blaze born

A stained muse with a mardi gras tooth,
Never looked a day over seventy two,
A leopard skin print, and a zebra tattoo,
All my shackles were used up, so she gave me something new,
A pair of pixies each missing a shoe,

I took it home and tried them on my canoe
I guess it fit cause here I am talking to you.

Shark skin saddle and a long horse with a thousand eyes,
She gives me updates on a flying top hat,
Kick back quibby cotton resistors I just can’t shake,
All round recipes for my mountain carousel,

Two tiny kites in my rear view
I adapt to their circus, weave, write,
Tiny mouths talk to me,
Take me to the unseen horizon,


Pick me up combinations
Peculiar receptors,

A flair in the wind and we float the stain,
The mini contour stations

Reeds blowing in the sand
Power of sound grows like dissipating clouds,
Mesmerizing and mysterious,
Like being drowned in revelation,

Breath born of long awaited raindrops,
Droplets merge and are the maze of connectivity
Part falling part forming,
But the sky is clear,
Perhaps it is just the clockwork of the rose petals falling to the floor
Part radar signal part spark in the dark
Melting the shadows in the whirlpool
Part click part catch
The hatching is all around me,
And I am turning inside out,
I turned into a rainbow berry
A double cherry in a bubble parry,

New born pearl of path and somewhere the light grows stronger,
Concentrated in leaves
Bi-located in birds,
Venerated by the atmosphere
To run and never be known,
Defiled by the time of year
They spoke me into a form
Found me in a corner
One day before I fade
Just the mechanism of reverse association,
They dreamed me out of a song,
Turning of the deaf,
Measure what some say is undercover,

Big light, big shadow,
And who knows who,
Looking for clothes,
Can’t find the right size,
Which way is the tide?
Million dollar engines,
Eyes in the mist,
Cleaning the handicap zone,

So many ways past the drop off point,
One beat out of the breaking constitution,
First breath cracking the weather vane,
First step on the waning moon,
Spoon fed and wonderment,

A fire on the beach of my understanding,
I thought I’d always have a place in the sand,
Forever scratch little passages of my touch,
But a little rain came and I lost my way,
Found my self in the middle of the desert,

First breath in fierceness,
Dance of winds and windows leaning on each others capacity for integrity,
Test the blending and porous-ness
Minding and unminding
Flew the free fizz,
Just a blitz for the connection of the freeze fin,
Capitol the weakness,
A dozen new opportunities in every blinking twist of the tunnel,

Baby born in a clean ceiling,
quartz earrings and sizzling eyes,
Licking the everglades one finger a time,

Baby clean on a late night screen,
Magnetized solar lens,
Discovers the lost twist,
Glints in the softness,
Rain fall in breathing petals,
Leaves call out the name of reception,



Blue sky all around,
I keep losing ground,
Did I ever touch the sound?
I talk to the movie,
Find some clues

I see in terms of contexts and achievements,
Cause I wonder if I got through,

If I leave the records and walls and stones alone,

Baby bliss was just an excuse for these bones.
To take another look down below,
Deeper into the slow burn,
Because not all wounds are visible,
A fringe for identity,

Waving through the flora,
I find the goddess in her garden,
Nothing to lose any more,
I take it talking funny,

back fires

Michaels river boats’ a sliver in the sky,
Keeps his answers in the tide,
A room for a shiver in the spine

Sample of a ride and a new mood for a day,
Take your deepest fears and just say hi,
Johnny’s’ got a june bug for a one on one cry,
Innocent gauges on the edge can’t figure any place to hide.
Just a place to rest but freedom is not a rope in cherry cream seas’,

Light strikes again the dream fabric,
Impulse and volition drown each other with a water fall of feathers,
Pile up in church bells and seep out with the sound,
The deep swell reaches the circus town and lies down with the moon daughters heat waves at dawn,
So many indigenous images that just got to be,
Dew drops and the oxygen blossom,
Just enough for the clue bubble to trust its’ brothers and sisters crawling and carrying their webs into my eardrum,
Always a mad hatter in the back seat,

Genies’ just missing the wind,
Just shooting tentacles to take the test,
Another chance to play in the coliseum,
Numbers make their case for silence in the waiting room,
Just for the multi slide projection curation,
Zap Blam

Magnetos on a solar flare,
Free form fire crackers in daisy flight,
Lighter than the coins that tumble through the gyroscopes in the ceiling,
Dots and dashes, quick rise evarusnic tells me again,
Referee in the background fuzz pendulum,
Little catchetonia, two fingered skinny charter,
I need something heavier to satisfy me,
Boil me up to shaking in the silent bell,
Past the principle particle precipitants,

