Thoughts of you A wounded prism Bleeding rainbow blood From skin the colour of acrylic Water upon water Wet upon wet (Random noise; My pseudo poetry, Commas and semicolons limping across the verses In a desolate frequency Like an empty road echoing; The silhouettes of silent wheels The smell of burnt rubber And the touch of gasoline) I long to stare at your face that stands stark against the sky A newborn moon; unblemished Rolling upon tethered horizons Like a dime in the dark
O how I ache to be in your arms now To be your ice and your fire Your utter despair and open desire I wish I could hold you Like ink in my paper palm Like an unformed word Like a fleeting thought I wish I could know how you see me Am I an anchor that keeps you calm Or wings that sets you free? I know I heal as an afterthought And you are careful in remembrance And although we have met few times These moments that pass This liquid life Is reshaped by our every touch For the fire that burns us feels the same Today, tomorrow, after an eternity again
I remember being Your dream When you were wide awake A flower trapped within sunshine And I know I am not destiny’s choice For my voice That dark tobacco of my baritone Is neither honey nor nectar And my eyes that reach out Through the veiled carcass of some velveteen night Belongs to shadow and to spectre But love Through the shards of slow time That ebbed our feet away for many days Now we walk With our two hearts disguised as one
The ocean does not speak of sadness For sadness has no voice that can say That being empty is like being filled forever An infinite without a way And when I with my eyes look out At a world where each face has a place I wonder who really wins If it’s in a circle that everyone does race True it is tragic that in the end There is no magic that holds all the cards For his is the glory of the game Who plays his joker as ace when it’s hard And I know in this mesmerizing madness For the follicle of that forever fame People play their pieces for practice Unaware that they will never be the same And so do I yearn to sit By the shore where horizons do cease And thank the seed of silence For this life that I had on a lease
I once had branches That burned in my backyard A pyre sans desire A fire drowned by its fire And at night In the dark When ghost grew like fruits From the shadow of its seeds From the ashes of its roots One could hear In the cast out whispers that they kept Broken words bandaged Pain yet un-wept And they said, they said In the black waves of bright flames We are faces without faces Nameless within our names And if night be a star in the ocean And infinity an eternal motion If silence be the words without sound And self a state never to be found Then the world with it’s weight held in a grain And poets with their pens dipped in pain The weathered visages with their vermillion words And the horizon a home for forgotten birds Is there to be seen, is there to be shown And not to be alone or utterly unknown
O the desire to be Loved by all And the ache of letting go When it is harder to fall Because of the world with it’s quiet words left to rot On transparent eyelashes Of eyes that dream, of eyes that dare Of eyes that hold, of eyes that care Should I wish upon myself an early demise Would the darkness in it’s view find it wise Why then sometimes I want to be The silence that shapes the sea Why then sometimes I want to be Someone whom none can see
Despair, beware I am a sky without cause My pain, insane Do not ache for applause Stare in the mirror O horror of my mind What you see is what you are Be gentle if not kind And whisper unto the wind These fables of your own For you are no Pietá But a statue turned to stone
He carried a corpse on his shoulder A straw man made of stone And walked the nowhere path A footstep in a crowd; alone He had feathers on his broken back Which wept on silent nights And he wished for a shooting star Having never had one in sight The man was armed with silence And buried tears in each eye Had no heart of which to speak of And dared not ask why So he searched his own shadow That wet the mosaic floor And wondered if his life Even mattered anymore For he was a mortal man Who died in his own dreams And come night only his pillow Answered back his screams He thought of leaving it all And be dust and be free He thought of casting his anchor In the middle of the barren sea For him the changing world Was a wave that ever repeats And he questioned unto the chaos Why do I rhyme when nothing fits?
