I love contemplation, curiosity, self awareness, imagination and strange things. I write about the human condition, and often write about love lost. Tragic, haunting, graphic, strange, heart-wrecking sorrow calls to me, and so; I write. I believe there is beauty in sorrow. I’ve lived it, seen it, felt it, know it. I hope that my words create a Universe of their own for you, full of visuals and contemplation.
Please note, because I feel that some posts are more for adults, just drop me an email and I’ll give you the code 🙂 Anyway, thank you for reading my words. I hope that you enjoy.
My mourning gown My stinging undoing A wreck, ruined and breathless As my lungs insist –
This firesong was ours without a doubt Hearty passion, intuition, entered at our own volition Look through my seasons Look through my eyes Onto the parts of me that no one else should ever see Onto the pieces that should be left to obscurity Douse the melting flame With breath and touch and gasoline – With lips and mouth and quarantine – Where starched sheets tangle, like our legs As kiss becomes one spark to flame Within thin walls pressed ears could obtain Soft moans, in peaks of cherished pain Reckless marks on tender skin Taste so sweet they should be sin And mortal, crimson petals bleed Passion purring rhapsodic need Velvet smooth against the rough To singe so sweet never enough
And in my mind I live to dream Of angel wings we laid upon, as over skin our fingers crept til dawn – Fingers drenched in the sweet obscene That, after pulse and breath did still Did hold filter-tipped to our delighted lips Bleached, thin strips, of menthol flavored nicotine
Into your eyes I remember; I fell unbound Silent, sweet, searing sound To fade, to die as mortals do These lips immortalize what was true
My mourning gown My stinging undoing A wreck, ruined and breathless For what no longer does exist
Gathering my energy Histories frames illustrate that I need ritual at my table A feast to stop the lingering and rotting To inhibit the dying and halt the death Strange doesn’t indicate insane, but I’m not sure where I am I thought my definitions were crystal fireflies and amethyst dragonflies Tilling the soil in my soul But an ill wind has pelted me with an acrid desert and I admit that I’ve damned my own river at times With my mortal, deceptive, checkmate sentiments, etching sharp cornered boxes that I cut myself climbing in to… I’ve tried to scoop the stars into my blessing bowl – Stir their soft, unwavering vitality into my emptiness Harness the moon, bathe in its crisp, generous, purifying beams But the tide has ebbed and hope has settled into twilights camouflage Shadows and dust, grime and rust, present and past, and thus Beneath frozen ground, crocus and memory feel like velvet crushed Timeline unravels like twine; Fraying lengths of lethargy and apathy… We slide through eons like glowworms, interpret and invent ourselves, our epitomes, between our highs and lows We hunt and gather a montage of whispers, hums, thoughts, beliefs, voicings – We become But this biting, frostburn winter has come among my travels, and among the debris I have lost my pith, my flame – My scorch Laudanum dreams might inject some warmth into the spirit of this place – This institution of empty puppets, their layered, paper mache strips of faded letters, extolling yesterdays presence – Extolling yesterdays presents… those dusty, pasted pieces shape bone, and limb, and holes; Vacant eyes of the dead Chew up the ruby fire which exists in all lifetimes of clockwork dimensions, gnash and pulverize its shimmer…
As we rush from one time to another, chasing our breath and the sanity in our minds – Smoldering embers can be stirred into fire Over infinite rehearsals, we create vast valleys, to traverse whenever we reach into the echoes of ourselves Where the sacred speaks – Stones, blaze, smoke, haze; Symbols that weep, that rise or seep; Uncover and steep… This crust, with a gentle boot nudge, cracks open a channel Where have I gone? I’ve caused my own slow death Distance has not impressed the ghosts of my tender age Yet held close to my heart a safer place – I wish that scars could be strung on silken thread To wear like pretty things, but take off and lay aside when tender spots ache Fling into a corner or set upon the sill of an open window – For the crows to carry away and churn into shiny totems To make, for just one moment, shattering tragedies into things with enough purpose That the pain, shame, isolation