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My Lover & I

My Lover & I

 

Maria Morisot

 

Published by Moan Lisa Press

 

Copyright © 2014 Maria Morisot

 

Eventide

 

The dull ache of a body worn,

Past the compass of entertainment’s score;

And I believe her calling is for me,

 

Too much time spent isolating fragments of some erratic whole

Thinking I may reuse these here or there as grace and eloquence permit,

 

What style,

And what substance,

The chains are broken and her tongue is loose;

 

What verse shall she sing next,

To accompany my song?

 

The fluidity of our reception

Spans the night sky without peculiarities;

The dreamer with her eyes closed

Sees the vacancy of breath in me,

 

And blooms the Sunday night recitation.

 

How much shame would come from falling in love?

 

Splintered speech from the mouth of my oppressor;

Deliver me, and make room for me among the wasps,

That I may shatter glass, and reconnect the fragments of my heart;

 

And two become one persona;

 

Living in the dark pages of my self-reflective work,

I see more than I care to in the mirror;

If only I had a mirror,

 

Who could bare witness to my soul,

And ease the suffering eternal;

Not disrupt the heart’s condition,

And leave me wanting and waiting.

 

Will this feeling of being thrown ever end,

And the weightlessness receive me in her womb,

Bury me deeply, lodging my breast within her walls

“I am ready,” I lie to myself.

 

This voice,

No one but I can hear,

Sometimes raging through my ears;

But mostly calm and quiet like whispers

 

Echoed in the dark.

 

And her pool is soft and silent,

Where we could dip our extremities,

Feast upon the moonlit mass

And plunge;

 

There is no bottom to this lake of death

From which she takes her breath;

 

Something’s missing, but I cannot put my finger

On this evasive lack of substance I have longed for,

 

Curiosity calls; and the instruction set that follows,

I need to breathe, I need everything as it was

Before eavesdropping had its flavours wrapped

About my tongue;

 

And desire painted the world red,

Subduing any sign of conscious thought.

 

It’s easy to break habits and change direction;

But my feet always lend themselves to a gravity of course

 

How much I would love to distract myself in the voice

Of unconscious ecstasy; to lose myself in her hypnotic beauty;

And close my eyes, and relax into the threads of infancy;

 

To project into my mother’s womb

And lay, quieted by the beating of our hearts.

 

Voices speaking truths I do not want to hear,

And in the escalation of my regrets; I choke on

 

My own words;

 

And in a violent outburst,

I reach through our conversation and grip

To it.

 

Textures of words unspoken

Streaming through the screen;

 

Our fault, and my recitation.

The culmination of years’ work,

Divulged in raw form,

Without boundaries and without care for punctuation.

 

I dress myself for the weather,

And make my home the one place I can escape.

 

How I am pricked by the stinging needles,

And cast into a pool of acid; how it burns.

 

But I cannot deny this existential odyssey

Wrapped in ribbons, as some strange bed

Of mischief where I am tucked away.

 

Who could close the fists of fate,

As they batter and bludgeon; who can twist

Tomorrow in their bare hands?

 

My silent screaming is all I can hear,

The outside world is a void and a harlequin

Illogical manifestation of my own design.

 

The steady state between ourselves,

Brings the abysmal silence of the night,

And I would fall for fluid love in a turquoise cup.

 

In my sanctuary,

Beneath the melting snow,

My solitude, my home;

 

Here the storm can not touch me,

Here, the winds do not blow;

And everything is peaceful and calm.

 

I will squeeze my bit of fruit,

Until it has run dry,

And even then, to the very last drop.

 

This liquid ignites my passion and preserves my goals;

 

Sleep becomes a fascination,

And dreams a window to escape;

Fear, in the commonly misdirected sense, sears.

 

Each angle of this new construction of the sun;

The earth, and mars, an inadequate sum.

 

It is her words that play like children on my tongue;

And the threat of losing her –

 

Which makes me cling more closely to these fetal steps.

 

Pinch pot; fired in the kiln,

A reservoir of saline, and a smile.

 

How much this ring had weight,

For an hour and a day.

[Ten years in all]

 

The fuss it’s caused, and the suicidal reflection,

Each part the whole of its own infraction;

 

Do we specialize in milk,

Sweet honey for the tongue;

And mother’s breasts–

 

We know our own reflection,

But I cannot receive mine;

I am hideous, hideous; hideous.

 

Throw the anchor overboard;

Stop the pain and suffering,

Deny me my life,

And give me tomorrow’s earth

 

With cleaner water,

And a smile in my reflection.

 

Breaking the silent still,

Reducing the emptiness of space into a single breath.

 

Redefine for me your intention; and state your cause,

I can, and will bend instead of breaking like a brittle weed;

Your own dark heart fascinates me,

I wish to assist the surgeon; hand over the blade.

 

and tear apart my own initial thoughts

With my procedure; a purposeful pause that stymies

Any incantation of the deep desire for love

Rooted in my bowels and chaining me to harm’s path.

 

We write poetry and swim beneath the moonlight,

Dance within the still night air, and sleep

As if tomorrow would be nothing like the past;

 

And now you’re here and entering the act,

The one we’ve both been pulling threads tight for,

 

Forgive me if I promise you the moon’s crisp breath,

That cloud of fog which saturates my ground;

But I have every reason to keep you here,

To work this heavy thought process from my mind,

 

And take control of my surveyed redemption.

 

Invisible and direct heat; I can feel your breath

Even though you don’t exist, you are cradled in my mind,

 

Don’t break the hypnosis; don’t jostle my world,

And jerk the meaning of psychopathology out of my hands;

 

Does this doorway include an exit point,

Or are we all trapped within these walls;

On the highway, speeding on without a destination;

 

What is God worth,

 

Two tacks and he assaults me in my dream,

The kingpin of the local secret society,

Why bother electing or revolting when

Nothing comes of it; the series scatters on the wind.

 

These creeping flames,

Licking my feet and making me more self-conscious

And I have nothing on; although I bury myself

Beneath a cloud of ashes.

 

Who am I,

Some incomplete incantation,

Burning bibles in the dark;

 

Or a cause for a cure, and the saturation of motherhood,

Left sprawling in the street without direction home?

 

This is my gift to the world.

Is this my gift to the world?

 

I bury myself in a dream,

As breathing relaxes,

Before the air has been consumed;

Will one last word,

 

Sit perfect on my lips in a final gesture:

 

Betrothal

 

Battles not fought, and in the wind we are craving resurrection

No holy walk as we burn our crosses; no feat of soul’s salvation.

 

Into the steady hands that I have longed for,

Past the willow’s weeping face,

Beyond death and her accompaniment;

While she begs me to stay and make the bed

And clean the house of our septic sins.

 

I adore her sound, echoing beyond the tents

Her riveting lyricism; as we make match

And take each other within our open arms.

 

There is no forfeiture beyond this death,

And we will close the blinds for one another,

Paint the room black with the tar of broken matrimony;

 

Everything beautiful eventually decays.

 

Pain, and the numbing of the heart through

Self-expression; profane declarations of love’s decay

 

Early, before dawn, I left her bed

I had to know what love felt like;

And I found it at the bottom of the sea,

In the belly of a whale,

 

Three steps down, the proclamation written on the sky with salt;

And our misdirective had been given by the one who claims to

Love us most. “Bury your head in the sand, drown yourselves in the sea.”

 

White walls and crazy people,

A private discourse with Ada,

Where we discuss the intricacies of manic depression.

 

Blowing smoke in the garden,

This may be where her heart dissolved,

 

And my synthetic cure,

Dose by dose; I medicate my problems all away,

In a non-destructive synthesis of permutations.

Combinatorics stretching the superstructure of my mind;

In these oscillations, I fail to find my most pressing substance,

 

And through expressive outbursts,

I claim a patch of land;

Through the flicking of the tongue,

I melt my predefined state;

Drop the acid into a lake of gold.

 

It looks so much cleaner than yesterday;

But the sound on the hill is the same,

 

Caught up in the persistence of our variegated truths,

The plant has all my markings; my thorns and my dew.

 

Wheels within wheels,

The world spins faster than before

And what I’ve lost is suddenly erupted,

 

Emanation and fact from fiction,

The hard part inside of me

That seems to blister and turn infectious

At the sound of her name

 

That black and bothersome truth;

That love will die and fade away,

Like a fly who is here today and gone

 

How many times will I fool myself

And hear the rain, and bathe within its citadel;

To find myself exposed and bare to the city crowds,

 

Ashamed, and alone amongst a crowd.

 

Texts pour from my mouth,

And in the interim between life and death;

To have had a choice and to have failed,

 

Each waking breath is a reminder

That I will walk alone,

Without my hat;

And without horns.

 

There is only a void

Waiting.

 

Slumber in silence,

I need tonight for the enslavement of field mice,

To go over plans, and draw small fortunes.

 

To reside,

And catch the wind in my sails, to watch them billow.

 

Here is a reminder of my patience,

And the resonating kick,

An imperception, and a denial of form.

 

What would you rather have me play;

The slow and miserable death

Or the passionate, perceptive intrusion?

 

We all know the music of that piece,

It’s not the methodical, mythological

Appointment of the muse.

 

How fares the quiet dragon,

And in her cave, I make a stand;

Reticent to speak of the reason

For my intrusion,

 

And I know she will not accept my tithe.

Her scales subdue my heart,

And the wind whipping at my back

Makes no acknowledgment of her,

 

We will eat and drink and dance,

Until there is nothing left.

 

Then she will devour me.

 

In her gentle clutches I’ll remain for forty days,

 

Then she will devour me.

 

Highest price paid for any romance,

The level of the grain has reached

Reaping height,

 

It is time to consume everything with fire;

My heart fails and I find myself naked

In my bed, thinking of the words she said;

 

Thinking of the fire which consumes us;

And of love, and the sadness mixed therein.

 

Surgical gloves or a nurse’s pricking of the finger;

Famous and unfortunate skins we move within,

Every dabble, a highway unto itself.

 

Precision’s scant marker of necessity’s demands;

I imprison us both in the long, thick test tube,

Who am I to break the glass?

 

Desire swollen in my womb,

Prepared to burst; and I will dry my hands of it,

Wash them in a bath of cinnamon.

 

How far are your heels above your head?

What creeps into your bed while you are sleeping?

 

Defiant kiss, in a bed of roses;

Dandelion nectar and the round delights of cherries,

Still rolling on the tabletop;

These great familiar friends,

 

Left in the dark to their own devices,

Turn a cold shoulder against me,

And bring about the settlement of greed and lust

 

Before our eyes.

 

Addendum to Gehenna,

And the world that changed my mind;

Desire’s flare, lust’s pursuit,

 

And the suitors call her by her proper name.

 

Dressed in a small, black wedding gown,

Desire treads on her filthy feet–

I’d wash clean and fake Serenity’s wide gaze;

 

Only in America; just to be prudent,

Does the sky look so terrifying,

And corn cobs drop like bombs

Beneath the picnic table.

