Let me feel the messy you
The one with old sweatpants
That show wild edges of your soul.
Let me smell the rancid death
Of the achings deep inside,
And the cosmic galaxy that lies
Expelled, each pore of your skin
So deeply sensed within my own
A redness on my mind.
Let me hear the groan
Of your hurt and of your gasp,
For the rose becomes
So delicate in death.
I come across you
Oh Sentient Beings
With my mind made
Open and free
Lasting sunshine
Creates you
Then shall we hear
Edge of the sea
Come alignment
Come cosmic
Come destiny
Come fusion
Come gather
Around here
Feast on
Breathing free
These trees have begun to speak in many languages
To my ears that are listening to silence.
Each time Orion shines, Owl begs for a lover
While my tears dry upon my cheek
– Sap dries upon each tree’s wound,
For no wound is too deep to heal
– Though frost strikes into depths I cannot feel anymore.
Dog enjoys this silence, he hears it all
He hears what I cannot hear
Though my eyes they fight fire with his.
I leave my footsteps alone
And find a new way home, trees lead me there.
This treeline I never made yet live upon every day
Grows against my territory like Winter against Fall,
I have not become used to it
Eagerly entering into the darkened shire
With my heart freely beating against my lips
That keep pace with a dog, yet fearless
And listening to trees lead the way.
I’ve grown accustomed to leaves turning my memories from fresh to curled, a well understood paradox that changes the tide so romantically it hurts like the small spots beside the bulging veins growing inside.
My smile has grown lines, my heart has extended its beats, my hearing has begun to dance with angels upon the dead leaves blowing along the roughly trampled ground – are these our memories we have yet to experience, or have they been forgotten and left to dissolve into earth?
So I crouch down low and embrace the softly blowing wind that helps me to see my passing time I used to think I loved, I used to want to love, so here I’m hurting from spatial infrequencies that cup my involuntary spasms from underneath the table and remind me to forget to itch the pain.
Does this leaf know it crumbles within my palm so slowly softly? Did it reach for me in a pure moment of thought, expecting my return upon amber wings of a sun soaked day like an emotional Prometheus on a personal mission.
Then, like the ashes of memories crumbling in scaled hands of our Phoenix, so too shall sun rise again over the horizon of a small family farm to bring with it a wet spring full of insight and gratitude that runs the width and depth of a heart shaped leaf settling softly upon a well worn path of insight.
Who makes me
My baby, my baby
Who leaves me
My baby, my baby
Who runs to me
My baby, my baby
Who hears everything I do
My baby, my baby
Who lies to me
My baby, my baby
Who works me
My baby, my baby
Who keeps me up at night
My baby, my baby
Who makes me howl loud
My baby, my baby
My baby, my baby
My baby, my baby
I remember when a crow flew
Into my eyes of fear
Leaving behind a little ghost
Who spoke words I did not want to hear.
But as I sat and steeped my tea
I could not gain my truth,
So little by little
An angry cry
Was heard above the rumble.
A cry that was not for pure peace,
A cry not from a babe,
My cry was loud and deliberate
My beak’d been getting black.
For when the grace of tempest’s blast
Ceased all ’round my hearth,
I whipped into such fury as
A devil burning brightly at my feet
Two eyes locked on mine, forevermore.
Holes into nothing
And this is where I end.
Dropping as I awaken,
Say it again,
I didn’t hear you all the same.
And if I wake up
I am left to break up.
Minor chord progressions,
Like my heart,
It is the same song all the same.
Footsteps into distance
As my heart beats into resistance,
Does music still go on?
Is there an echo,
After all, it’s my memory all the same.
From my angle I wasn’t the nerd,
I had the best cold coffee
Settling in the bottom of my to-stay mug,
Rattling around the inside
Of my drastically hungry belly.
I had too many ideas to be passive
And in discourse with unfriendly patrons.
Why are you smiling at me, saying hello?
I’m on the other side of the room.
Can’t you see my furrow, blinded by dull lights?
Perhaps I’m the unfriendly one.
From my angle, I was the mission.
I had written the outline and
Focus was my middle name.
The timer was ticking and
I wasn’t wasting motivation
On Whiskey River in the Jar’O.
I had water to accompany the drip.
Keep the lights low and let
This chaotic music recklessly skip
Into oblivion my cycling mind
Which cannot refuse to be free.
From my angle I had a perfect view
Of both the flighty pixie,
Distracted with a proper stein,
And the siren gently calling my name.
I knew her, of course,
One of the few to break this furrow
And cause me to tarry by name.
Thus, I aggressively gather my activist heart
And settle my score with a battling pickaxe
And two shiny 2013 quarters
That rattle over the buzz and out the door.
Can you hear
Slow pitter patter
Of important
Heart matters
That restlessly
Find chitter chatter?
I heard of a girl
Who stole a mind
Left it for
Another kind.
Eenie meanie
Popped and grind.
In the end of all of it I had a reason.
There were two dots crossed off a long list of imaginations
And the cowboy had everything left to lose should it fail.
But that wasn’t the event there that day, you see,
A long riflesman came staggering in as the town watched
Thinking to themselves about a memory they all-to-quickly refused to listen to.
I couldn’t help but think that I was an envelope,
A whisper sealed away awaiting some sort of lucky ticket holder.
My eyes remained calm as time’s length pushed on.
Crimson was the colour of noon’s high sun.
Picking pockets like a Bazaar thief in Catholic quarters;
The city clinched tighter.
There once was an island inside of my dreams,
Floating with unseen amounts of impossibilities.
I was homesick. I wasn’t allowed to be there anymore.
So for now they sang, in cool shade of a willow tree.
And a stable meant for their local butcher
Fed the gatherers, who all at once came.
Dust kicked up my hallow heart’s worms and sheered into the edge;
At once I was offered fine takings
And imagined I was an elder.