ghost husk

weird how the empty shell
just hovers there
an abandoned barrier
draped with threadbare silk
tassels tearing loose in the wind

arrow zen

lightening she is
serrating up the sound of thunder

silver she is
glint of woaden dying against the plush

icy spark
at the beginning of the dark
catching fire
melding pure
through
the
frozen
burne

prehended primarily
through reflective retina
to be caught, to be held
in a strange sweet net
of gray matter swirling
in those moments
when she knows
and loves the way
you can comprehend
the facts inherent
within all fictions.

even if the magic flower
wanted desperately to acquiesce,
still she might always choose not

even when mah-jeeka floor-aye
was in the deepest knead to acquiesce,
in truth of will she might always defuse knot

thus is the nature of such dance
en pointe of arabesque

she carried an ancient lidded jar made of alabaster.
it fit so perfectly in both her small palms cupped together,
the base of the jar melded through her delicate skin
to merge with the tiny bones of her hands.
there were no markings on the smooth lustrous surface.
though pale, the jar was glowing, colors ever changing,
illuminated by the spiral seedpods inside.
while she carried the vessel, she chanted and sang,
“i dwell between elements with song.
i am the spark, more than the fire.
i am the air a fire would need.
from these seeds a world will spring
shimmering across the dark layers of the deep.”

As any firefly knows
The finest place to go
is within the rounded chambers
of luminous petal walls.
The pistil is a center column,
with stamen arching upwards
the fragrance is just forming,
rich and undiluted,
not yet released.

As any firefly knows
The magic place to go
is to slip between the petals
into a scent saturation haven
a room out of the rainy weather
to glow and tryst away inside
the temple of a magnolia blossom
Before the flower
is fully open.

the host is carved
to near depletion
preakness peaked
some time ago
we slide slick
as muddy waste
down the ravaged
mountainside
eager and head long
into inevitable decay
destroying everything
that gets in our way

Thunder growled out rough and raw
rattling deep within its throat
Trees swayed and bent in the rising wind
Jagged lines of silver/white flashed near and far
lighting up, tearing at the smooth pale underbelly
of c loudy bloody rain soaked bloat
that spread across the strained to bursting sky
until finally the jagged teeth had torn it open

A rusty colored rain began to splatter with such force
like the initial arterial spray of a well-c ut sacrifice
only this sacrifice just kept on giving
only this life liquid was soul c hilling
Then came icy razor-sharp, red-tinged hail,
slic ing through almost everything
except roc k, metal and bone
Cutting even through c lothing
and imbedding deep into the skin
on the way down to the earth
from a fuc ked-up heaven hanging
ragged, ripped, torn open and flapping
like c umbersome wet blankets of meaty flesh
dripping, slinging blood in the wind

vine which would not die
growing up from the charred heap
waits wraith with thorns
drenched in swampy summer heat
long scented sweet song delay
always falling apart
at the blush of play
as those creamy petals
trailing fragrant
in the moment when
she shifts to sway

dark wine drips down
the reseda smooth glass nec k
each drop spreads out
spongie sweet
on open taste feather-like
feelers of the tongue
deepening what was
already quite red

She might as well have been
A tiny bit of c lear grit
Carried away by the wind
So when she disappeared
She was not missed
Not even a little bit
No one noticed
That she was gone
Why would they
How could they
Why should they

She always knew it would happen
Though never sure how or why she knew
Or what good it was suppose to do
But still she knew that when she vanished
It would be as though she had never been

She might as well have been
A tiny grain of sand
Carried away by the surge
Virtually transparent
Completely worn down
So easy to miss
Why should anyone realize
She was no longer among them
Why should anyone be aware
Or even care
That she was gone for good

Fresh faced and wicked
You called to me
Eyes bright as sunlight
on the snow
Arms extended
You reached for me
Pulled me up
over the edge
I fell hard against you
when I only meant to
catch in your hair
like bits of leaves and grass

If you were the night
would you sit down beside me
If you were the night
would you end out my days
If you were the night
would you fill me with darkness
If you were the night
would you carry me away...

I am the other
no problem, no solution
just the neglected resolution
like all the grass you planted
and those seeds that did not grow.

I am the other
no christ, no devil
only a nagging human reflection
like a petty antagonist
in stories by atheists.

I am the other
the glass when it shatters
the breaking not the breaker
the early winter sun
which finds you naked.

We are death distracted by the night
beneath the hedge our forms
rendered palest blue of stone
we lay for hours on the
rotting petals of wild roses
with our eyes open wide, buried alive
in gardens of flesh and caskets of skin
trembling so silent while our bodies press
we are waiting like anxious birds
hidden in the darkened rafters

(chorus) See the blue lights keep flashing
like constant lightning catching
in the shadows of your throat and face above me
and the car doors keep slamming
with authority of thunder
while the sirens stab at our ears like ice picks