We, the swiftest of conjurors
fabricate and weave,
tuck forcibly into
disorder and drunkenly
swing, eyes clenched and
teeth grinding, at
conventional iconography
grasping at stones
learning not to
flail but to flow
In our thousand days
the world was birthed
for the first time
wobbling on her
sapling limbs and
exhaling acid from porous
bark, wiggling her
cloven extremities
into the blackest
flesh of the ground
You, friend, have
been proven
pulsing and
tepid, fragile,
perfectly earthbound
stabbing others and
bleeding sap
from gritty palms-
Salt-stained and
woozy upon waking
29 August 2009
A Chamber of Roses
I am roused by the vicious tide in my gut, calling come, sit or stand, shake your hair out, you've got to move and even the loitering clouds cannot commit to raining. I suppose my muscles still have some fuel, some will, some metallic anger in them, but I do not exercise their unalienable rights. Instead, I imagine that all language was born in my lifetime, in my butterfly mind, held at bay for all to enjoy upon my birth.
And while remaining prostrate, I turn you both over in my hand, my silver dollars fished from the drain. We are three in one, juxtaposing and contradicting, a salivating oxymoron- this is nothing precious. We all praise the moon and leap at the sun, having within us utmost logic and social stigma. There is always an odd man out, in fact, we install bars around our souls to push the others further, jingling our freshly-minted keys on the inside. We cannot continue in this blasphemous manner, attempting to weave beautiful lives while our screaming mouths are filled with wool. But I concede the following truths: we are of the same stuff, gold and velvety brocade woven to create, to snuff fear. Everyday we tweeze pearls from the muck of ourselves and take them to the world.
I lust heartily for you, two-thirds of me. I am a bowl of scented water, laden with yawning roses and saturated with unconditional love. My bed is a rolling vessel, gliding on the glycerine tide unto the shallows at the end of my life. A veil shields my eyes; it is black, grazing my knees, observing my hidden truths. I feel bizarre like never before. There is a billowing in my ribcage, a fluttering fear. I resist it, pulling my own hair in covered shadow, but it persists, rising to my collar and taunting my thoughts and I think what bad thing could ever happen here? and so I let you in--
With honey on my articulate tongue, I'm speaking your Christian name with conviction, and fear and love are like oil and water no longer. We are a contradiction unto science.
And while remaining prostrate, I turn you both over in my hand, my silver dollars fished from the drain. We are three in one, juxtaposing and contradicting, a salivating oxymoron- this is nothing precious. We all praise the moon and leap at the sun, having within us utmost logic and social stigma. There is always an odd man out, in fact, we install bars around our souls to push the others further, jingling our freshly-minted keys on the inside. We cannot continue in this blasphemous manner, attempting to weave beautiful lives while our screaming mouths are filled with wool. But I concede the following truths: we are of the same stuff, gold and velvety brocade woven to create, to snuff fear. Everyday we tweeze pearls from the muck of ourselves and take them to the world.
I lust heartily for you, two-thirds of me. I am a bowl of scented water, laden with yawning roses and saturated with unconditional love. My bed is a rolling vessel, gliding on the glycerine tide unto the shallows at the end of my life. A veil shields my eyes; it is black, grazing my knees, observing my hidden truths. I feel bizarre like never before. There is a billowing in my ribcage, a fluttering fear. I resist it, pulling my own hair in covered shadow, but it persists, rising to my collar and taunting my thoughts and I think what bad thing could ever happen here? and so I let you in--
With honey on my articulate tongue, I'm speaking your Christian name with conviction, and fear and love are like oil and water no longer. We are a contradiction unto science.
Debris Field
The bars of morning are refracted in the
Obsidian eye of the grasshopper
He leaks ominously
A prophet born in the mud
His small stature does not impede
Vertical lift from crunching toes
In my plastic state
He moves slowly
Though trapped in a
Silver web, I am not drained
Though I am not fed
I grow insane
I, bastion of madness
I, husk of digested love
A visage in cottonwood
A plastic Madonna on the freeway
Tumbling in the cackling light
Inhaling glory of his whitest night
11 August 2009
Obsidian eye of the grasshopper
He leaks ominously
A prophet born in the mud
His small stature does not impede
Vertical lift from crunching toes
In my plastic state
He moves slowly
Though trapped in a
Silver web, I am not drained
Though I am not fed
I grow insane
I, bastion of madness
I, husk of digested love
A visage in cottonwood
A plastic Madonna on the freeway
Tumbling in the cackling light
Inhaling glory of his whitest night
11 August 2009
Balcony Song
In wisest insect's name I chant
With haste of fire in brown grass flying
My cry not just a deadman's rant
Oak eyes observe earth multiplying-
She morphs into the finest dust
Her love consumed by moths
She dreams as every schoolgirl must
Her food composed of thoughts
She holds back miles of snow inside
The net that is her skin
Her sternum severed, open wide
Yet he never could come in
She was born in sticky starlight’s eyes
A simple anomaly
She would give her soul to realize
To climb, to strive, to see
With haste of fire in brown grass flying
My cry not just a deadman's rant
Oak eyes observe earth multiplying-
She morphs into the finest dust
Her love consumed by moths
She dreams as every schoolgirl must
Her food composed of thoughts
She holds back miles of snow inside
The net that is her skin
Her sternum severed, open wide
Yet he never could come in
She was born in sticky starlight’s eyes
A simple anomaly
She would give her soul to realize
To climb, to strive, to see
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)