would melt into the ground… I’ve walked where normal made you strange Which haunted all of my ghosts nefariously The pieces may never fit exactly again But I refuse to have a love affair with regret I am my indifference against incompetence I am my psychology, philosophies and treasons – A whirlwind charging into the seasons I ask myself “What conclusion did you expect from your course of action?” As I attempt to solicit the juice from immeasurable reasons Staying one step ahead of myself seems a potent intrusion – It extracts the softness from falters and hindsight Renovates the myths of this breakdown Into the mystical of a breakthrough I am a compass I am a bridge I am my own thoughtful measures
Sunshine through the window dapples the walls with flower shadows Fall is unfolding into winter, and wistful arms wrap me in a contemplative cabaret To cavort, in a mad feast of affection for the miseries and the revelries Lick the bitter from the wounds Savor the sweet teasing my lips Like grapes left late on winter vines become ice sugared wine to sip And I can feel the lulling weight of anticipation, a divine opus sprouting in this desert in my soul Beneath a frosted rubenesque moon I smile
You Were the highway of my childhood – Aspen birch skin, feline green eyes, waterfall, platinum tresses Curves and legs Hollywood voluptuous in a small-city girl; You were Marilyns prelude Your joie de vivre lighting the Hollywood strip, pale, candy cane pink kisses trailing behind you You inspired eyes of desire, and I I chased your magic – It followed you everywhere, although you rarely noticed I tried to catch it in a jar, but it was trickier than those fireflies that lit the lilac bush in summertime I tried to lure it onto my palm, but it was fierce and wild But as the years fell away, you did, as well Clouds of fire Rolling through the sky Roiling, toiling angry monstrosities Beautiful chaos like your embattled eyes Violin lips pressing a haunted melody against every blissful season, chilling each pleasant breeze Blowing icy kisses that frosted the ocean waves as you stood barefoot in the cold, wet sand Lingering somewhere that could never be touched… Captured in a Polaroid, your hair whipping in the wind, face turned sideways, eyes numb, like your smile And I dared never ask the question – Since your demons easily tripped you up And your spurs, and quills shot to attention, punching through your delicate, pale skin Like tarnished armor that kept you separate, kept you scarce and alone But I remember how I played in your shadow, looking up at you with adoration Heel to your toe – The whole world rose in your smile and danced to your laughter And should there ever be a measure of my soul It would be those breaths taken within the span of your ethereal wings Moments when your love unpeeled times grey shadows to reveal exquisite pastels beneath And, having forgotten who I was I found myself in the glint of your soft, fragile, velvet eyes While your lacy wings wrapped me in their lilac-scented sweetness… We brushed against, and pushed through the clouds that ringed the mountains Carbonated wilderness full of specters drier than a dead desert – Coughing up their putrid sawdust, choking us But you gathered me up and without hesitation, dove into the sky Wings beating a lullaby Flew past the sunflowers and marigolds To land in the clover-dotted grass Where we tended to our nicks and gouges And the world righted itself, surrounded by a cornflower blue sky… Your silhouette unfurls and I reach out from my dreams, my fingers sliding through empty air Drops slip beneath my lashes to flow down my temples into my dark hair I don’t want to open my eyes and admit nothingness – But it resides there, the yin to my yang Kitchen table coffee mornings were a best part of us Each time I traveled back, feet on the blue concrete landing, peering through the glass panes into my childhood Hand on the doorknob, eager I remember the time the egg shells cracked and I hid in the bathroom, sobbing – Unable to understand how I could make you so angry I still don’t know what happened that day, but I hold it close to me, along with sweet, candied moments Now that I can’t hold you This morning, I feel separate, scarce, alone, and wish for a lullaby; I’m looking at the sky Wishing for that fierce and wild in your long ago As you darted and dodged, hovered and swirled Prisms of colors, purples, greens, blues and lush black Wings that kissed my cheeks with tenderness as you flew by –