 

Where were you when,

The dismal failure of my infraction;

Tore us twain apart.

 

An ideal replacement for her fire,

A home to lock away one’s self,

Tear apart this crimson dress;

 

And dream about her face

In the midnight salutations of consciousness.

 

Oh, the pain of delivery; oh my stillborn child,

And the moon cracks open my lips,

And I bleed. From my mouth, the seeds of love

Spill without inertia. There is no plausible container.

 

For this self-made sacrifice.

 

Sincerest apology; for the mess I’ve caused,

Under wraps and underscored, I’ve flown you

 

Halfway to the moon I worship,

 

For a concise history of events,

See page 4,

(Of the uncensored version of the text).

 

I’d like to say in summary,

That every level of each body

Has been taken in; and the dead no longer

Walk the streets, but that would be a lie.

 

A dead line.

A power outage at the height of a storm’s brewing;

These contemporary flames of my affection,

 

[The alarm was set for 5:30 a.m.]

 

A textual disappointment; the lines crossed

And the synthesis of language upturned.

 

There is no more notion of mystery,

Of proper place and sorted order;

Everything is concrete.

 

The highlights become flood lights,

Glaring through the snowy mists;

Where angels weave their way

In obscurity and in systematic symmetry.

 

[Like snowflakes, no two angels are alike]

 

We beat our wings in death, as it becomes us;

We swallow the pills of separation of body and soul,

Complete suicide; condition of the mind stilled

Like running water frozen in time.

 

Reach through the curtains and speak to me;

Before I’ve closed this chapter of my life,

And come clean of everything obscure;

 

Stripping away myself of sanity.

 

The threads of separation; these split ends,

Where you and I have gone our separate ways,

A marriage of sorts transpired and dissolved,

 

In this context, there is only one dissolution,

Flames feeding flames until the oven is ready;

 

Too much recitation within the bounds of normalcy,

 

The crow calls out from the dead;

“Caw, caw, caw.”

And my heart was broken yet again.

 

Where do we lie,

Where is the ocean now,

So I may smell the misty air,

And scrape my feet across the foamy sand.

 

The cannon speaks, and its tongue of fire

Seduces me; breath, inhalation, sexual excitation;

A bruised ego and a thousand square feet of sand,

Lying between the bricks of an open palm gesture.

 

Choreography of saints;

Heads split, they’re sinners,

And it wouldn’t be prudent to trust.

 

There is only one God,

And that’s Loneliness.

 

She shares me from time to time,

So I may gather affections for Her.

 

Abstract; concrete divide,

Their motion no longer plays a part

I have distinguished the motion of the stars

 

From the gathering gloom that calls.

 

Three contented souls,

One fractured where the arrow hit,

 

Its toxic tip.

 

A stymied sin,

And the melodrama of being in love,

 

Too fast does it fly;

Towards the most vulnerable part

 

Of my heart.

 

And the actions press emotion like a lemon,

Squeezed out every last drop,

Until it’s plain what I feel.

 

Now I’m numb; without desire [to fly].

Patiently, I resume my role,

As weeping willow; mourning the passing

 

Of lovers, angels, and my little boy.

 

What is it that charms people about an unrefined soul,

Stained with glory and corrupted by the destruction of innocence.

 

Sky’s verse winds me down into the dirt;

What have I to say, nothing save the canticles of God,

An outcry of pain and the verses of another time and place.

 

All is not now.

 

Beads of sweat glisten, and my sayings come incomplete;

I would push back the altar and swallow myself

In the rosary’s incantation.

 

But luck is foul,

And the fortitude of Hitler’s chosen race

Defies my peace of mind.

 

What is left is a splinter;

The nightmare of my own incision.

 

Do we fade into the sunset, dripping blood;

Slowly humming a dangerous tune,

Each our own way…

 

My thoughts were her thoughts,

Even only for a moment,

We made love in a bath of information,

 

And I undress myself,

Before the sea’s unsquinting eyes,

 

And I run…

Into the waves, as far as feet will carry.

 

Sea salt makes the stomach sick;

And my limp body is pummeled by the sea.

 

How much I long for honey on two fingers,

And a bed of down to console my body,

But I push myself down into the sea;

Burying my pain with agony.

 

Bent and broken love,

With my savior at the other end of time;

This tragic moment of my loss.

 

Derangement, and shattered glass,

My sickened motion and the purge;

Each muscle rested but sore,

Underneath my pillow lies the key,

 

To everything I’ve ever wanted;

 

I just need to unlock my own bed of sanity;

Cut the tethered line of life,

My soul’s umbilical;

 

The natural aesthetic lies in you, my love;

My body’s bright rebellion can swim,

And it can talk but it can’t take the final plunge.

 

Guts and glory, or gust and the sentiment of prayer;

While washing my body in the river,

With the creatures of the deep

 

Small mounds of earth,

Moved by large machines;

 

Their rattle and hum

Breaks the silence of the morning.

 

My morning, where I crawl out of the river,

And pick the leeches off my body.

 

Thinking of you, and the space you left me;

The emptiness of a cool breeze without a cover,

And a night spent without a home.

 

We gather in the garden,

And the music plays,

 

I ask you to dance and for a moment,

Our steps fall in synchronicity.

 

A sculpture in the garden, with facets of you,

Aiming one hand toward heaven;

But keeping her gaze all the while even,

Paralleling the ground below.

 

Life as a silent partner to what comes after,

And so we sing farewell before the clock has struck;

We debate what side of the coin we’d rather be,

Something sinister and dark; or something less rebellious.

 

My hush is anything but the calm quiet center of the storm,

Inside, my heart escapes me; for the hypnotic trance

Of a devil’s stew; and I have but one cautionary strand,

To hold me back and keep me as I am.

 

A directed misfiring of bolt shot from heaven,

And the quiet of her eyes as I say good bye,

A suicidal flare, encompassing my firmament;

Reality stripped bare and without pomposity;

 

I become numb.

 

And after everything has transpired,

My heart still won’t die,

And every time I try,

To bury it,

The thrashing of love consumes me.

 

Breaking the silence of the water,

Creases, in these concentric circles

Feed my hunger.

 

And on a distant moon, I find a moment’s peace;

From the fracture we have incurred;

Bittersweet is the sound of your voice,

 

And what do you know of my intentions,

And what do I care of faith and God,

 

There’s a slow pace and a ticking clock,

Asking us the way to our home.

 

With razor blades and chewing gum,

I cross the pool once more,

Is this heaven, or is it hell;

 

Or the emergency room again?

 

And years later, I still desire her

From time to time, the dark and deadly grip

Of the undercurrent.

 

In the context of your slow departure,

And the excruciating science of my self;

Locked away, and cut; and bruised.

 

Battered by loves slow decay,

I climb to the top and ring the bell,

Which tolls for a night and half a day;

 

She won’t come.

 

Thirsty for any drop of it that I may find;

She alone satisfies my thirst,

We twain may as well be twins,

Sucking on the nectar of each other’s words;

 

In the vacuum of space,

There is no death for me;

My death will be the slow ride into Gehenna;

 

Who can save the damned?

Or will they fall trying.

 

This disquieting romantic fire

That burns beneath the undercurrent,

Keeping the language moist and fluid;

 

One can only draw so much blood,

To make distinct markers in the sand,

And the wind will blow us all away

(In the end).

 

Every reason you gave me to leave you,

Your drunken rage; the violence against my womb,

The lack of casualties and the enemy

 

Lying in my bed; with you.

 

The bells are ringing,

And the voice of one

Crying out in the wilderness,

Well the wilderness beware;

 

It is a fulcrum’s tale.

 

Stubborn youth, it plays upon the coattails;

My sensible and definite transposition,

Dumb past dusk, with nothing left for her silent thoughts,

 

All the rhymes and rhythms

Captured here in memory show

The container has been burgled

And the house which lies up on the hill,

Speaks no more her amniotic shell.

 

In the trampled garden;

Nothing left of worth,

Only a slow tease of yesterday’s abundance,

 

The tears form at the train station,

What less there was of collection;

What more of resolution.

The tears form and then remain,

A more permanent reminder than our flesh.

 

The cold climate,

I feel it on a sunny day in June;

The shiver that reaches deep through flesh

And into bones.

 

The cold caress of loneliness,

Death has a maiden named I,

 

I cannot see beyond tomorrow.

 

In the turquoise flame,

I burn the last vestige of my hopes and dreams,

Except the dreams I had of you.

 

Smouldering in the garden,

I place my last remaining kiss

Upon blue and broken lips,

 

And let you go,

Let the world consume you,

And lie in bed, waiting for my turn.

 

The Butterfly Dives at Noon

 

These deep pockets of recognition, repetition; significance among lovers.

 

Between breaths, I wonder

Of the construction of bones

Flesh, and voice;

 

Imagining the most and least

Aesthetic forms for my delight.

 

Every hour of the day, I dream,

Deconstruct and reconstruct her;

In shadow form.

 

Temporary bliss comes

From the infection in my sore,

And pain relief subdues my consciousness.

 

I fly,

 

Realize we’re not alone;

See in this conjunction

That every matter that moves,

Has got some secret space

 

And God is everywhere.

 

Content with my life; stagnant apologia,

Dead in the water, without a savior.

 

Too far have I fallen,

A momentous change will be,

When life separates from me;

And all my desires come rushing in

To taunt me;

 

I am the black crow, cawing.

 

Death meets us so suddenly,

And what we are, where we’ve been;

Makes no difference,

 

Like stars bleeding light in the night sky,

No one is better than another;

Every piece has her place.

 

And as a snowflake,

I’m falling to the ground;

Soon it will be my turn to melt into the cosmos.

 

And find another dancing fleck of matter to sing to.

 

A matter of attraction and of reflection,

And the cold scolding of a night’s sky;

With respiration slowing into the death of my child.

 

In the daylight, I was naked; but not ashamed

Hungry yet filled with the spirit of adventure.

For every step, my feet became numb

 

But my eyes were filled with the sensations of falling

Fast and hard,

 

In love.

 

And now I can see,

Why true love is the same as stagnation of the heart;

Nothing bestowed by the depths of matter can be made whole,

There is an infinity,

I dreamed it, picking cotton in a field;

 

The test of silence shatters my heart,

And the dream coheres to my sentence;

A blistering sun beating against a desolate moon.

 

A meteor’s disguise,

The thankful representative of tonight’s synthetic storm,

There are so many ways to help the dust from settling;

 

Sinful skies, bleeding red and orange,

As if the sun had cursed them by the unpredictability

Of her violent outbursts,

 

Mother,

I walk among the tears of my own incision;

Cut and bleed, and die.

 

Reenactment of fire,

When even the embers turn cold;

My gate opens,

And I have no decision left;

To become one with Her Holiness,

Or rest forgotten in the mid night moon.

 

“When it rains, it pours,” they said;

But after all this fine memorization,

I scratch the board’s surface with a razor sharp knife.