Magnolias bloom in a twilight breeze,
Another brain storm let loose from tiny strands of remembering my glasses,
Mobile mini launch pad sneezes,
Stirs loose my history,
Golden honey through the window tinges my skin and dried leaves,
In between my breath breaks down the beats of congeniality,
There’s always a criminal behind the bars of my dreams,

And it’s straight up for the sunrise,
Little white diamonds in the spreading yellow light,
Colour little wings of dancing rapture,
Trim wycinanki and kirigami,
Playful overlords,
Can’t hide the heat,
Got to find their own pilgrimage now,
Reach into the missing words, and imagine where they are now,
Sweep out the clock towers and earth worm fighter jets side banks,
Tap Vamp
There’s always another fissure with a place to breathe,

I just drift in the uptown shivers, in my cloak of broken withers,
Can I come any closer to the clothes spin?
Roller balls and falsetto oil,
6 am I can’t stand up in the merry go round,
She’s got the freeway lines in her eyes again,
I took in more than my share already,
Told her it was just a quiver from the stare,
Frontal lobe contusions and cross hairs,
Got to be their own breath now,
Got to colour up and down,
Brought all the way across the night just to ask what we should say to each other now,
Bought to hear the fraction less denomination come through my knees,
Slow moss and dust storms on a rolling stone,
There’s always a beast of burden waiting for me to sleep,

I got to think on my feet,
Sundays blue rays,
Rap to the sweet things going down to the world beat,
Gold bars for hungry lips,
A long lost ghost finally asks if I’d like to dim,
Like the frosty fringe on an October gate,
Map Rap
There’s always someone waiting in a place I’ve never been,

I was going to leave it for a super cringe,
I was going to clean up the sugar binge,
The ultimate performance,
But I just gave in to the oculator,
I didn’t know I would end up a perma slip,
The smell, the taste, crystallized pickled porcine photographs,
I got the ends to dance, twist off and a place where we could all see each others hidden history,
Put on a slant and go see the show of hats,
Shower up in the French quarter,
Ball room romance and a chance to lose my beliefs,
Draw little lazy sand circles in the sand with my non dominant resistance,
Fab Hat
There’s always a third beat in the space between,

The story in her eyes forgave my fear,
Just for a moment of familiarity,
Just for a moment of sharing my loose change with sweet desserts,
Just this side of nothing,
I wanted to put it in a simple awakening,
But there was just water and I didn’t know the sewing machine was running the whole time,
Back and forth weaving my pale morning eyes with her horses mane,
Reading my future in terms of dream melodies,
Gershwin and Beckett,
We dance off the black leather,
After the sunglasses and martinis under fancy coloured lanterns,
We believer we’re in Indonesia,
And that its’ a simple time and place,
Washing little stains and deciding which trail we should take to the oasis,
Watching little children play at escaping from a paper train,
I just stay for another load of bait,
It’s sweet and bitter and spills all over the screen,
Another coating of free floating demi glaze,
Foam from a saturninc quatrain,
Trigger the lights and hungry bites,
Release the sacred fire and foretell all my plights,
More dreams that live inside one another,
Drawn, powdered and purified,
Over cammed.
There’s always a dip in the atmosphere when I’m flying clean.

only in fingertip dreams

And as the moonlight fades, from my favourite photograph,
The memory of her undercurrents and my moments of pre flower voices,
Rescued in an open field,
Her fallopian cadence and my soda edge fire balls,
Rocking in alien time, the sky holds my hand,

In the fading expanse of space,
I hear the distant cry of doves in empty flight,
The descending sun, the rising cat eyes,
A stone rolls out of my mouth, with pieces of sepal antidotes,
Resources for my hands callous from worshipping the sand,
The back of the room always shifting and drifting,
More anonymous hints and echoes in the mirror animal,
A wheeze in a wicca wind.

Time becoming space, space becoming time,
The sky touches my head,
Two cups,
Déjà vu in the edges of the rosetta stone,

The edge of the light from a distant star that collapsed millions of years ago,
Touches the now fallen petals,
Dark circles under the skin of circumstance
Winking in distrust,
The tide in fuzzy ear boxes,
A place, a name, a time,
Fields unstable and dry,
Secret miles,
Would remake all the glows of the background hues,
The essence of all that is shared, understood without the explicit meaning,

The substance of memory unravels to reveal the flower pools,
Round soft doors in the wind, rumours from the foreign accents of the lady in the lake,
Fragile wings covered in darkness stretch the milliseconds between my hands,
Tiny strings that wont steady the rain of all my relations,
In the oceans pressure scales, one weight absorbs another, rides on another,
Whispers to another, suspended electric forwarded costs of hiding and holding , seven black liquid diamond tides with burning ruby points,
Endless swimming absorbtions in the land of milk and honey,

