Life when I
Want to live,
In fires that
Ramble,
Ruby spit,
Their tarot turns
Scattered through love
Seeds resplendent
In winter caves…✝️💎👻🔥
Life when I
Want to live,
In fires that
Ramble,
Ruby spit,
Their tarot turns
Scattered through love
Seeds resplendent
In winter caves…✝️💎👻🔥
Fallen to the
Empty starless
Nights.
Washed upon in
Senseless
Greed.
Crowded universe
Spilling
Gases,
Fated rocks
Ready to make
Jagged moves
Across loveless plains…
When I face
These pancakes,
Eyes search
For ways to
Dream.
Sanctity in
Whipped topping,
Butter running off
In divergent rivers.
Swirling eddies
Feeding heat,
Slumber awaiting
Questing organs.
Your surprise at
What feeling
Hits you,
Quieted of the
Mechanical noise
Computers drive into
Your static skull…
Tainted lips,
The steam from
Infirmity
Crawling
Through placid doors…
As moments enliven,
You cross over to
My depths.
Folded in sacramental
Mystery,
Judged not by racing
Clocks blowing off steam…
Your vision ropes my
Starless advance,
Woods shaded,
Fallen spark.
Intrepid wisdom
Of paths
Intercepted,
Traces beamed
To completeness.
A storm you
Must wander along,
Taken to an
Icy page coursing
Its own poetic tour…
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Fostered to
The roses,
Swung upon a
Fragile
Swing.
Traipsed in
Envy,
Followed beyond
The peeling dusk,
Rind taken from
Saturation.
Beauty thrown
To nighttime
Tricks,
Stairs
Undulating
Downward
To a crystal
Infusion…
Hurt in
A Sunday melting to
Monday gloom.
Your absent
Face,
Imprinted to
Incarnate visions
Stained upon the
Universe’s glowing
Pulses.
Dreaded
Leaving,
A grieving itch along the
Neck,
Record pricks to
Shifting sentiments.
Romantics on a
Freeze,
Mummified
Follicles
Bred
Along
A song’s cessation.
Naked notes
Uttered,
Too late in the
Lover’s entry,
Fires cooled
Within a music
Taken to,
Shadow sweeps
Along quiet beds
Going toward solemn cracks,
Wizened to the darkness
Losing its visage once again…
Warmed up and leftover
Foolishness,
Dried to a harsh wind,
The tempestuous
Clothes line,
Swung to a lull
In crystal conscience.
Whipped to
Latent
Eyes
Shuffling
In
Feathered holes.
Crossed beyond
The point
Of
Whispering
Clocks
Taking the
Place of
Nights gone
Placid.
Writing, the Universe and whatever occurs to me
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