 

These externalized random signs of intelligence,

To measure where the clouds will pull,

What sequence bears the fruit of a mother’s womb.

 

Derive from this equation the root of our existence.

 

It’s better planted in the soil, and fertilized;

Than left marked upon the wall

Like an insane member of society’s

Contribution to the sum of the whole.

 

Dare I ask,

In what measure is your company,

To whom do you devote your hours;

 

And is it day or night,

As the angels fly,

Between our souls,

Both hidden in the dark.

 

To write another book,

That nobody will read;

To be undiscovered,

 

In the vicinity of fame,

To perch on giants’ wings,

And deformed angels have you as their breath.

 

In the culmination of an empty grave,

When the last drop of dirt has been scraped out;

See it, and can you hear,

The silence of their breath,

Still oscillating in their broken ribs;

 

I wanted much of what was heavy and full of cream,

And I detested violence, unless I was sure that I could win.

 

As the knife came,

And cut me off from the body,

Of brave women, and ghostly gods;

 

I prepared for us to dine,

On the cross-stitch of my ancestors,

Where needle tip is ink to the cloth,

And all the church steeples are painted gold.

 

Below the threshold of my beating heart,

Beneath the surface of the skin,

There, lies death. In her sacred prison;

A black widow looking to feast.

 

Because beneath my veil,

Is the sore past of my inoculated screams;

Dull aches and throbs,

 

Not the sharp, piercing pain I had intended..

 

Blessed are the whores,

At the rejection of their foul tongues,

I beg you lay to rest their countenance.

 

Reality in check; forfeiture in seven staying wisps of smoke,

Who billows, and who decides my fate; if not my own devious hand.

 

The lady in red, her color like a velvet sunset,

At the dawn of a new hypnotic serialization of my sin.

 

Even gently, as the body pierces the night;

Scarcely remembered, for cruelty’s guilt.

Even secrets become isolated fractures;

Burning into bone.

 

I would that you were not [a test].

 

Dress, pretty hair, gold earrings;

Shoes.

 

The things I want are undiscovered fossils,

The games that we have missed while I was

Crawling through the dark.

 

Where quality meets the board,

And concussions stave off our hunger,

I’m faced once more with the advent of a broken heart.

 

Two bodies disjoint.

Three imperceptible dialyses; breaking the surface

Letting water flow, through the ancient river

From which life sprang.

 

Mother.

 

We all bear witness, as she steps beneath the morning sun;

And shines her living light on us.

 

But this factory is built of the broken parts which it contains,

And I would do without the suffering; without the need for

Synthetic limbs,

 

To each of us our dying words,

Engraved upon the wall

Of death’s banquet hall,

To call the birds to supper.

 

Searing my skin, is the flame I would have quelled,

In my right hand, the sword of dishonesty and pain;

How I miss her,

 

Have I ruined her, completely?

Dissipation remembers the long walks we used to have,

But I forget your name, having to dig it up from time to time…

 

With the uncleanliness of psychosis’ bitter dreams,

I want to purge myself,

 

[until death do we part].

 

The violins take out their measure

And the crowd is silenced.

 

Because even in death, you will haunt me;

And the remains of my bones will hear your heart beating.

 

Do you not know the emptiness that comes;

When I can’t hear your voice,

A vacant plot of land,

A dissonant chord;

A black hole.

 

Frustration and a cry for mercy,

To touch your lips once more

As they form the night’s hypnotic pulse;

 

Heaven devours my key note.

 

…And as the day breaks,

And the sun is birthed from darkness,

I stare into a child’s dreaming eyes;

And form the words which fit him.

 

I feel sick to my stomach;

This withdrawal. My drug.

 

And in the empty chasm screams the muse;

My muse; the death of me.

 

My hollowed out version of love.

 

For three cycles, I choose my faith,

Dancing through the thickness of the snow.

And when I sing, the voice is powerful,

 

The muse can hear me.

 

But she is not enough.

I crave something inherently different

From what she’s been. A lifeless mass.

 

Weathered and worn, and beautiful.

 

The need for more; the gnawing pains,

And the bite. When we lash out against each other;

Only in the movies has it been made unreal,

Synthetic and whole.

 

Two trampled byways, and I walk with my parasol next to you,

Humming my favorite sequence of sound,

Collecting the thoughts as they’ve been rained down,

 

In my closet is the keeper of the keys,

Locked away in his own design,

Trusted with the most secret phrase of my life,

What will I do once I have died;

 

And in momentum, in the floundering of steps;

And as it rains,

 

There’ll be an ivy sea to wash in;

Plush grasses to lay in;

And a velveteen strip of unconsciousness.

 

And when I squeeze out,

The final drop of inspiration;

Am left shivering within the cold confines

Of consciousness,

 

Who will love me as I blow away,

Into the fields of the unknown poets,

Drifting solemnly on the winds like a

Dandelion seed in spring.

 

Alone and impure.

 

Within the path’s forgotten moon;

And singularity’s substance reengineered

What hope is there of salvation,

Within a crying cloud, parallel to the ground.

 

I see what little there is left of my soul’s journey,

The uncustomary sentence I’ve been fit for,

The change of days, and even when the hours drop past

 

I can see within the mirror, everything I have become;

 

Dust and ash won’t cure the cancer I have spread,

No.

In the coming blackness and within the system

Of recycled matter spinning about the sun,

 

Life continues but not my own,

Lest you count my endless screams

Among the pages of the living.

 

When words are stuck in the throat,

And silence is the only escape artist;

Sitting on my bedroom floor,

Dying for the world to understand me,

Only momentarily.

 

I cannot share a gift that I do not possess.

 

What is the meaning of me,

What do I possess,

And to cradle that comfort

Would be to cradle the comfort

Of knowing how stars are born, first hand.

 

We are made of the same matter;

We are the broken pieces of our sun.

 

Dire is the hand she’s placed inside of mine,

Fortunate are the ones who creep and climb

Out of this abyss,

A self-mutilation of course,

 

These lessons I’ve incurred,

With both hands planted in the dirt,

Where I took my vows and now I carry the weight.

 

Heaven rides horses,

And the rose isn’t far from the tree,

If we could only look, and see what we’ve divided.

 

The course is set,

But I would turn for you;

For the small comforts lovers give.

 

Cut right to the chase,

No signs of life, nor of intelligence;

But of movement and the music of the spheres.

 

Her hand in mine,

And steeping wisdom fails,

Conjecture and proof,

Are such a small part of you.

 

Why revolve around a dim star;

When you already shine so brightly,

 

I’m washed,

And clothed,

And full.

 

What do I need but the gentle hands

Of your affection.

 

Having the heart flung, and having to

Pick up the broken pieces and move along;

So what is joy, so mild as laughter

Sitting between closed lips,

 

And one kiss would make a god.

 

Every step is taken in romance,

How was it put; all things stem from

Romantic conception,

And the universe was conceived

In fits of passion, piercing loneliness.

 

I’d like to shed my tears again, for her;

But the door is shut and barred,

Today the heart aches,

And the wind in my lungs rattles;

 

The curiosity of the veil,

I’ve stepped inside of;

Leaves me wondering

What will be the difference between us.

 

She’ll be ungrateful in the end;

When I’ve uncovered her body,

And all the parts which live within,

I want to hear the angels roar,

 

And shattering their clouds;

I can smell the taste of death upon their wings.

 

If she had discovered my bed unmade;

Although she did to some extent,

What nature would it draw out from the cracks in her character,

 

The violent structures.

The core of relief,

An antidote to pain’s release.

 

I want to draw long breaths of her;

But I can’t abandon my sanity

For any longer than a farewell text.

 

Holding on is so much harder when she’s next to me.

 

It’s tagged out of control,

With violent force,

 

Cheating and cannonballing through the streets

Of my perdition. When it rains, it pours;

Thunder and lightning evaporating from her lips,

Into the bye and bye, without any cover of affection.

 

And I try to act through necessity’s son,

Like the miserable wretch that she wants me to be.

 

So twilight flies at our decay, like the summer sun at solstice,

Too far out of reach, yet burning my flesh with her riddles,

 

Burning my flesh with her riddles,

With her riddles, burning;

Burning my flesh

 

With her riddles.

 

My mind catches slowly up to her,

I can feel the difference in her curves;

And in the magic which she wields, experientially.

 

So summer begins to crest;

And I wait for that last moment of survival

To drag down the tablecloth;

And let the angels devour one another,

 

There’s fire beneath me,

And the blood rushes through my veins;

An everlasting hell,

To be chained to my own submission

As the wilder demons play.

 

What good is love,

When it always ends this way?

 

Out of respect, out of the cold, hard truths that we’ve been told

As children, told to the point of disbelief;

Worried without care and restlessly posed.

 

What’s fair in love and war,

Just the ending, just the tragedy of true love.

 

The slow crashing sound of my head into my hands;

That silent grinding that makes the hair on your neck stand up,

I want to be freed from my enclosure,

This prison which keeps me held inside.

 

A plastic doll without her head

I am the moving parts missing.

 

Here in my own contentment,

Beneath the afternoon sun,

Asking God yet another favor,

Drinking vodka until the spirits run dry.

 

Here, in my own preternatural escape,

On a globe without salvation or sun,

Caught in the black cold outline

Of what space was, when I could look up

And see the stars.

 

I won’t hold you accountable,

For my washed up sea foam dream;

But I’ll keep you present for a while,

And we’ll drift in and out of consciousness.

 

The smoothest part of my rebellion

Is when gravity pulls two bodies against each other.

 

And the waves, and the splash are heard,

Even as the solar flares, they burst apart the sea.

 

This gnawing, impatient death inside my chest;

The growing hunger waiting to be fed,

I want to claw the walls apart,

To bend their framework and deconstruct their steady state.

 

Love isn’t the reminder I bring.

Love is Satan’s curse to which we all lean toward.

 

When salt is shaken, to the bottom of the well;

And we pull up the water for ourselves, and the whispers caught

Beneath a moonless sky; ushering in the demons’ dreams

And the cold gray war of winter.

 

Sediment and charcoal mixed with mud and water,

 

The painter’s dance, as she lays bare her body;

So we may bare our minds,

 

A gust of wind, and I have lost myself in you;

Tangled in the cruel wisps of an otherwise calm, seductive evening,

Her bare skin drawn at length about my lips,

And the chaos we had envisioned,

 

Was fine dancing, like suds at our feet.

 

Here in my secret hideaway,

Where I eschew all the angels–

 

Where I bleed. And keep the company

Of the miserable and blind;

Setting out for the invocation of regrets,

And dissolution of my fears

As anguish takes me two parts in.

 

Release–

Mother me,

 

Stray my disconnect, assume my role;

Where every god could harbor

Ill-will and insanity; but I–

Will carry you far from home;;

And topple from the edge

 

With you in my arms.