Evaporations in my ears, balloons in my eyes,
The soft circles of life completely disperse,
I walked backwards through the pages of my thoughts,
Clue by clue shadows erupt, step by step through the expanding avalanche in a dark grey hall,
Frail drying traces of venous lattice decaying, the edges so thin, I fell and slept,
I never noticed she left,
The doors remained the same, turn and pull,
But my hands could not hold together the shady presence,
The Vatican vortex conviction of my vision,
I burrow down into the sea,
Of all the seeds in all the fields,
All the modes of understanding,
I dream she sits under a blue moon,
A secret to her own fantasy,

Today outside the boundary lines
Dust and synapses forge fresh silouettes of the frozen eclipses,
Gifts buried in the long and ever winding red road,

Outside the power lines,
It’s my birthday,
I find the true cradle of my being,
The true gift that was already mine,
The passages and reflections,
Discover origins of knowing its own experience
Rich secrets in the air between us,
A pair of clouds, a pair of towers,
Weave twinkles of flame dancing in my mouth,

out of sight

Ride in wet shadows through loop handles in between truth and proof,
Between the jewel pump and the mood sample button,
In my teeth a sole fisherman remains,
The light dries on my navel,
High gauss harvesting, between time and a record, tied together in the valleys of moribunds’ long slippery venomous green flight,

Blood tide in a wet salivating hero,
The sweat never clears,
The vapour forever permeates between star dust and the oblivion born,
In the swollen windmill distinction of “I”,
Three days of raining for the water diver on the edge of wet currency,
I forget my eyes looking for that little collapsing star,

The light dries to hold all the letters together,
Did they ever wish you well?
In those threads of round succour.

Star diver, on the edge of spare change sentiments,
The ample hands that spill their old hues on the floor,
Holding a frame to trust and the triggers heady thrust,
A folding antelope gliding flash,
Subtle dross connectivity,
The wet and the weaving in the curtains of the heart machine,
Someplace soft for my head,
Someplace warm for my empty streets,
I forget about my fingertips,
The sweat never clears from the news they sell.

Break down in the fuzzy dawn of my quiet needs,
Outseeded my brain like a mushroom cloud,
In the stutter prize of lost voices,
Yesterday’s floorboards chipping away,
Little burnt offerings of slip skin,
Reborn for the last supper,
The thinnest intrusions,
The light dries, on the shore, but out of bounds,
Beneath blanket floors,
My little collapsing star, did the ever wish upon you?
On your wet slippery sidewalks,
Or between meteor webs and the silhouettes of a million watching eyes,
Everyone just bets on the forefront,
14

Until crowns of corruption usurp the saviours pause,
Where algorithms endless sheen drown themselves,
Star dust in a wet tailspin,
The end of sight in the double mind,
Looking induced through a few basic sketches,
Uncanny hinges attempt to sever the rhythms,
Induction lines and second sight,
The stranger dries nonetheless, even less,
In the fragile festival in the boarders of magica,
Working the sandcastles elaborate mirrors,
Attempts to retrace the curse of continuity,
Resetting the three days of wayward wishful viewing, holding the wrapping dissolution,
on the edge of the tide, the quiet flow tried on my deepest fears,
The person to person limits, super summations,
Break out of the ground of deaths intimacy,
Take refuge in the generator of pictures of the storm,
In the control orbs features of mismatched dividends and suspects,
Orders of complication from forgotten lores probe the restful core,

Bounce back the end of flight, all the edges reconverge,
Eyes too thinned by stories beneath the skin,
Fragile footprint wells and faces in the windows turn right into my house,
Nuclear warmth in a perfect memory, poised,
What does it sell for now?
As the flowers fall and make the news,
Wistful instigators inside the sea salt eruptions,
The light dries again.

too many eyes

I dream a dance with my pen,
I dream I never found a place to rest,
I wake up again, with my hands full of sand,
And it seems the hour glass broke years ago,
I lost track of each dancing droplet of overloaded fingernail hopes,

I dream I turn up the volume on the medicine chest,
The porous vehicle of tears, gears, hooves, wheels and wings,
Hook my pulse up to the hydra fluent synapse spool to hear the sound of the mythical carriage,

I dream of slow sweeping moon trains where my birthright is still safe, and my feet are in the backseat on a pink cloud,
What would I call it tonight?
If it all came true,
If the ringing in my ears revealed the height of the heart beats,
If the roots of the dragons’ teeth came through my eyes,
If the wind came through my knees,
And the trans fur, opened them all wider,
I wake with cave shawl reverberating in an empty hand,

