The black see-through lace
dry, bodiless, bloodless
extinct wings
fluttering silver silky web
evening

Emergence, such color
flight
vanished. Grey.

A Hunter's moon trapped
Intention feasts
on these brief forms of the lovely,
the memory of a kiss
in the belly
of a woman breast earth.

Even as I grow distant
I love you with all of my fire
descending
into the other realms
beyond this one;
where you eat me
alive, pieces,
paralyzed, silent.

I remember the first time you touched me.

I don't think you are worthy of me?

you don't hear me play for you

in my room with the two candles burning

for the dearly departed.

Instead you run away

and hide

from my stare

and it's agonized desire.

 

If you had been worthy of me

you would stare right back,

you would dare to look right on through me,

these two eyes,

to drink in all of my bittersweet intensity.

Let's walk while our toes
still feel the squishy mud between them.

she lit a candle of love for me
and then she confessed it was just to cover up
the stink she left in the room
and I didn't get a chance to tell her
that the models feet are always dirty
because they walk on earth
to get to this moment.
and when I paint her,
her dirty feet make her
my desire for all of her.
Though I love the light through my morning windows
drifting through a dusty milky way
I don't long for the day
when my feet are washed with tears,
dryed with your hair,
when my clean feet ascend
into some silver lined cloud
no
give me your unwashed hand,
walk with me.

I wonder about you,
you touch people all day,
on your feet,
hurt.
You seem touchless.
the crystal on the kitchen table
next to your pink phone
unringing,
you left it there
because it was silent for you now.
You leaned in the doorway
after you knocked
and said you were hungry.

I drummed tonight
until my hands were numb
the rain today
loosened the skins
so resonate and deep
humming a song
I haven't ever heard before.

My brother sat in the green overstuffed chair
I had written my story for the others
so he shared his
and tears filled his eyes as he began to speak
the others listened.

We were high in the pine tree
in the circle near the gingo
apple wine, your infectious laugh
I could almost fall
think perhaps I have sometimes
because I can't see you
as I see the others,
you have to tell me or I just hear
the silence like cold steel piercing.

Did you hear the twilight wind through the Joshua trees,
the jets streaming lights like comets from an inorganic universe?
some other life drifting away somewhere again.
But I belong here with the dry fed wildflower
with the dust
here in my watchtower
and this is warfare
for I want you to love me
but don't take me into your bed
because I won't leave
and what would the world, my lover, feel
if I was lost with you?

I laugh, I cry
no wonder

Andrianna dancing her snake hands
through the five rhythms
nothing Catholics ever dreamt of
with the pink feather in her hair
ascending like she has ascended
gracing with her beauty from Andromeda.
she smiles, says namaste
imparts love and wisdom.
and she used to be that beer drinking babe
on 11th and Folsom
riding out to the foggy avenues
on the back of my 440 screaming for the night.

St Steven of brotherly love
ding liberty bell ring
sub woofers of supersonic bliss
harmonic interface to Mars
embedded with Venus
the vibrational spaceships
intergalactic splats spewing the liquid milky way.

The first humans arose in self-conciousness
from the animal savage garden,
but these beasts are me.
"if you bring forth what is within you,
what is within you will save you. If you do not
bring forth what is within you, what is within
you will destroy you."

I'm so one-dimensional in a multi-dimensional universe
her blond hair falls down her fine back
like Botticelli's Birth of beauty
she turns, white skin silk soft lines
between her form and her function,
and I'm lost in bliss for a moment...
until her boyfriend sits, smiles at her with a kiss
and I close my eyes,
on my screaming 440
into the black rift
in the middle of it all.

"Be not ashamed woman.....
You are the gates of the body,
and you are the gates of the soul"
Walt Whitman

You pushed me back on the bed
after the bike ride to Brazillia
past Saint what's his name?
It rained the first time,
all our stuff
in the back of my truck
we drove fast up the highway
thinking the forward movement
would keep out the rain
and really
did we care at all?

we received the rivers

An Italian meal waits on the stove
glass of red for me
white for her
she lounging with a book
shades drawn now
to the black new moon
on a darker sea.

The earth was frozen white
steam rose from our bodies
when we fell through
the door
carpet burns on my knees.
I woke at 4:15AM,
witching hour
the moon was shinning on the wood pile
fire wood
smoke
I woke you to look at stars
as old as us
and now we know
there is no chance
of understanding.

Who knows while we were sleeping
perhaps the world and
sun
blinked out into some black hole
into some other universe
with other stars.
we wake with the same sun
colors through the morning window
somehow the same
but slightly strange...
Sunday morning

your naked back, warm.
lingering in the dream
I had last night.