 

Day meets night in the late hours as the sun splits the horizon

And we walk in tandem; each knowing a deal of the other’s thoughts,

Night and day vanish; they were unnecessary psalms,

And our flesh and bone.

 

We dance without restriction or care;

Here in the belly of the whale,

We march on someone else’s grave.

 

Clusters of emotion; the expenditure of my mind’s receipt

In days you will incorporate my conjectures, and into this,

I’ll vow my momentary remains; for your door,

 

Night and day, we will transgress the written law;

 

And bide our time for sunset’s storm,

So we may blossom beneath the umbrella of what stars shine through.

 

Let curiosity consume my speech

And the doorman wait for my expulsion,

Little lines in gravity’s graphs

Vectors and the science of holding down your child;

 

Of waging war within yourself; of repeated assaults

With a clothing iron.

 

Cast yourself into the sea, I don’t belong here,

But I don’t mind the company,

Of strangers who occupy my mind.

 

The man in the middle, who said there

Should be more to life than mere existence;

The flavor of his words like charcoal.

 

For in the depths of my stagnation burns a fire,

And when all the life’s medicine men go wrong,

I believe in the spirit of truth, walking on two legs,

 

Asking each of us in turn if we turned our other cheek;

 

Browsing the gallery, in the trenchcoat of my father;

Far too big for bones my scale; and resignation’s

Burning lust as I arrive two steps in front of my master.

 

Nature preserves me, and the hopeless carry out my demands,

Isn’t it the only way for supplication?

 

I water my bed before sleep,

With the tears of my estranged facsimile of marriage,

And tuck myself under for dreams sweet dreams. Of you.

 

Gravity let still by the running waters,

And the lake where they pool;

Every necessary reaction to your lips,

 

Keeps the quiet rushing in, like running waters;

Sentenced to the sea.

 

It is gravity,

I feel I’m falling through time,

But time ticks, I can see her rushing by;

 

Love,

With its selfish habitat,

Leaves me blinded from beauty within,

Coveting an external flesh,

But one that writhes and sings;

 

In my desperate attempt to cradle my unconsciousness,

I let you fly,

 

Into the mist, diving into the lake of death.

 

Through the heavy winds,

We descend into the quiet store;

Someplace to dissolve our differences.

 

Under the moon at high tide,

Crossing through dream and sleep

To waking eyes and empty arms,

 

What resonates between us

Is the violent spill of steaming fluids;

And you scream. Your lap a brittle cup.

 

Mourning turns a velvet sky,

And pieces of my sanity snap,

Something in me died,

 

And now I struggle to replace what I have wronged,

To displace myself from hearing her damnation’s call.

 

Hypnotic flares, stemming from a sea of grass

One small motion which represents the whole.

 

When you have found your secret name,

And pin it in the dark, upon your wall;

I’m left with what will decay,

My love.

 

Without barriers, without form; without judgment.

 

In an afternoon, as the collective conspiracy presides;

Fortune’s won the grave intent with three quarters of the law undone.

 

And where I wait, in my position above the moon,

A satellite for symmetry.

 

Forgeries of past love letters,

A dictionary of our peculiarities;

The dreams I’ve placed you in,

Within my unconscious cylinder.

 

The moment we arrive,

I find you trapped there, on the other side,

Waiting and wishing for some subscribed certainty,

That this will be our best illusory prison.

 

Coming close to the end,

Fearing the great void of space,

The nothing from which everything derives;

 

To ascend, to make our fortunes solid

And our sins painful to the touch.

An unpleasant hue which breathes in

And again, the violent cacophony of death’s transition.

 

Which leads us to the wedding of descending stairs.

 

We left a hint of our direction,

For when the wolves would come;

Their mouths dripping the moist toxins

Of their lust for blood;

 

And we awoke next day,

A day like any other;

Frightening the prey

And hunting for our own survival.

 

Keep it measured and in store

While I beat the drum,

 

And when you want to take away

The glossy shine of our silhouette in glass,

 

Cover me with the intentions of a lover,

Dress me more beautiful than the sun.

 

The oscillating pool of consciousness,

Deeper layers than I could care to admit,

Is where my angels and my demons dwell.

 

Fluid rushing through spikes,

Carry my body,

Wear your own threads of death.

 

Dip in the pool,

With me.

 

You don’t belong here,

But the fire is like ecstasy.

And the storm runs wide,

Consuming thought;

Greedy for the night we borrowed,

 

Tell fate she has another mother;

And bless ourselves with an iron tongue,

 

Wrap ourselves up diligently,

And crave contentment in the fields of laughter and repentance.

 

Mixed emotion, what way I’d grab for you,

If only I could reach your hand;

I’m vulnerable. A ball of cotton floating on the wing;

Don’t let it rain, don’t let the tears come,

Washing over me again.

 

But there is a comfort after the storm,

In the quiet of the night,

In a desolate landscape not my own,

An infusion of milk and butter

Drowning out my words,

Can you hear me?…

 

I wrote her a letter,

On the first day of the second grade of school,

I still receive replies, even though she’s died;

And I believe in ghosts and in the resurrection,

Too much pain hinges on believing in fantasy.

 

Tree, planted between my legs as I look down

And scoop the last remaining soil,

If I go,

When I go,

 

Keep a memory planted of me and you,

And the intense surrender of the senses

That we’ve washed up on each other’s shore.

 

The articles of ice,

Kept cold and remembered throughout time.

 

Even the depths of nothingness provide a shadow,

While you can call your flame eternal,

I find discomfort in a bed of sin;

And laugh, for this is not my game,

The cruel whips of Satan’s sting.

 

Fluid arms, umbilical. The way we prostrate;

Heaven descends upon us as reminder.

 

The arctic war resides over our curved bellies;

And all is wakeful in the night,

My presence and my sexual ambiguity;

Where thoughts connect and lead to a chain of transmission.

 

Less in the eyes of another,

The sacred state I’ve pressed into your rib.

 

A science of sorts,

Piercing into flesh; wounding

Around the perimeter of this darkness

We can cast our lines,

And drop ourselves deeply.

 

Forever falling through the void.

 

And I touch you, and you reach out to me,

Hand in hand, oscillating to the frequency of death.

 

And I swallow while you command my listless eyes

To see into the hollow spheres and darker reaches of the world.

 

Night becomes daylight and the two of us

Have birthed her into being,

And nothing is as it was,

Night shifts, light complicates the day,

And all our hopes and fears

Are an annotation of our love.

 

The winter’s war, what had become of us;

Beaten and bloody and raw,

Within disfavor of our god,

And everything after has stemmed from misery.

 

Her repentance as the wood burns her body

Slowly at the stake, her head turns

What lies beyond the veil, another asked her;

 

What are death’s consumed companies,

Where do the fallen lie, are they awake; at night?

Do they return the prayers we’ve sent them;

 

I have spent my better hours wishing,

That we could all recognize the flightless path,

Of the birds in motion; streaming through the mire.

 

Her persistence steps out of bounds,

As I reach for recovery; plastic faith designed for the

Absolution of our sins.

 

Death marks my follies, with her foul breath,

Lest I forget what hour the cock crows;

And the raven’s nest becomes a haven

For solitude of mind and positioning of the body;

 

Her mild sequin stare follows me up;

Where light and time together,

Have formed the heavens and the earth;

 

An origin,

 

Of the celestial divine.

 

I thirst for the solitude of lovers;

Two bodies dissolved into a single mass;

 

For fluid exchange of soliloquies,

Undressed rehearsal with a violent end,

Every life ends a tragedy.

 

If I could draw in her hand,

Only to speak silent tones

Deep inside her transient blood,

And fake a name’s forgiveness

And run the bottle dry.

 

What creeps in from the outside, or what lurks;

It is better than the demons we digest; and what we spew.

 

Through the generation gap we hold sadistic sticks,

And chime in on the persecution of our lovers,

 

Quarreling incantations between hot bodies,

Red and wet with blood.

 

The only face I see is my own imprisonment,

My master doesn’t come for me;

When I call, I feel eternal loneliness,

What’s steeped inside for thirty years.

 

What’s bled and filled the consciousness I have corrupted.

 

Beyond our burdens, without our strengths weighing in,

Between our paired collective soul;

Arise the anger of a god too unique to dissatisfy.

 

So we bait her with our language and our song,

Sing her sweet lullabies and draw her breath to us,

 

Ignorance and bliss; beyond the presence of a hymn,

Emotion stirred, and the bath drawn out,

 

Let me ask you if you know

Where we are headed,

 

It looks dark and terrible,

Like falling through the night sky.

 

My messenger and my love,

I’m caught between your intellect and my resistance.

My life, my being; my sediment

 

Abhors the purchased price for our euphoria.

 

The bleak blackness of an eternity

With and without you.

 

Never able to adjust the statutes of the law

To serve our sinful bliss;

Reinforcing the depths of my unconscious as it stirs;

Life & death, the holy duality,

The concrete prism which bleeds out

 

Color into unfortunate spaces,

While we grieve the death of the enemy of man.

 

With a wild chain of events,

The night grown and we

Pick up the pieces of our shame,

Derive tomorrow’s will and set our hands

 

To striking down the terrors of the night.

 

Too much for sinister revival,

Too much pain; and I can grasp,

And you can play our memories,

Drawn tight with the curtain closed,

 

So only we may know the pure recollections of dawn.

 

The theatrics of falling desperately in love,

And what to say, to speak into the corner of your fantasy,

As wild winds threaten to blow the house away,

 

These three, opened for discussion,

Help me oversimplify the echoes I have gathered,

 

And in this room,

Between you and me; our bodies left without tangential songs,

Cover me up, cover yourself; we are the original sin,

 

Cast out from the city beneath a deathly dark night;

Our moments change and if we could reverse our revealing eyes,

To gather in the drifting suns speckling the night.

 

The touch of you,

The slow caress and care;

Wild, and pretty; and mine.

 

As I reveal the most vulnerable parts of you,

Drown your body in a sea of glass,

A transparent bath;

So I may see the whole of your parts.

 

Just like any other day,

But I trap you

And keep you locked away-

 

You, my love and my desire.

 

Bleach to clean the blood stains,

But the mind won’t cleanse.

 

For the duration of our testimony,

And the highlight of the trial;

Both of us damned and discarded.

 

Here’s healing: to acknowledge our failures,

Separate ourselves from one another’s way,

 

You are toxic to me,

You are the poison root,

Buried deep within my heart,

 

How can I dislodge you?

 

Process comes to a fitful end,

And the hereditary stare of your ancestors

Rests upon my shoulders; and my face.

 

The not of your will,

As dense a marker as my signature.

 

Discharge,

The magnetic field which splits the soul apart;

Daydreams and lullabies, in the serene representation

Of our love,

 

And how it oscillates between hate and love.

 

The third component of the sun,

Given to us as a pledge of our love,

Drawn into our secret realm of our submissive games,

Where God is the Master, we say;

And slink into our cells.