What would it be if I gave back the serpents head and it sang my name?
And we could speak each others language,
Equals in hiding,
Would it be a moment of crime?
I dream the sponge mongrel cat filter,
Uncle Novus Moth and the maternal maiden breath
Perfect strangers, in the absolute everywhere like space dust,
I dream in prayers and blessings,
watching the suppers end,
where subtle light windows blow into a land of worm skin residue,
I wake and shake and drool,
reaching into the transparent quarter of spring,
as empty and far as premonitions that turn to dust,
I walk into the everglades and the grand piano sings to me alone,
To hear winters open source of a drowning exhale,
Do I hear the roots of daisies waiting, ongoing, unfolding?
Will I see the red house dance again?
In trans fur,
Venus keeper
Wispy browed,
Indie gone,
Roots of waiting and my responses begin,
16

I dream I made the lighthouse turn under my birds head rising in chains,
I wake to fences of misrepresentations in chorus,
Where all my triggers unleash their madness,
Do I dream of winding or unwinding tonight?
In between begging raw applications for the purest blood straight from the wounded heart,
Still beating in the chest with rumours of surrogates and suffragettes,
Orphans and princesses, perfect strangers,
The absolute bottled them together forever,
With back alley promises and bullet proof faces,
Blood carriers who lost their sense of where to put their money down,
Achilles heels outstretched and oversourced,
All unified as a perfect mass of messengers,
Perfect strangers passing the fleeting flame around,
Static charges of satellite circuitry,
In the trans fur,
Of seeping trances,
A bell of circles burning in the skies of dandelion aura,
A little pocket of cross currents, feverish whispers from a wishful climate, worshipping a private oblivion,
Wispy browed, one eye over the horizon,
Mongrel filter flinches for answers,
Nothing stands out in the ocean of my decaffeinated ancestors,

the hope between

The hope between,
You’d think there was water in there,
A linear mote,
But there’s no soap and no bond,
Just a slip and a fold,
That shouts clean clear clouds of blue murder,
Where ever there’s time for it to fit in for a tune up,

The cage within,
Whispers come play with the pillowcase,
Fleety jam fest over the next bet you can’t hold,
There’s no gold,
Just milestones and dripping cold,

The window of pearl robes,
Walks in heebee jeebees,
Shining and fresh clipped,
Feeding skinny fish down the river,
Flex to flesh to fin to skin,
She’s dying to win your fervour,

The dance without,
Dies alone wandering,
No time for plans of distinction and strategy,
Fishing in the canyon of night,
Flashings no place for a flat lander,
Gotta get that curling warning,
But the angles just a little too high,


Skipping and sauntering,
Pure black martyr,
With the apple of eternity,
Golden stuttering,
Vacant killer of placation,
Can’t get through the door,
Caught in the future,
In poverty and ill health,
Still driven to the same well,

Bought and sold in the desert,
No way through the gauntlet vision quest,
7
Just a hammer and a burning touch,

Cathode teeth she flies hanging off the back street,
Closing fast I’m on the first heat,
Another chance on the desperate,
Just a queen tied up in sugar blindness,
Between resistant butterfly precipice,

Because it will turn dark all on its’ own,
And you’re the only one who will read it then,
Open all the windows and let the rumbling come through,
In pieces and past times and propositions,

Caught in the moon breeze,
Over the retributions flight,
Carrying me south, the moon bird,
Green wings and smooth,
I still believed in my innocence,
And I’d take it defenceless,
Splitting mad infected,

Because he hangs in there so patiently,
The wild card belonging,
Loose leafed resorted to exploration,
Picked up and dropped off,
Holes of artefacts contrived for conciliation,
Liberated consolation,
Diagrams of interrelatedness,
I breathe, she sleeps

was it a star that you heard?

Was it a star that you heard?
In the healing surrender, the one where we miss our fingerprints, and there is no pain,
In the mutual rain, as long as we agree;

The future boy is standing still, and we’ll keep him at a safe distance,
And agree we’re upon all the wiser, for on our master hints,

How far? How many beans?
I would call it,
A million stars,
And in between our hands,
There’s so far to go

A potato field, tipped on its’ side,
Hold it with a thimble, find the needles eye,

And if at last,
You need it to be for you alone, you will be forgiven,

One high heel baby clickin’ along,
So many plans four wheel, on the bottom of the ocean,

Was it a star that you need?
Ask yourself a question like, was it another life?
In an elevator?

