Sometimes Blues.

Elegy.
My words were lost. In winding lanes and upturned parasols. It rained like the last day in Nagasaki that washed away dried blood off of cadavers lost to political vanity. Politicians needed to visit brothels. The evening star was vermillion, serenaded by fading constellations.  Lady night walked in with her gliding paramour, darting her poisoned tongue, piercing souls into delusions of faith.

The Cathedral doors, closed to the public and the next morning, there was a holocaust inside. The cemeteries were flooded and the vultures refused to peck at the emanating stench. I was a believer tillI saw. When I saw I believed in something else. Most non believers still always believe that they don’t believe anymore. And nobody came for their funerals. Or if they did, only for the blueberry pancakes and cider. Oh well, the nonbelievers most certainly have elite tastes. I tried being elite.

I sewed thousand autumn leaves into an evening gown to match the deep purple orchid tiara. I decided to wear wild white lilies across my bosom and stuck a rose thorn in my wrist when I saw in the mirror, what I did.

Time.

Like the mysteries in your eyes. Waiting to happen. Spilling onto my shoulders. As I lift the weight of the world on them.You tug at my hair and spin me around. And I look into your eyes and there I lose myself. Like winding lanes.

Thoughts.

Like the times I run out of, under your umbrella to be drenched for the audience of your wonder. As you clap at my show. Glances at me you throw.  Across pitch dark galaxies we roam. Cobwebs and cradles all into dust, where we come from, there return, we must. 

Dainty girls in the arms of men, on gondolas in Venice, kiss under the arches of bridges and laugh pleasingly . The older men see them from the edges and on the way back home, buy flowers. Such is  youth. Bubbling, intense and emerging. Find it.

Mazes.

Those words are wandering over vales and hills, floating across herds of cattle, in green pastures. Resonating songs of the shepherdess who frolicked amongst the skippant goat. The sun blazoned the

red flowers atop the canopy that was the mountain and like burning embers in your drowning voice, I die, this dawn.

Early morn, little darling, here comes the sun.

Introduction in spite.

There is way to see. Which I do believe.

But we must be taught to behave because we have evolved, forgetting that we still are animal.

Animosity and humanity. 

They are words and I just want to prove etymology and sound and sense.

Are all a line. And the sound is which pin points them to direct transmission.

As numbers take over our lives and words are just carriers of supposed continued.

Purple Stains

We inherently are born into the world with an idea or rather an ideal of possession. But then we ask to transcend.
Are we exercising humanity. Before we take a dive into the whirlpool of responsibility.
Do we find ourselves or does money find us?

The child in us seems to not understand other age groups during our progressive years. But do we develop?
We are bombarded with progeny or species of the same kind. Do we ape them or do they,us?

War for space and amenities and natural resources.

First we had a canopy of trees to serenade us with the breeze. Now we have concrete, we call it home and  therefore we cannot consecrate... all is but by the rate.

Choose your causes wisely. They will follow you. We will always be swayed.But we will have will.

__________________________________________________________

This chapter will signify the things that are revenue to my mind....

War and its consequence. Religion and its effects. The fact that we are driven not by crop but by food.
Women and children run amok as the humans we celebrate go scott free.

The news bulletin is a daily reminder of cruelty or is it too crude to talk about these things in the open?

We close our doors and shut the windows and expect to be elevated.

What is it to be a professional?

What is a profession? What follows? Is this the next nationalism?
WHAT. YAH.

Would you sell your soul to business or to the gun power wounds. That no one will notice. People notice what you do?

What are you doing?

Soldiers? We all have.

Dirty Sucker.

You know what ? You want politics? We can bring our bed to shambles?


The atheist isn't going to suffice. Tell me why? Do you know? Then why are you on or in? Is this appropriate. Is this gender or generation?

TELL ME.

Come Undone

Sometimes love can be unrequited and unforgiving and can leave you scarred. And maybe you want to stay away, but is that the escape?
Can we really forget? Is cognition beyond recognition of the strength of thought and what is felt. Can it be undone? Can it be repeated? Is it hope or faith that keeps us going?
Or is it an adrenaline rush that leaves you weak in the knees or a social fantasy?
Are our reasons right? Do we really know fully what we are doing or is it the moment?
Can we really differentiate between lust and love? Is love really timeless and eternal? Is there an age? Is it mature or is it merely to replicate ourselves and continue life as it shapes and continues.
Let us fight being cowards. Let us love, it is difficult. But we fail and we must. But who conquered without a war and a few battle scars.

Vivid Incantations

What is love? Is it blind? Is it immature and sublime? Is it situational and timed? Is it understanding and growth?
Is it science and pheromones? Circuits and synapses, mechanics and biology or physics and economics?
Can we really question what connects all of us into one living breathing species that can feel? IS it the answer to the beyond?
We love our parents, friends, people who help you in time of need, is it beyond greed? Is it jealous and vain or forgiving and pain?
Or is it all and that's the break of the fall.
Can we really complete someone without finding ourselves first or do we take this journey together?

rimbaud's soldier

and there's a white trail
a blaze of smoke
the womb of the birth of the sun
bursting in tremors of super sonic

there are fighter planes whirring across the skies.
I'm no soldier fighting the devil's paradise
i do your bidding sire,
here here Ai son of the soil
lie down and protect and toil

i lie sleepless at most mid nights
and never think about silent arabs and camels
and my childhood nightmares of my cut head being tied

where do i think of jet planes and rockets
but in dreams i never have
that i make
that i see but
none to stake

and might i be your distant twilight dream
white lilies 'parakeets and a dash of lime

and i am but a soldier
who's not in war
but i wait
with my gun
by the roadside inn
on some lonely,
lonesome,midnights.

i loved a man.

And we knit concave apocalypses 
like spit bubbles,
trapped in mirrors of the tongue
My hair was a cob web
and you were daddy long legs 

those armies
swiftly uncertain, strong , 
coming on
leading
to conquer

and I knew I belonged
to the galaxy 
within your arms