 

Violence adheres to our own indecency,

And the pilot lights her cigar,

 

I’m fed up with the intolerance of a nation,

One nation, under God;

Submissive and subservient even as the text would say,

Deny me my blood sacrifice; and I will dent you your life,

 

Sayeth the gods, sayeth the gods.

 

In an externalized version of the self,

Consciousness’ exhibition, what verbal voice

To choose, to pick out of the darkness,

 

A violin’s incandescent pitch, the warble of birds,

Every motion picture perfect; each notion of ourselves

Strewn about a dirty desk,

 

We become unawares.

And you make a better muse than an acquaintance,

How deeply held my affection goes,

 

(My heart in knots and tangles).

 

How far could I fly before I land on a bed of jagged stones?

 

One forgotten face,

Above the clouds on a stormy night;

Dressed in anger, she was pale and cold;

 

And I craved her touch,

Like a dead man’s soul, she was shattered,

And the pieces were falling like rain,

 

Too much forgiveness, too much of light;

My company in the vicinity of pain.

 

And the hurricane’s wind removes us

The tight grip of regret cannot soothe,

The voices in my head proclaim his coming glory;

 

While what doubt resides may my mind

Conjure up a place where I can hide myself

From this coming storm.

 

You are the unordinary daughter;

The one who pleads her guilt against the rain,

And doesn’t let the nightmares pass down,

Into her garden, in the rain.

 

I saw you after midnight,

You were bleeding in the bathroom sink,

The blade I left you with was bleeding;

As the sun was naked in the morning.

 

Each time I drop into her garden,

Against your wish, against the rain;

You can feel me moving next to her,

Violating our desired game,

 

So when I go, I know that I’ll return to you alone,

And crying out, against the rain.

 

Traveled neural pathways, once before begetting

The small solution to an unborn problem;

The wise, maternal rift in space; that cuts off ecstasy,

 

And you’ll be wise too,

And I will call you mother;

Ask you to carry me, in your arms,

 

Carry me to a safe place,

Out of reach of wind and snow;

Fire’s light should glow,

 

Give me your hands,

You’re so cold, let me

 

Warm them.

 

On my naked body,

As you please…

 

And we will resume the comforting cradle,

That I need.

 

Out of luck and out of time,

We press each other into one another,

Hoping that our days will turn out fine;

Resisting the small yet potent tug of death,

Which pulls us all into the night.

 

Dear friend,

I hadn’t ever wanted you;

And the spaces we mend with our

Illusory thread of symbols and meaning,

These oscillating structures…

 

So far I hope, there is no bleeding at the far end,

No dissolution of our souls’ receding light;

 

No death for our discovery,

Beneath a sea of endless night.

 

As time’s heretic, surrendered to the gods of love’s betrayal,

The motion of her body entwined with mine as we

Synthesize a measure of our passion,

 

Our bodies awake and bleeding,

This will be the day of our discovery;

Two stars burning out their gases,

Twin lovers taking a rest in the afternoon breeze.

 

No hope that our surrender will sustain us,

Only the fury of an afternoon in the rain.

 

And while we part lips,

And say a prayer each for the other,

Go,

 

I can not stand to have you here,

And to feel all alone inside my soul’s barriers.

 

It’s the incendiary’s song, as it perches on the eve

Of desecration, folded hand in hand beneath the robe;

And the obvious explanation for this love,

 

Is that it died long ago,

Long before the angels made it so,

 

And we cast off our robes,

Defaulting on our reservations,

 

Throw ourselves against the wind;

Without movement either way,

Here in the capitol of our estate.

 

I sealed your hand against my heart,

And gave you command and plea

Do not let it come to harm.

 

How long will love last,

How often will she dip into my pool,

And taste the honey dripping from my mouth,

How many times must I wait for her,

 

Out in the wild winter’s storm?

 

I crave her company;

And our lashing out of tongues,

The origin of our crossed perception,

 

Where the two bodies become one flesh.

 

The false symmetry of our diluted minds;

And the sequence of our ghostly shadows

Burning hot with desire’s sun,

Certainty of secret psalms could conjure.

 

My heart is beating so fast;

that I can imagine you and I

in flight as hummingbirds;

If only I knew your tempo

was as wickedly quick as mine,

 

I dry off my hands,

raise my tongue to the sky

and catch a raindrop;

 

so battered by the feral sky

so as to wait for a moment

and undress herself for me,

 

The periodical exhibit of the sun

day by day as our reminder

that we are moving toward our deaths;

 

And I without you.

 

Your footprints, padded along the stones outside,

In our peaceful garden where the summer winds blow,

Through our self discoveries we burn holes

Into our eyes, the light burns our day to black.

 

Dreaming on a winter’s day,

The selection of our prismatic sphere,

The hollow incantation of a daisy’s wilted stem

I rise from bed.

 

Knowing what I want I’ll never have,

That her blood lusts for another,

 

That we have separate roles to fulfill,

And I and her shall bleed into our separate bowls.

 

I take no misery as my moment,

Only the cold rush of her goosebumps next to mine.

 

In my decision, in my want to

Step out of my skin,

And fall, so desperately in love.

 

Piercing the shadow of my own

Internal flame,

My unconscious timepiece,

Steadily and secretly calling my attention

To the ice cold pool where I will swim.

 

This context is killing me,

And my slow surrender to the pain;

I’ve cried through a night of punishment,

I cry because there’s no forgiveness.

 

And heaven is a stone’s throw away,

What cyclical animosity it brings.

 

Another purchase, another price tag;

I’m shopping for the dead,

May he bear many fruits as one deceased

Whispers to another.

 

Swift as a storm sinking the sky,

It will be our turn to dance in the mid-night,

As all the demons crawl within the stone,

Leaving us alone

 

To dance beneath the mid-night moon.

 

A thorough choice of words, asking nothing

But the answers to our fall,

 

How unpredictable you are,

Standing between me and my salvation;

Let us turn now to the eloquence of God.

 

[A silent hush fills the room]

 

Slowly in this softly spoken void,

The containment held and my isolating void

Expending and expelling every facet of my envisioned touch,

Her face pressed up against the glass.

 

I can see her walking away,

Slowly fading down into the deep.

 

Two lozenges caught in the throat,

The divine and the earthly;

Our days are numbered,

And the science of our reason can’t

Contemplate what lies beyond the veil.

 

Or is there no veil, and just a long, dark silent scream?

 

I wait and watch the others go,

Some violently.

 

Were you expecting me to dim my lights,

Eradicate my wicked smile? For the dead?

 

What I deserve and what I have,

The plain wood blocks you gave to me;

It’s here that I’ll be buried,

In your coffin, deep down in the earth.

 

The dead rest, and usher me inside;

To where the windows are painted black.

Night certifies that day has become deceased,

And as the violent shards of war extend their music,

Two lovers lie in bed, entangled in the very rite

That brought them here to be.

 

Within this desecrated tomb,

Filled with the substance of life,

There lies one hoping to be born again

 

While her topless dance across the cold stone floor,

Sickens my perception of right and wrong,

And the median from which they are derived.

 

Like stealing honey from a bear;

The violence that stems from our perceptions,

Is no less threatening than this couple’s

Layers in the dark,

 

Seeking solace beneath a lover’s moon.

 

The plunge into deep waters,

To fly one’s flag into the great beyond;

And to explore unknown territories;

 

Violence will show you the way,

Selfishness, the answer;

And when it’s all been painted black,

And there is nowhere left to turn;

 

We will break ourselves in the gears of this machine,

And triumph as the cosmos falters;

Damned be mother nature’s sons & daughters.

 

On any night which finds me drowned

My soul completely gone,

There is a mark on my right hand;

The opacity of my continued decay.

 

Death has no substance,

Less than an eye’s blink,

For to change state.

 

And my love is insecurity,

My feet bleed dry, and I run.

 

Going out to meet the sea where the shore breaks.

 

And in my casket rise,

Redefine the world

Through her eyes.

 

We are flightless birds,

Raising our heads to the sky;

Wishing it were not so difficult to fly.

 

And in your dress,

I dance around in the grass,

Seeking every twirl’s perfected form,

 

Nobody for miles, I could dance like this for hours;

 

And God laughs,

And my cheeks brighten,

Every day I should take part

In this exercise of diminution,

 

See my body as a vessel which satisfies the soul.

 

With the existence of the muse,

Hiding within my breast, and as she comes alive,

I place the throne of God at my right hand,

 

How delicate the perceived surrenders,

Her respect, her love; within her bed

I look for all the broken fragments to coalesce;

 

And I seek pavement so I may feel

The hard grating and peeling of the skin.

 

As each moment arises,

The segments of my broken heart mean nothing,

And she will choose to divide my faith,

And bind our fates with heated glass.

 

You keep your breath, I’ll take mine and bury it

Where the shadows cease their sinister accumulation of body,

And watch while we play,

 

In a garden of atoms and molecules;

Spread so thin you can almost create your own gravity,

A tangent in the night sky, without purpose or representation.

 

My voice is split in two dimensions,

And you have half for yourself,

So take me as you want me,

And I will

 

Leave the light on for you.

 

Rotation of the Suns

 

In this particular movement,

between the sand and the sun;

the audience is hush

 

As she opens up the dance

a gentle and delicate bird is what she moves like;

making the heart light and breathing deep,

 

She is the soft side of me,

the dancing echo.

 

No.

It’s not the same as when you and I

Went hand in hand unsteady and inclined

To take our rest.

But the vultures came,

 

To carry out the dead.

Carrion crows,

For old men’s bones;

 

I wanted your carcass for the long walk home,

To see inside your cavity,

Give your kiss a measure of my salt,

 

To breathe your name,

Above and beyond everything else.

 

And my body seizures with love,

 

Too much friction of the heart strings;

I serve,

My own delights.

 

Dismantling a sea of ice,

Brick by brick, chasing out the water;

And we succumb to the shapes,

The contours of our self.

 

Trapped in ice.

 

A perpendicular arrangement,

Sailing on the sea of broken glass,

As the ship grates against the sand,

We move up shore to where the fires blow.

 

In the concrete extraction of a fist,

Please, let my name be remembered;

As if the fist had somewhat to say

Of love and death.

 

The tulips don’t lie, even in their bed;

And the cock won’t crow tonight,

 

But the blackbirds pierce the sky,

With their transcendent song.

 

What started simply as an inoculation toward the ain,

Became addiction, and all too fast I was at the mercy

Of my affliction. So unsteady arms and sleepless nights

Become my fitful form of rest,

 

And each night I have you in my dreams,

Her face is gone, her face is gone;

And I can hardly remember her name.

 

But yours is

Engrained in solid steel,

The mercy of it overtaken with absence.

 

The night alone without you.

 

A fragile set of rules,

What must not be touched

And what must be hidden in the dark.

 

Our tangent and our disguise,

Scripted in the sands of time;

Too narcissistic to let it bleed,

I come into my own bed,

 

And there release my ecstasy.