In gesso glints I touch the armistice,
My baby still lets me insist,
Scratching on the surface,

Burning heads totem up,
Shedding the skin of the butchers son,

To know the night is to smell the night,
Safe enough to put a mask on and ride of into the wild,
Guarding the dream mirrors,

Win the anthem queen, become a genetic celebrity,
Tectonic code maker,
Truth in search of petals,

Did the sky hang from the stars?
The day by the hours?
Win a real live heart,
Under the door frame,
Amazon gone to the teeth,
Rattle bone satin thief,

But the smell of the rose still reaches,
in so many stories,
after the sun goes down,

and measured,
after I get the swing,
because there’s supposed to be,
someone in the band waves,

did you hear? Was it double straights?
Confetti mates in suffragette?
Find the big circuit,
All the time I was bleedin,
Solo half wise,
And the moon would take me the rest of the way there,
Eclipse box bang on the blue shield,
Eyes sinking into a fresh set of harbingers,
On the west side of the question about tensions around the nest,
I’m just as sexed, she calls me her friend,
I love this sense of a caffeinated coast,
A coat on the crawl, empty in the bell tower,
But the sound still reaches me,
The way this window swings,
Don’t give me over to easily
The rays just follow,
After the sun goes down,
Just far enough to make it through the night
Because traces of the weight,
Little chills under the hardware,
Rustling leaves and shivering birds,
The fourth movement of that peruvian shit,
Dog on the third planet forms in the wind,
Great mother crimson boulder,
Soft shoulder like fading stars,
And weakness in my death toll,
And in the shadow was everywhere I wanted to go,
Kicking empty bowls under the tiger jet, tiger eye,
No where home, conservation of fire, that burnt me down,
I just told her apoptosis and it don’t hurt anymore,
No where home, just a falling bomb,
And I just leaned into the lines,
A broken particle beam,
I got dizzy eyed and lost,
Found two digital pairs of pixies,
Locked into infinity,
Still rings of desire we didn’t know how to land,
But still showed us what it means,
Getting through the dream,
Auto tangerine, double sage, milder twinges,
When there’s rust in the cornfields,
I just motor ride the frozen lake,
A big community secret,
And on the other side of the fire, she would just listen,
And for 1% more she’s gets a sense of security,
A jet hand, three horses, an ink covered crescent moon,
I still hear the open field breathing,
The seasoned wire buried out past the county line,
No where home, I remember where I caught fire,
Quick knives in the night, out past the boundary line,
Rose up into the sky, couldn’t give up the night,
Out past the satellite for a moment in time,
Was just a tiny motion out of the notion of the wholeness,
And so it decided to sing a little song,
Chanel #9,
And out past the galleries you can still hear it tonight,
At least in the shadows extra force,
Soothing soothing voice,
Up to the moon I go,
My feet are lighter than the song of a loon,
Keep one square and one on the line,
The way I heard it, it was like ten thousand to one,
Drowning frog sign utopia,
Upended upon the eclipse,
Cripplers ticklers, fried sugar flakes,
Bones and teeth,
Seem just as vulnerable,

starting at two she sets the blues

Starting at two she gets the blues,
A lingering willow pool,

In a tear she boils the veil,
Just enough not show any wear,
But to get the colour through the air,
To get the busy dark pool fed

At her feet the four winds blow,
In layers of lace the four rivers flow
And in the weave she hides a bow,
My pockets are full of robes,
The sign of tomorrows extra fold
Story of the wheel and the well
When I’m told there is too much to hold,
and I feel the moulde,

In her hands the mirror holds another courier,
All strung together like beads of flashing eyes,
Glimmering through the wilderness of light and shadow,
In the colours I saw her hand
In the shadows I felt her touch
An angel in the puzzle of her glance,
What they seek and what the hide,

Walls and salvation,
Glue for young impressionables,
As they try to penetrate her meaning,
Justify their fortunes,
They want to confiscate her free form lazy shoreline bubbles and foam
Give I was a berry seed,
Buried in a wildflower breeze,
In a her midnight oasis,
Grey green silver blue,
Round of Saturdays all ended up together,
A timepiece with another rhythm,
In her voice she hides another song,

Steps in the river she leaves a sign
She says she’s shy but she’s a shaker,
That keeps me guessing where to find the next fault line
An even keel to the cathode eye madness
And I don’t look behind her,
Secret nymph needs a big screen,
Little taste of a big stream,
Traces of her sweet knees,
Living in a fading dream,
Open groves in the meadow,
Groove along a half truth,
For every time I was safe and pure,
Always such a long walk,
To the arched prism Sunday,
Satin changes, pass the contracts,
Every time she open her arms,
Steam behind my eyes,
As the sun goes down,
In Sunday peaches,

Along the Nile.

for nights

Black lines on the window
Run straight to my heart
Repository of doubt
I just can’t wait to open the box
I find a couple of nigels waiting with funny little smiles in the corners of their mouth and eyes,
Another song in her voice,
Quicksilver catches fire in the whisper behind the mist ,
Now I say she can sing a bit,
And all the times I thought I knew my computation,
I talked to the garbage man about my previous incarnations,
My pig skin blues, guarding my secrets,
I feed them double, burning on both ends,
A crystal bet on beetle profusion,
Porous reflections,
Total conspiracy,
Keep me in sevens,
Culprit of belonging,
Stars on scars,
Swing lines and high wires,
Rubber camoflauge,
For anchors out at sea,
Three snails in a garden silently stretching,
Another shadow side holds out against the hammering ocean,
Sand in my eyes, tells me I’m just another citadel out in the morning sun,