Her face was a prison of prisms Her eyes twin melodies of mind Her skin shone like vanishing velvet Her kiss was one of a kind But she was no fabled princess Wandering lost at his open door Nor was she a cast away goddess He had once prayed to before She was a woman in making And held her heart in her own hand She knew the world as her oyster And she a pearl in the prophetic sand She saw the world with its visage brimming With light bulbs and bright lies So she searched for the one who stood With bruises like midnight skies He was a naked man Unclothed; without a name Who counted a single star Thinking that all were same To her he was a child unfed Left to roam as a newborn in wild Once without a home Through fate utterly exiled
He saw her hand in the ocean And the world closed around his eyes As he drowned in the water that whispered Breathe now or the dream dies He felt her fingers upon his shoulder And he answered back in kind Till their lips sealed shut a secret Which no soul could ever find And they danced in the depths like dolphins Two kindred hearts as one Who wished so much for the stars That they grew their own sun So that when the leaves now rustle And the colours do not make sense They can watch the silence get slower And the rainbow go back in rain
The walls aren’t painted And there are orange pips on the table Arranged like a ten o’clock shadow Of an ornament left in a glass case And I dare not disturb Her architecture The tainted texture That peers out, as symbols, as summations Meaningless veracities, punctuated by punctuations.
I cough And the dust coughs with me For the echo is swallowed By the floorboards Beneath our feet So I dance, I tiptoe I jump and I let go To remain suspended An unlighted chandelier Burning butanol or some such nonsense In my pockets
My garden has gone grey The flowers; asthmatic Now wheeze in the wind Wrinkled and waiting For the next iteration of spring A seasonal afterlife That feels no soul smile and say; I will let you live If you follow my way
Curious is the world’s design They who smile never know why And they who claim that they do Knows in their heart that it’s a lie Is happiness something That can never be found Like corners of a map Of a world that goes round
If only I had Eyes that could see all Every thread of a thought From even streams and the stone I think I know What I would have known That this all, this enigma This play supposed to go on Is not worded by us We who think we have won For each life afterall in the end is the same Closed eyes, broken breaths And lost dreams with no name.
I am, The face you never see, On posters and billboards, Half starved, naked, Beyond beautiful, to be Served on a silver platter, For you to touch, twist and take, Morsel after morsel.
I am, The laughter you never hear, Stirring lives, Rubbed together in plastic embrace, Made alive in the objectionable agony In the chimera of chemicals Praised at pawn shops By asthmatic Archdiocese To fall, to drip, Lip by lip Throat by sore throat Through hollow chests And wasted waists Of fools painting tears Upon torn faces.
I am, The play you never see, On streets below your tinted windows, Staged for the world to witness, For free, though None stays to admire, Too paltry, they say, too plain, Too painful, coarse and vain, This drama, That reminds us of our own lives.
I am, The speeches you never give, From proud pedestals, and altars, Like a speck of spit, Luring the sea of men, With words; carved and honed, Too bright for us, Of clouded eyes, To warm these hearths of our own.
I am, The truth you never know, From beyond your walls, And the sanctum of your own asylum Where you pray To the earthworms armed with earthquakes To the dead; dead from too much death To leper’s liberty To chronic charity Never to arise From the ashes Or seen through the uncertain curtains Of your marble eyelashes.
I have seen the diaspora, Seen it’s bulbous head set against Saturn’s sky, Felt it’s pulse, Dreaming of chalk and charcoal, Seen it’s veins, deeper nerves, Coursing through promises Like an undulating snake.
Men revise, Their adolescent mournings, teenage dreams made of, Pink flesh laid to rest, Against the grain of this world. A world long forgotten by the habit of forgetting, The shell of mirror, Slow as sinking stone, For lives lived, living, With unpolluted prose, Precise, pragmatic.
I have seen the diaspora, The laughter of death, That parallel passage, Guided by fate.
The fault never lied with dark, To light must fall the blame, For showing that of all, None are truly the same.
Half the pleasure, Lies in having nothing, And losing it all.
Here in shaped stillness, I ache for a shattering.
If my face now makes you weep Let my voice then put you to sleep So tomorrow when you awake Like a flower on someone’s grave Know there lies underneath He who asked you once to save