 

Pure phantoms in the dark,

Draining us of consciousness;

Our enlightened paths cross,

For a momentary blink.

 

And in this spiraling rotation of the suns,

We catch each other’s breath and bodies.

 

The fusion of red and yellow flame,

How I envision your solitary burst;

When the night crawls over me.

 

Reaching towards an unknown silence;

Fashioning three pots, spinning on the wheel.

 

One for you of course, one for me;

And one towards the vicinity of God.

Where all of heaven bleeds,

And the rain is red, purifying

All our indecencies.

 

The cannibal is collected and chained

Beside the temple, the prophet contained

Within the winter’s eye.

 

Secreting the poison which fills my mind,

Detoxification a rumor and a lie;

Whoever heard of falling in love with a ghost,

 

Whoever heard of a sentence beyond the

Isolation of a two-dimensional page?

 

And I caress you, although you haven’t a word,

Stroke your neck gently in time with the ticking

Of a clock;;

 

Well past midnight and into the early hour

I dress up in my wedding gown,

And ask you to take my hand.

 

Over and above these precious moments,

The sky rains down with sentimental fluids

Reduced to a fine mist of red remains.

 

The hazards of being fast in love,

No satellite can break her from my gazing eyes;

Like liquid fire, her words burn holes within my mind,

 

An esoteric verse of nature’s apathetic irony;

I kiss the stars and sleep, wondering;

Who she is,

Where did she come from,

To whom she gives her heart.

 

And with these voices amplified,

My body oscillating fire and smoke,

My scream;

 

And the terror of knowing I’ll soon be

Falling from the pier.

 

In the company of demons, I wait for you

Holding onto vacant air, and the memory of you.

 

Beneath the sky of azure,

When the city ruins speak their ghostly lyric,

I and you, bottled up inside our bedroom

Exchanging stories in the dark.

 

I fear each time you take a breath,

That this may be the last verse that you sing,

But then you sing to me louder than the last;

And my heart, in my chest, overwhelms.

 

Distracted by her legs, my mind assuming

Every curve,

 

Within this gentleness of touch,

Caress of a lustful nature;

How deeply go the facets of desire.

 

And my painful recollections of the past,

Of loss, heartache and pain. I know

What’s coming…

 

She’ll be ripped from me like so many needles,

And I will scream loudly in verse;

I will scream from the mountain tops my dying love.

 

Right now, we’re beating on the same drum,

Calloused hands and a rhythmic verse;

Sex another symptom of our caustic game.

 

Hold up,

And don’t cry out when I prick you.

It’s a small needle,

 

Thought for food, and the assumption

that we are good for one another,

 

.prick.

 

And the birds fly down to the second floor,

Our hymn for gravity awakes the omnipotent;

Celebrity and homogeneity of our encompassed life,

What spell contains her misery and my redemption,

 

I loose my tongue and verbalize my dissatisfaction

At the gods who hold me under the clear blue water.

 

How to find the secret structures, when to let go

And let the movement sing, behind closed doors;

Again out into the open sky,

 

Feel the breath of insanity lighten up the eyes,

For one small gasp of glory and repentance;

There is derision amongst the philosophers,

Calculating the next four digits of pi.

 

In retrospect, I do what I command,

And have a small yet salient thirst for power.

 

Twice in a day I cool my hands in ice,

The science of poetry be damned

As I discourse through the eyes of my mother,

 

Not the mother who bore me, not her who raised me,

But another, more secret sort.

 

Wind falls, and I am not alone,

Your breeze captivates my mood

And your devil daughter has grown up too soon,

 

Pregnant with the stems of death,

Carrying forgotten souls,

The triumph in part; her aversion to touching

Anything gold.

 

To pierce the stars so that they pop,

Exploding suns;

Like bubbles bursting in the mid night.

 

To each its own destruction,

To each its own fading from the night sky,

 

I am a sun,

Burning for the one I love.

 

In night’s contempt for me,

a sacred vessel

Split apart and bleeding,

 

You are

 

The winged creature perching at my sill,

Nesting in the tree out back,

 

You weren’t chained to my discrimination

Of colors and of sounds and of shapes.

 

The needy eye has all but sounded the alarm.

 

While you perch upon a deadly shadow,

A storm moves through the sky;

From the west, we ride and still a hush.

 

In time’s own consequence, each droplet

Fatter than the last and each occupation

Of my heart sings slowly the evidence of love.

 

While winged birds sail so splendidly through

Time’s allotted space, and I keep company

With my demons and their dignity and grace;

 

Surely you have seen the eyes in the mirror,

how they peer into the deep black purity of space.

 

In anticipation, waiting for the bells to ring

And when they do, all hope is cast aside;

There is thunder in her voice

And fire in her eyes.

 

To see her beneath me, as I climb;

To feel the current of cold air;

And watch the whispers of her hair bleed,

 

And the disruption of the sun.

 

All things tackled and forgotten,

Dust to tread on. The short loop to infinity,

And back again,

 

As we squeeze the life out of the stars.

 

Your smile and your hand,

What keeps the muse alive;

How you capture and keep

What words are liquid breath,

 

I recede and descend into the dying sun,

But here with you I’m frozen in our place in time.

 

Counting the ways in which our love will end.

 

And you tried to snap the twig in two,

Corrupt this perfect preconceived notion of love;

While I try to amplify the sound of the music,

 

And take care not to tip the balance of the sea.

 

While we wait for what will become of us,

The days and nights remember;

Passing into glass, the secret chambers of the heart

Where words and light migrate to;

 

A storm comes to collect us from this place,

It happens so quickly there is no time for surrender.

 

We flood our eyes as this is the long goodbye,

And turn our heads once more into the deep.

 

Where fallen men travel, and the dead rise up;

The sphere of your compassion,

In it I lose myself completely,

Walking through the mire, asking

 

What will come of us,

And will we ever meet again?

 

You shook me,

And took me under;

Into the deep.

 

And I could swim this time

Better than the past.

 

Is it a mid night affair?

 

Choose the right words to express one’s love,

But they cannot tell the depth of feeling,

Words are thick, but void of meaning here,

In the deep blue pools of liquid eloquence;

 

What stabs you in the dark,

And leaves you bleeding after,

With pools of deep blue

Running from your veins.

 

Yell, take this body and thrash it,

Make heaven know you are speaking;

And when the quiet comes, you’ll know

 

There is no God.

 

And when you purse your lips,

And kiss the idols at your feet;

These little, tangible beings…

 

The world becomes complete,

And all being is made through substance,

Everything has a form, a weight, a smell.

These are our real gods,

They listen when we cast ourselves on them,

 

They move by a prayer of the hands

The unlikely truths of Rilke.

 

Connected to the back of my brain;

Reduced to the taste of blood and sweat,

My body numb from the thought

Of keeping cool in this hot domain.

 

Blessed are the earthworms,

Who crawl out in the night

And find their bed in death’s sweet womb,

Scorched on the ground and withered.

 

What music comes from the muse,

Her childish and fleeting countenance;

The way she draws me in close,

Then kicks, hits and runs away

 

Always giggling.

Always beautiful.

 

The body I invite is dressed in silver,

Her hair worn black, and her face

Not exposed to the elements.

 

I pick up my pace, increase my speed

Until my legs can’t bear me any longer;

Here lies the fireside tale, the numbing story

Of a girl with deep depression.

 

For she had lost her deepest love,

Once upon a time…

 

I stray from side to end, never quite surfacing

Enough for air; as composites go, this is me.

 

Why do the winds not blow

When you call on them and say,

Here I am, muse me that I may feel alive!

This is stagnation, and the churning of dead matter.

 

The thick of the storm,

Where light bends out and leaves

Nothing to see by.

 

Across the pool, there is an angel

Floating face down in the water,

 

This is my savior and my friend.

 

As we wait for the bell to ring,

And school to be dismissed;

I close my eyes and dream her,

The way she was yesterday,

 

Beneath a sky of azure.

 

A resplendent personification of death,

Wholly without limbs or eyes or ears

 

A slithering maw.

What tempo must we play by,

And what chords should we strum,

In the measure of a half-dead horse,

I carry my weight in gold,

I carry my weight alone.

 

Decisions to pursue the wrath we’ve been issued,

To cleanse our palette in the sun,

And taste the bitter berries,

Which come from one eternal Son.

 

Drifting ever westward, toward the setting sun

Where hell breaks free its prison;

And as the darkness follows, we will dance

Among the lilies in our soft white skirts,

 

Unto the end,

When the piercing sound of ravens cawing

Placates the hush surrounding us.

 

The tree at full bloom,

Glowing brightly as the sun implodes,

Leaving mark and trace of what was life,

 

In that instant as nothing makes sense

Before our deaths, the chiming question

Of who we are.

 

To see behind the curtain,

Resolve the mysteries of childhood;

Beget silence as you look up at the stars,

 

And here I rest, next to your bones,

Lying past mid night, when the moon

Succumbs to repetition.

 

Every silence is a break from the crying.

 

And I want you to lie next to me,

But only for a day, maybe two;

And then resume our lost simpatico’s silence,

 

[Shhh…]

 

Defying the laws of nature, mother earth’s descendents

Decide to scale the stars; and if in fact they prove

To be the light hearted intelligent creatures

That I’ve come to know through fairy tales;

Perhaps they’ll sink into some strong suit

And climb.

 

But as the measure of the earth is just a number,

And the whole of life rests upon a spinning rock,

 

Why should we deny each other’s depth,

When the whole world aches for our insertion.

 

Daylight wakes us,

And in the garden we have proof of intelligence,

A scarecrow torn and tattered,

Weathered by the rains of years gone by.

 

Soliloquy upon the edge of existence,

Where one can speak with God;

 

And in the harmony of our arrival,

Meeting day in bloom,

On the cusp of falling into ruin,

 

Day meets night and blood pours,

As an offering to the gods who never waken;

 

It seems they are displeased with their own lot;

In life, so take a chance and follow along their curves.

 

Every body in motion like the stars, rotating around

Each other in a delicate dance, and then the churning

Sound of a black hole sun,

 

Leaves little chance of coming to our senses,

As space malformed and fiery, with little light,

Bent portions of the night; we’ll look deep

 

Into her eyes, unblinking.

 

We step inside the framework for our

Subconsciousness; opening the doors

And turning on the lights.

 

Each frame in a series snapped,

And held within the mind’s diluted gaze.

 

Nothing remembered is real,

Only pieces from the past remain,

To oscillate between the moment

And this illusory dream,

 

To fade and fall,

To hope that someone’s seen

The meaning of it all.

 

Beside your door, waiting;

As you step outside,

Feebly walking while I wait.

 

There is a long wait for the bus,

And we won’t see the sky past morning,

When the wild beasts come to prey.

 

And through my eyes, I see diminished stars,

And look at you, my heart beats heavy

And I feel faint. You are that beautiful.

 

So what belies the senses, should not be

Discounted, it should continue through

Until the end. We’ll prosper in fire.

