ebullient decay
toxic fumed bathing,
clarity blooms from dark, the
coloured light haunts my
imagination.
Memories developing:
my jukebox romance –
cigarette, beer in
one hand, the other rests on
sound waves lovingly
Sometimes, I just need Nirvana.
“if you ever need anything please don’t
hesitate to ask someone else first,
I’m too busy acting like I’m not naïve…”
Gold.
sifting spurious
screams “sacramental”. Tender
Word. Sanctuaried.
this error in heart
sight – chipping your hieroglyphs.
sharp, ironed grief bleeds
I can’t find the font
my mind is speaking in. And
then the magpie sang.
Summer stretches out
the viscous my mind’s pushing
through, enticing me,
to take a dive down
into the undulating
clarity telling
myself that it is
possible to take with me
what I know now and
swim without any
paraphernalia, (like
er, oxygen tanks?)
No, that’s not what I
mean. So I should take a breath
and when I find me
down there thrashing the
life I think is unique to
me in my naive
(but adorable)
youthfulness, I would say, “HEY!
You need to hear Dwight.
And wear these goggles.
(And don’t open that email.)
And trust me. I’m you.”
originally posted, March 21st, 2017
calls out my mind as
dawn dries briny eyes. O pry
not this dream from me!
Featured image: my own. The French Alps
One single hair, (well,
not one, technically), stabbing
eyes, remorselessly!
disintegrates at
speeds quite pernicious, when that
chocolate shows up
Between here and here
you make this grief infinite.
Wormholing your vice.
Petrichoric bliss
enchants droughted inhale. Drenched
by Red of sword’s chords.
*the sword of the centurion who pierced Christ
“…for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ.” 1 Cor. 10:4
lateral spirals
horizontal corkscrewing
wine spilled, premature
I so admire your
attention span, I wish it
came in a spray can
night’s limping kernel
of quiet, stabbed psyche’s cry
drowned by deaf’ning page
painting basement walls
with your velvet words, window
distracts from staircase
threaded achingly
through time’s needle, prism-ed mind’s
embroidered retreat
dust from your paintbox
the plaintive rain of decades
the canvas is filled
I had a dream once, and this beautiful song was playing in the background.
one foot in Pause's door unravelled, by tones wined into rain's chalice
(featured image credit: Pixabay)
midnight genuflects,
introvert dreams revealed by
moon’s silent sculpting
over all of the pieces
missing in action
but so far from field
she was too high to collect
any meaningful
semblance of early
configurations of their
mis-relationship.
She had to go down
and follow the river bed,
to lie underneath,
to wait in the depths.
Heart broken by the sight and
defibrillated
by the breath of One
already there, bleeding out
poem’s syllables.
the sunder striking
the darkening claps applause
love’s tears, healing pause
(I’ve always loved this song. I like to think of it in the humble voice of Christ sometimes).