The thin house,
The way of the red wind drifting in the rafters I don’t care about the mis pronounciations
Of my cousins words,
Sometimes they start at the beginning, sometimes they start at the end,
Sometimes they wait in the,
Soma times,
Soma timesed in bed,
Somatized exchanged and fed,

Stains in the shadows,
Eating away at the diving board,
Broken hinges on a bad gasket,
I take long strides and get lost playing in the open fields,
Where I was born and bred,
I’m only hear,
For the heart ache,
Each little tear,
At midnight, shadow ends,
Here comes the rain,
The feeding of all seeds,
What a melody,
All the things she says to me,

A loop flood,
Sugar mama, I’m buried under the sea,
And pretty parking places drowned,
In the loss of the weight of my arms,
And their eyes,
Floating over my head,
Falling through holes in the map,
The inheritance of tramps,
Edges I don’t understand,
Falling through fire I can’t stand up,
Hollow stick and a loaded gun,
What I thought was a lifetime,
Was a blink of an eye,
The key score didn’t register,
Tomorrows’ tides out again already,

Quiet time for an evening crowd, whispers of a piano lounge,
Keys wave through coloured lights,
Time tested requisitions for trusted wings,
Weaves a Japanese trapezed windowpane
Works on the edges of
Closing circles
Take me away from the dust,
Loud and blurring,
Sang my flower,
If it waves, if it smiles,
And the room rearranging,
Pictures of the mouthing propositions
Trade off placations,
To engulf
Different precautions
Eyes silent still and sweet
Dancing in the flames
The thin blue flames,
To get a good grip on emptying drips of barely drawing begins the potential of positioning, all turn just not in my sign
So many sort of escalation sensulation
In the blooming intimation
Of a quester afraid to drift
A jester with one chance left
Tester afraind of the cost
So she brought me gift
Now the hourglass
Not afraid of the heat
Reaches in to the boundary less blue signal
Let it be your breathing room
Let your tune unwind
Out on the tiles
Just let your knife cut true

strange

Strange little infinity symbols, of ropes and odds and ends,
Clicking along in a cloak and a song,
A scarlet code,
They keep coming to me like birds and cats,
In the last little moment when I’m incomplete,
The last secret fold catcher bending them close enough to get to the spring time burial,
And other imitation calls of the yellow skeleton of curve balls,

They promised me an easy landing,
Then welcomed me with tar and feathers
With no explanation
Or any other walls

They pronounced me dead on arriving
I made up for it by playing four wheel up and a wrinkle of captured red fray,
Spark gelding they wouldn’t let me forget pregnancy and innocence
Might have been were there fences or pretenses
But the trade zoom in the boarding school and waiting rooms concealed dust and rules
Cornered me again
High windows sold for wind fuel
So I just loved the shoes,
‘cause I never had anything that felt so even

Found a jump start pivot with a knack for the shooting range,
Quantified my warranty expired
I had to take on an empty shell,
And ask for a handle,

Found trans nocturne and had to keep the trance forgetful
Covered in modified scales
Stung to the teeth
Strung with my crooked knees

Still didn’t know the high heeled hollow was part of the deal,
We played Russian roulette with a fishing net,
I could only imagine how she cried
When we found moon ‘aint round,
Had to soften flight to lick the electric true blue moon boundary
A tongue begging to please troubled glands in the dark,
Marked in haze
I never asked for this kind of commerce,
Holes, sand and snakes,
Take my hands for their own relief,

painful and

Painful separations and I just want to keep running
Can’t find my way back from the loaded gun,
Painful encounters and I just want to keep holding on,
Can’t find myself in the water fairy skullcup,

I feel trapped, I feel I’m standing on one leg,
and half my words are gone,
Chatter turned to falling stars,
Gravities freewheels keep erasing my corners
Keep bringing in all my insurgents
My insignia never dawns,
I climb on interpretations,
And I’m stranded out on the edge of a secret

Let me go let me fly let me sing,
Vaporize me in the tube train,
To the end of insesecurity
Is there another way to get through?
Can I find clean waters in this shaking obscenity?
In this right of the hunting ground, flight of hunger, risk of delight, height of incubating wonder in the distance of a deep sea bubble,

I’ve been captured by the evening
By the heavy weight satellite,
A place no one can see,
On a leash in the feathered breeze
Can’t touch the loose piece of fur frenzy
Buzzing through my sheets
Outcast on dark nets
Caught like a frightened seal,
In the sites of a guided missile of a random mad assassin,