 

This sphere of influence, like twin imploding suns,

And rest will gather us within her arms,

To thee, I give a sense of hopelessness;

Eternally falling through the night sky,

Fast into the void with less skin than space,

Weeping for your lover and your friend.

 

Hope comes in the form of roadkill.

 

Better to be honest with a few,

Than to lie with the masses;

Because in your bed, they’ll hold you down,

 

And you will pray that it’s the end;

Flurries and snowmen lie awake,

And the sound of the trains as they go by.

 

You were my reason for waking up,

And I couldn’t fall asleep for fear

Of missing you.

 

You woke next to me in a dream,

But ripped apart in reality’s cruel version

Of the truth.

 

I cannot swallow,

My throat is parched;

The only thing I can say

Are written in the stars, the way

We used to draw them,

Wild like children

Dancing in the darkened sky.

 

The attraction of ruins,

Of false gods with bleeding hands;

And our repentance swallowed up

In a few bursts of laughter.

 

Isn’t there a sign to mark the coming of an age?

 

And can we not grasp at straws,

And find there our hopeless faith?

 

In procrastination or in observation

Of the absolute manifestation of God;

I sign my wrist in blood,

And let fall the droplets of the pen.

 

You are the night from which I fall,

You are my savior in disguise,

You are my deliverance.

 

Shortly after the sun disposed of me,

You wrapped me up in blankets,

Fed me, clothed me; and sent me home.

 

So I could write the extra layers,

To alter your perceptions of my mind.

Somewhere between you and I,

In the valley of our death,

I prayed to one to overcome my fears.

 

You walked beyond the page,

With every facet in alignment;

Too drunk on worries to beget a sin.

 

Forever, in the shadows lie,

Our salient form and symbolic representations.

 

Hush, Dear

 

Without a thought of where I shall begin,

Picking up these old, dusty rags;

Heading out into the vast expanse of space.

 

She had me believing there was something

So much greater than this, expanse of nothingness,

And when I touched her hand,

My heart inside giggled its tiny laughter,

 

And as a child, we met;

It must have been predestined,

To fold the foil of fate into crisp hands.

 

My sighs don’t reach her now,

And my tongue is sick and silent,

As the nights go; far too quiet to sing.

 

What does it feel like to be ripped to pieces;

I have felt the worst of love

To the point of my extinction,

 

And it brings me no pleasure to watch you

Step away,

 

Step away into the silence from which you came.

 

Nothing new grows here,

In this dysfunctional plot of land,

Where lovers once lay,

And the spirit of God caressed them,

 

Here, where the white horses plan their escape,

At the edge of death, I spit the cherry seeds.

 

The truest lie,

Never told itself to anyone,

But it told itself to me,

 

While I lay; deep in the chasm of slumber,

And while I pray to the god of no return…

 

Her patience mounting, while mine diminished

In the storm; and shook the pillars of our continuity,

And stretched wide the doors of discovery.

 

In each adjusted timepiece,

There’s a clock with little value than its parts;

When under the sea, looking up,

I find the hidden pieces of me,

In a disrupted mirror on the face of the open air.

 

The commonalities of strangers as they meet,

And then again as they become more intimate;

My life and yours, these cruelly crafted messages from God,

 

And the space I gave you,

 

So you may pick apart the charges we have won.

Coldly going deeper and deeper into influence

And shuttering forgiveness. [I still dream of you]

 

And when I walk through the valley of death,

I will feel nothing, as was before.

 

Mixed media and the shower of my praise,

It comes uneasily through grinding teeth,

I haven’t mustered up enough chutzpah

To tell her how I really feel;

 

How beautiful she is.

We mark on stones with chalk and paint,

Collide our souls together, through grinding words;

And I find confidence and courage

At the thought of feeling her darkened furs.

 

And as we take shelter by the fire, and as we bloom

To the voice of a whispering moon;

Just how fragmented are these walls

That keep us back,

Not touching or seeing her face,

Just a lonely shadow at the fire’s place.

 

Peace comes in the small sentence with large meaning;

And as we explore our corners of the world,

There’s no real wrong or right answer.

 

Humanity will not last forever;

Nor you and I,

 

Are we immortal?

In some sense we must be,

For matter’s conservation principle.

 

We are naught but bones and flesh,

And the stinging god has wiped away

The world of life at the end of time.

 

Knowing the solution,

And solving the problems of war;

Within one’s self, composing surgery,

And tackling the fear which leads to our desolation.

 

Another spurred synthetic romance,

Capturing the meaning of my reenactment for the stars,

Who blossom and fade away into the night,

Slowly burning suns;

 

Right before you last said your goodbyes,

In the field behind the house on an old tire swing,

Shouting at the sky to let you go, denying that

 

God will ever act.

 

I kept my promise to the extent that I could,

And now I walk alone in this contextual space,

Bleeding out the symbolic DNA; that caused

My bones to remain while the rest of me

Goes up in flames.

 

Fluorescent highlights of the mysteries of God,

A two-sided atmosphere, the doubled and divided.

 

What would Mother say, if she could speak,

Through an indigo sky we would weep;

Underpinning the extraction of our souls,

Combining mercury with salt,

And watching the atoms play.

 

Impolite restrictive stare,

The kind that pulls one under,

The kind that eats one’s soul.

 

If heaven had a second glance,

What would percolate from the deep,

To give the gods an end;

To the story of a mortal’s love.

 

And they laugh,

And drink,

Humored by the one’s affections.

 

What is the meaning of life?

“To love,” she thought.

 

At this they laughed,

As her lover left her,

Crying in the mud.

 

A direct correspondence to our sinful melody,

Complete with instruction for tidiness.

The banner made from dirty linens,

Upon our flagpole, waving in the noon day sun.

 

While everyone’s awake and asking themselves

The deep, dark questions of existence,

I take your hand and lead you

Underneath the table,

Where we make whispers in the dark.

 

And a violent rage,

Is all that’s left of me;

[Love can turn so quickly.]

 

My problems all revolve around you,

But you’re not the root;

You are a shadow filled with lilacs and violets,

With too firm a skin to lie down.

 

I ache to tell you every truth,

But there’s so much of me I won’t reveal,

Because you’ll never touch me,

And I will never strive to enter your proximity.

 

Here, among the shadows wailing,

You are the dark and hallowed queen;

Deriving fact from fantasy,

Replacing golden fawns with an iron fist.

 

Short stories and simple solutions,

Unrefined text and the dissolution of long hours

Spent diving in the dark. An easy way to come to grips

With fate’s resistant smile;

 

I listen to the heart beating,

And recognize the miracle of that,

One lively organ, and of the train of thought,

Which matters.

 

Stream through with the information of the tide

 

A natural idea to come to, and so I try,

Walking through the back streets

With lace and a worn face, depleted of all oxygen

Hoping for a place to spend the night.

 

The text and your tone against the backdrop

Of my consenting heart; while you would lead

Us towards safety and security; my fashion is

For death and a destructive hell.

 

How much has passed,

Since I was just a girl;

And what were you,

What were you?

 

When the mountains were first formed,

And the independent states were then united,

How quickly time progresses,

Like a sad song that lulls you into sleep.

 

I’ll travel with you.

Although I do not know where you will lead us;

[Trust is a very dangerous game].

 

But I’ll reach out to grab you, at the wrist;

And we’ll descend into the shimmering fog.

 

In another time and place,

Behind the mask of obscenity and grace;

I’ll walk into the western lands,

Crippled by my infectious script,

My moonlit malady which claims contempt.

 

And sees the howling wolves, clustered deep

Beneath the moonlit sky.

 

For atoms clustered and designed in the model

Of a mother earth, whose space becomes

A moistened mass of detritus and blood.

 

This space reserved.

 

For fornicating masters, and their sons and daughters

And wives;

 

Plastic peonies dissolved in acid,

Leaking through the vine.

 

As we continue on our quest for rightful dominion

Of the earth and stars and sea,

 

Let me feed you the life you took from me,

Never in a bottle, this dried delirium;

Like powdered silk, it plays through fingers

And is spread smoothly across our nightly sky.

 

Our unseen symmetries, percolating through

The edge of oblivion, and when night strikes

I’ll peel off my mental gravity; thirsting for

A taste of my insanity.

 

She rise like a demon on a bed of cloud;

And I, in my weakness succumb to slavery.

 

And off to the west another calls, my name;

Pronounced in perfect construction

Of voice and syllable.

 

Hear her in the dark conclusion of our symposium.

 

The dust clouds linger where we walked,

The smell of cheap perfume and incense

Littering the air,

 

Who would come to us here,

And why would the warlocks listen?

 

Do we have something to say?

 

And as I travel through this place in time,

You can hold me over,

You can touch the more forbidden parts of me,

 

Where everything liquifies into gray matter.

 

Reach out, and deeply through my pain,

Find the interior. Deplete me of oxygen.

 

Let me be the one you desire.

 

The sensual serenity of your voice,

Passed along amidst the laughing and glee

Of children. Theirs is not my gem of

My submission; not the cradled comfort

Which I call home.

 

But here, in the attic of my thoughts,

I lie with you, and my eyes close

For a moment, and for a moment

Nothing hurts, there is no loneliness;

And all is perfect in the world.

 

Information’s sense of intelligence,

The mark of our own distinction,

Precursor’s instructional symmetry,

In hopes that you may dream,

 

Here’s where the tall lines cross,

Here is our resemblance to the flame.

 

I sigh and take a moment to pretend that I

Enjoy watching the children dancing,

But I can only think of you.

 

And as the peace offerings go,

We’ve both had enough of wars.

 

Let’s make strict boundaries in the sand,

Collide. Our minds into something beautiful.

 

There is no center where I am,

Just the cold, destructive force of nature;

And in my grips the power to channel it.

 

When the winds subside, who is there;

Who has stayed out past dark and through the storm;

Who keeps company with angels?

Not I.

 

A living testament to God’s destructive impulse,

 

To create a safe haven,

Anticipate the silence before the end,

To move like lightning through the streets,

And dance upon the rooftops where only

The winds and rain can reach.

 

To step outside,

Regardless of the cold or heat;

And to remove one’s shoes

At mother nature’s door.

 

Here in the middle of the road,

Where the torrents won’t corrupt my way,

I live with you outside of my control,

An angel before the storm,

 

And you would live next to me,

 

Can you hear the music also,

It sounds like the music of the spheres,

Inaudible magic; the synthesis of saints.

 

Perhaps we’re both a little crazy,

 

I will rush into you,

Crashing as the sea,

Over you,

Repeatedly.

 

To take my gift of love,

And to devour it.

Marking in the margins,

What’s good as gold,

 

Exacting payment from the silhouetted storm drain.

 

Forget her name,

In the blackness, view her sentimentality;

And combine it with the drops of morning dew.

 

And I’ll transgress; let her statue fall

Crumbling to a thousand pieces;

Let all that glitters be ashamed,

 

You won my heart,

Without a battle,

Without a care or what to do.

