellings that I can't afford. midnight never fails me though. I am housed here. darkness hits from every angle. I'm more blind during the day than I am at night. right now, everything's accentuated.
I walk a little further on this particular night, all the way down to the smallest light on the shoreline. its there that I turn around and slow my way back. by this time the clouds have passed, the stars have come out to play and the moon is perfectly halved by empty space and reflection. I can relate. and I see halves everywhere. all around. the ocean to my right, dry land to my left. the sand is half flattened by the waves, half chopped up by footprints. my thighs, torso, arms and head are clothed. my face, neck, lower legs and feet are exposed. my mood is half happy and hopeful, half sad and worrisome. I'm halfway through this walk, but I'm still walking.
its cold tonight. well, chilly at least. the stars are always cold out there. what a suffering it must be to only be seen after your existence, after you've been completely blown out. when in some future moment a random set of eyes looks your way and finally sees you, but you're really not there at all. you were. there is proof of you... but if someone were to travel the long distance to find you, they would arrive at nothing. wasteland. emptiness. perhaps only feeling your memory's warm glow along the way. (its getting a little colder now.)
transiency is didactic. its exceptional annoyance cannot be avoided. I live in a moment, then the moment is gone. I am a moment, from birth to death, and then my life is gone. I touch myself to remember I am here. there are three moments realized... the touching, the being touched and the actual thought that initiates the action. wanting all three completes this moment. finger to skin. significant or not. somehow I know it matters.
I'm walking under a spotlight now. a week has gone by. another night. the moon is almost full. you can't paint this picture or take this photo. its a turquoise smoke silvery dim that is astonishingly indescribable. I am wide awake. in the present. a simple 64th note in the complex composition of infiniteness. I nod my head to you O heavens, with your holy rooms awaiting the immaculate. I nod my head to you in the mansion, with your glass full of scotch and your wife in bed waiting. our thoughts could not be more dissimilar. I'm so alive in this bleak moment of permanence. this transience. but hey... its still difficult. besides, I'm just walking by.
pour more fuel on the fire
this pliable, this malleable
mindmuck of a mindfuck
disarray of illogical
idioms and factums
where things make sense
that don't make sense
organized to equalize
not concerned with any
truths or lies
so hypnotized are these
loving eyes, placated by
the thrill in the air
of a standard deviation
higher than expected
when its all laid out
right goddamn in front of
the soft magnification
the aching dilation
the lust trust and rust
that never seems to
acknowledge
poetry
is a much larger
word/world
than imagined
(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)
what will I know of me
what will stay in memory
what will become
what if I came back as a
stone buried inside a mountain
never amounting to anything
what if I came back as a
diamond in a wedding ring
never expressing my own love
(will you recognize me)
what if I became a speck of
alga among a billion in bloom
or a virus in the urine stream
of a city rat
(will you despise me)
what if I'm the fragrant smell
of a teenage girl's first rose
or the delicious aroma of
movie theater popcorn
or the pleasance of
aftersex skin
(will you delight in me)
what if I never meet you again
what if we only continue to keep
reliving further and further apart
what if this chance is the
best one we'll ever get
(will you live now
and love with me)
what if I don't want to
come back around here
what if I scream
No More!
No More!
No More!
what if its not my choice
oh god...
what if its not my choice
(The Poet by Reynier Llanes on snowangelsoul.tumblr.com)