Cradled in the chrysalis of a broken heart,
All alone in the melting point,
Salt conjured for the pleasure of escaping into another state,
Screams couldn’t reach past the breaking point,
Pledge of the forgotten chasm,
Scenes spreading and receding,
To get back to the message that was once held in the sleepy wonder of awakening,
In a battle of sweet din,
Breathing closer to the window,
Vaporize me with other voices
Pass me over other courses

Curses inside the flowing flight of birds,
The way the sky touches the wounded core through the wind,
Spilling time out of the scratched mirror
My hands just can’t hold onto the perimeter
All my distances spin in the compass,
Eardrums sound the alarm,
My breath like a desert squall
There’s no freedom from the shadow stuffer

easter

This web of Easter fractions,
My desperate suspicions,
Feverish dancing phantoms in the fields of agelessness,

(In the vacuum of cold pressed obliterations,)

This thicket of unformed words,
Informed by celestial spore tracers,
Markers of the quiet alarm,
I’m purified in all a test,
Towards the truth meter,

(Rules,)

The edges of café windows,

In hanging gardens,
Bright with promise,
I meet my saviour again,

(Pick and fly,)

In golden aerial rooms,
I’m reborn the snake waiting in the sirens pool,
The bait, the tension, the flight capsule, the ambitious miracle,

Tempered by a silhouette exposure,
On the wrong side of the cave wall,
Looking for the direction that narrow band of a smile points towards,

In the dilation of the dust blown catastrophe,
My eyes resurfaced,
I lost my protection,
(My favourite lie,)
Prophesy blues,
The radiance of a distant star,

Someone on the edge of liminal heat,
Far down the street,
She hides her feet,
She sleeps in the birthday cake,
Her wishes still get to me,

In empty pools,
In love with nights final curtain,
Swallowed by all the names of the lost,
Destabilizing premonitions,
Reassemble themselves on the other side of the sky,
In the hands with little white gloves,
My eyes will never forget, how those anatomies work,
Someone of softer exposure,
Can get through the garden wall,
Deep melting never spread so far,
Through the boundless pool,
Their estimations ripple,

Two layers I must touch,
One of surfaces, one of between,
A secret isle,
Signature birds,
My eyes restored,
Seeing out through the eyes of those I love,
(and those I lost)

whispy

Wispy glow of predawn clouds,
A few high hanging winter leaves catch traces of the beginnings of a morning breeze,
City lights float in a hazy sunken city,

In the riddles of rolling in tall wet grass, smooth familiarity of eleven missing dwarves,

The red moon chakra of the seventh goddess,
Takes me to the lost echo that will not accept its’ boundary
The caesium touch locked up in some lacy veil,
The dual valved yellow fever rolling on the floor

Misty edged cooing chakra
Windows of quiet dedications, awakened bitchenostrophy,
High ranking queen of the cherished saturation procession

Shadow echo,
Two pronged tongue child with edgeless eyes of the sky,
The walls that once gave identities and references now open windows,
For the wounded echo sensitized to their underpinnings
Sees them turning back into night, (another trick of their slinky feet,)
Sees their surfaces turn to sand,
Lonely lost echo no longer hurries through the Lady’s’ alien shore
Looking for some heat hunches to escape a whitewash whirl,
Endless echo settles into the seasoning of polarized winds,
Bottomless echo breaks the silence of stains on the walls,

In another room a mismatched twin in bitter melon envelopment,
Film making with empty ghosts that have many names
Finds a million lenses to take their sulphur bodies into the sunrise,
Ashes to ashes
The walls of existence fall away in elastic stitches
A touch of the balloon of all directions, my favourite star,
Melting lenses
All are companions joined in sewn up sing a-longs,
For every sensitized little amplification,
In the contagious molecules of the flickering lights fragmented overdrive,
Plugging into little clover circles
Seventh wing saved from the hopefulness of the fishing net,
Lamplight lover tastes the dawns’ subtle illumination
A thirst that becomes a guide of subtle nuances,
Broken open echo, edgeless echo breaks the code of misappropriated beginnings,
Knows holes in the nature of being ness the shape of hearts and wings,
Each breath a step into wound transducers,
Gravity and all the keys to kneeling
So many invitations the echo begins to pass through the birth cervix,
Found in sweet consummation of my fingertips

folded

This folded corner, is an ocean of histories, of backwash syntax,
Every night I grasp in seizures of thirst,
Chasing at the empty wanton speed of collapsing neutrino blues,
Trying to preserve my beaches from the sea,
With my thunder nut double dabble knot,

My second cousin third eye school scout,

But the darkness itself is another eye watching me,
And I touch the boundaryless eye,
I feed it my deepest peace,
Trying to preserve the breathless from the sky
(Call it the pain hotel with rooms for everybody,)

I touched every colour of blood,
And the sound of the darkness came out of every rose,
The first one down and the last one to cry,
Learning to sing my own name,
Use myself up saving little hot snakes with broken searchlights,