 

And neither do I know (what to do).

 

The silence tells a story,

Of mathematical equations,

And passionate words exchanged

Beneath a cold and lonely sky.

 

Picking up the pieces from our last goodbye,

Hoping shelter was enough to keep you calm;

My own incessant rattling of the heart,

Within her cage and trapped, full of rage.

 

I scream my soft and silent scream,

Each time it ends,

When you pass through the gates,

On your own way,

 

Leaving me to tend the waters in the dark.

 

Here I am, and you

Vacant and without a doubt

Thinking something other than

What I am.

 

These severed sentences stick

To let the mocking jay in,

While I relinquish control

To dark passageways and

Standing water beneath the glimmering

Moon.

 

This one drop of salted water,

Relinquished from my eye,

To let memory resolve itself,

And let the waves crash up

Against the shore.

 

The white washed walls, containment and fear;

Do you know what it’s like to be caged?

 

I flew.

To the top of my cell, looking downwards;

And there in the night met her face,

Her eyes like diamonds,

And her scars at least as deep,

 

Although she would never reveal them

 

To anyone.

I flew,

 

Above the trees; where I held in my breath

And dove. Something about nature tantalizes

The senses, lets mystery let down her hair;

And the bright white moon, is calling me.

 

A slithering snake,

Working its way towards benediction;

Only the lonely can be called to this supper,

Just like her to swallow in the deep water

And leave me nothing to hold onto.

 

The cave’s crevices pierce my mental

Reconstruction of this space, this place in time

Where there are no maps which can completely

Present the structure of the world.

 

Our mind’s a shadow in the deep blue light;

And we are acting without home, without laundering.

 

Soon we’ll lose everything. Everything.

 

And our minds.

 

When in the middle of a nightmare,

I awaken next to you;

Your soft curves, and lush hair.

 

There isn’t any mood I can expose,

Which will unearth me from my chamber

Below,

Where the cockroach claims a part of me,

And there are maggots in my eyes;

I smell like death, and the devoured.

 

But you are beauteous.

 

And you, absolve me of my sins;

Turning the inflection of your voice

To a whispered silence that words

Can’t comprehend…

 

Redeeming the far side of the moon.

 

Through the shallows of my depths,

I give you no reprieve; swallow in the sea,

And let the mind fixate on just one explanation.

 

For how the animals choose to make their lives;

And in the cold, gray winter recognize

An only truth.

 

And as the firmaments’ own significant

Truths belie substance and its container;

We watch for the slow migration of

Similarities’ speak; wasting our days and our lives.

 

You come out collared and so easily amused

At what they’ve done to you,

And reassembled on the kitchen floor;

It’s my turn now; to take the dive

Or run inside and douse myself in flames;

Whichever hell I choose,

They’re all the same.

 

Running in reverse, slowly running

The way we came in by.

Pouring blood and imagination;

 

And my philosophy fails, as we

Sail into the western sea.

 

I shadow my hands with the delicate

Parts of rain, and combustible secrets

Made plain, the depths of my internal hells

Remain;

 

And it’s blowing in from the start,

This necessity for our eternal

Dissociative seduction.

 

The addiction carries on; this unrequited passion,

That brings little hope of carrying on this way.

It is the slow injection of pain.

 

Here in the hollow,

Beside the strip of black and white intransitives,

We wrestle with our demons,

Each to our own submission,

 

Mothering the child within our womb.

 

Passion grown flame,

And the deed in the dark is done,

Repentance becomes a sipping of hot tea,

With words, words.

 

And I would have you know

The process by which I convert emotion

Into words is not unreal,

To you I say how I feel,

 

To you the difference will not show.

 

Insert.

Dissension’s craving, the call for more dilution,

What was in the water is spread loose and thin,

And life bleeds through our pores,

 

For we are sons & daughters,

Technically scraping ash from burnt wood,

Reaching in towards the central vein,

Asking God to receive these broken lines.

 

While sacred geometry refuses to contain

The immoralist. And while I feign submission;

Free fall and weightlessness of a dark and eerie mind,

 

I’m pulled towards the estate without an address;

The emptiness that drives me to pain.

 

To me, the tide is a mixed blessing;

I leave it and escape the the reality of things;

(Even though all is illusion).

 

What fate tempts me with, I concede to;

The washed up pearls and trash

Floating in the interim between

Sand and sea.

 

While I revolve around diminutive calls,

My isolation holds me under,

Steals my breath.

 

And you look on, in awkward silence

As death rips me open from above.

 

Her contextual presence in my mind,

Pouring out like water,

It is her I can see inside of;

Better than myself.

 

Foreign cerebral cyst,

Pneumatic circles sentencing to dust

And clay; all that would come after.

 

Thus the heavy weight of the ball

Has been removed; and as you see slightly,

There’s no requirement for anger or aggression

But you will taste my vindictiveness,

So please, don’t hold me up,

High above the threshold of humanity;

 

I am one of you.

 

Right past the start of our journey,

We remember things forgotten;

Anxiety bares her fangs.

 

When the night was young,

And we looked terrible;

And we looked into each other’s eyes,

To find some grain of purity

To let the tears fall easy…

 

And I shook since the moment you came to me,

In the deeper fibers of my being,

I resonated with your touch and your proximity.

 

But I’ve withdrawn,

It wasn’t what I’d expected.

 

Nothing ever is.

 

The diary reads blank,

Not because of nothing more to say;

It is the vastness of exposure

Which causes silence.

 

And in two tongues I bleed,

 

Forever in the mists of our

Not-forgotten youth.

 

Even as the hallways close,

There is a euphemism shared

Between our tents.

 

So goodbye fantasy,

Fare thee well,

The manipulated time is over.

 

Tell the watchmen.

 

An emancipated heart;

Flying free like a lead weight through space,

Waiting to collide with a body;

Outside her delicate mind.

 

And when she seizes up,

The heftier part of tomorrow thunders;

Give me the realization and I will hold it

In steady arms’ grip.

 

My permutations of the shallow depths

Of my unconsciousness; dissolved in

Mercury and blood; with bones cast in.

 

This foul mess was what gave me birth.

 

Triple breaths, short puffs of air;

The kind of breathing that makes you

Light headed.

 

Everywhere I look is an assembly

Of various tones of blue.

It’s not a happy silence;

But the coursing blood will influence me,

And who am I to deny its death?

 

In shades of gray and in sheets of

Pure silk,

Dressed, undressed; and waiting.

 

Setting them loose and wild,

While she erases my path to victory,

With handprints the size of my anticipation.

 

My circular rotation begs me the answers

While I don’t know [or care];

I feed them to her anyways,

Even as she closes the doors.

 

Locked not in land or sea,

Not in physical form;

Emotionally anchored,

 

And when I see her,

The heart flits.

 

Tell me how you lie, love.

How you speak desperation through

Tight lips, and how you seize

The characters of your accord?

 

Should we tell her the secret

To this insistent space,

Where time has lost all meaning,

Except for the constant ticking noise?

 

I’d like to sit her down,

Have tea and paint our faces white;

Prepare ourselves for the howling

In the night.

 

Horus’ shadow plays lightly on your skin,

And you cannot remove your dress;

This is sacred ground,

According to which gods you pray to.

 

Will they find a way to free us

Before death strikes us unaware;

Let us be conscious and bleeding rather,

Let us walk into the sun,

Into despair.

 

Close your eyes, love;

The distance is closing in,

And you’ll be free,

Or you’ll be stationary;

Sitting on the old wooden fence

Which bleeds the blood of every saint.

 

Without you on my mind; without the thought of you

Dwelling in the deep, without fixation and the muse;

 

What is left depleting down to nothing?

 

Love is a game we play when all the world turns sour;

And we revel in another’s laughter for an hour;

 

Until the shades of gray which hold us in

Tighten for our lack of luster.

Grievances abound, but there’s no time for sentiment;

Just the cold, wet fury of a winter’s day.

 

And then it’s better to receive than have spoken,

Better to rust and disintegrate before their eyes;

And believe that there is something to fall back on,

 

I believe in you,

The struggle of my unconsciousness.

 

A cacophonous irritation of the auditory nerves

The bleating of sheep, and the wise man’s reservations

 

How to take shelter beneath a cold, dead sun;

Scrape off the fingers’ skin for the blood,

And I’ll arise, and I’ll awaken past noon

To the sound of the wind whistling.

 

Speaking incoherent gibberish,

Sorting out the sun’s intentions,

Wishing for a well with deep waters.

 

Here I’d end it all if I weren’t so scared

Of the friction between life and after death.

 

We tug the rope each in our own direction

And for the end to become a greeting

And a new day; so where would you have me stay,

 

Beneath the old willow, weeping?

 

The frightening story of what lies.

And who completes my circle

But another woman; standing at the edge

Of flames and duties.

 

To serve, and to be burned like the witch

That I had wanted to be.

Here, in summary; to renew my faith

In mathematics and my ability

To derive poetry from nothing more

Than closed eyes and a broken heart.

 

There exists a single space between us,

The black dot and an opening ‘I’;

Segmented frustrations and alluring permutations

Of the things we’ve thought and dreamed of.

 

And somewhere in the wind blows

Our verse unto the stars,

And the queen has shattered

The temple; in which we pray,

To the Constitution and to God.

 

Heaven’s verse sings of war and peace,

And ours the failed attempt to wrestle with

Serenity.

 

The killing fields are vacant,

My eyes can’t revel in their delight;

Blindness and a taste of hypocrisy.

 

Languid lips,

And a small heart

Already beating.

 

And to death it is discovered

That there will be no form

Of resurrection for our dead.

 

Purify my soul completely;

And make what wavers to want,

Her in the shadows by the dark light,

Her bright whites glowing in the night.

 

In the context of love,

There is a gnawing hunger deep within;

And finding my breath or my means of

Mediation between the body and the mind.

 

Blood runs thick, and I lose myself

In her curves, and her caresses…

 

Give me the key to this lock.

 

Have I lost touch completely with what is real;

And can I call down thunder with my voice,

My mania, my destructive wind

Hanging over you like a deeply darkened cloud.

 

I smell the voices of young chicks;

Just hatched and peeping,

Oh I smell your voice too;

And like a serpent, I adjust my body

As I approach you.

 

But in my dream,

We were both predators,

Each one stalking the other;

And striking, as if to kill

With the muse’s elemental grace.

 

The history of this sentiment

Shared between lovers or friends,

The concrete clauses, which keep out pests;

Here we are, in the midst of a field

 

With no grasses and no weeds;

Just the hollow voice of our machines.

 

And as I take your hand,

And you flinch. Retract,

And vacate;

 

And turn back again,

My heart does not know

What love is without tasting,

Without smell; without sensation.

 

Without permission.


My Lover & I

  • ISBN: 9781311870223
  • Author: Maria Morisot
  • Published: 2016-04-13 15:50:32
  • Words: 16699
My Lover & I My Lover & I