I touched every corner where I appear and disappear,
In the record keepers eyeglass,
Where there are no traces of the subways sailors,
Just density shifts in the mirror mask,
And rumours of free delivery,

In these corners of vacant cats eyes,
Towers of torrefickla glimmer,
I was the first to test the shiny surface,
The last to find it was a transparency,

So I asked the dove as she dove into the crater,
Did we make some new blood dancing on broken smiles?
She gave me the news and it didn’t even sound strange,
“No, we stole it from the blind without them ever knowing it”
The story was so soft,
I couldn’t take my eyes off her fault lines,
Where the darkness whispers marriage vows between us,
And we take each other drowning in prairies of cryptic criotic cube principles,
Where I can have the riddle all to myself,
And milliseconds no one will notice us forging our initials into the crashing waves,
Our only touchstone of trust, while we dream of the shore,
Proof of each others existence,
Secret keepers of each others shadow,
Import some skylines from the contours of each others hips,
Fragile folding edges of fault lines, salt time themes,

Did we get some new names in the secret sea of worm holes?
Some new balloons singing to the stars?
Some new streets watching the open sky with its promise of redemption in solar winds?
Some new relations falling through the lacunae of slippery similarities of lips?

fly

We fly like little droves of doves
Scratching the west of each others desperation/ intuition with our wings
Delicate tapping on each others windowsill
Weaving moonlight through the panes
Looking for an unbroken spirit
With mis-shapen pleas
Hugging close the familiar trances
Making the most of the molecules bond

We fly like an army of angels
Through each others clouds
Looking for proof of something pure
Flames that dance in each others hidden culmination
Twinge by twinge
Scratching at each others best guess as to perseverance


We fly like fiery teachers
Defining presence to each other needs
Syndicated sideshows
Through each others windscreen
To cure each others sight
Testing the limits appearances
Kissing the pools of each others wounds
And leaving the form behind

We fly like screaming thighs
Tenderness squirming into each others fever
Rearranging small corruptions
Enough to take a risk on the flashing eclipse of our loneliness
To let the light loose though the west of our prehensile seborrheic wheels
We fly like scattered desert heatwaves
Disappear into each others dreams
Wonder where the rarefied pounding trance comes from
Revealing the test of how the over turned boundaries dance
The best hopes of knowing how to take the chance
Of this corridors avalanche





The rites of passage leave their mark
As the sky turns dark
Mysteries of the heart
Scattered in the dark

What melts the wound

deep room

Such a deep room,
The gypsy night,
My eyes burn,
They turn into hours,
I walk into starlight
Foot prints in the sky
The echo machine,
Miles and miles,
Inscriptions on the cradle of the rumble fish,
Wave houses on the shore of dots and dashes,
Cyber bottles throwing shadows on the moon,

Such a deep silence,
The gypsy flight,
My ears unlearn,
Meet the passing markers of spots and flashes,
The Esher sanctuary, running away, in and out of itself,

The radio blinks,
The gypsy sinks,
Winks sentient wishes,
Prescient reflections,
Passing arc of the searchlight,
The starlight in your eyes,
The ragged starfish,
A tide through the window,
Pulls me through,
In search of real fire,
Somewhere in the side door,

The clockwork dreams,
Of things it left behind,
A star shines directly into your sign,
Put it in your heart,
With the gypsy sight,

The stain believes in whoever calls the rain,
Hanging on the edge of hollow star born, sky torn,
The seven headed beast under the storm,
Who holds the dream now,
Gypsy delight,
The east sings to the night,
I stand so far behind,
Tainted star dust,
Holds little circles of dance,
Little infants racing in their solitary needs.
Bashing into simplitcity,
Only to be seen leaving into darkness again,

Dressed in gypsy bite,
To the window and down the hall,
The second wind
With second sight,
Spiders in flight,
The little breaks in continuity in the night,
This is what they said;
“ butterball fish baby your gonna choke on that wall,
with your flashing hopes and all,
splashing down your last chance says it all,
gutterball dash, no where to dance,
romance and clash,
tightly held sand.

Who holds the shifting cloudbanks in the east of the night,
How wide to let it out,
How wide to hear the sound,
Here I drown,
Untouched by all that’s ever been known,

east

When the east is dark, and looking for the sunrise won’t find me a place to believe in myself, the dawn is too thin and my stone terminals don’t reach the snapshots in the tomb of mother superiors night of waiting rooms,
I double the heat and crossed rhythms back and forth across the street trying to see through,
My crooked dilation solutions don’t hold the oasis in bloom in the middle of the ocean out through the window,
I polish the reflection with suspicious behaviour instead,
I lift my head off the singing stone sign of wings in the sky all alone,
Leaving off smooth tears that are so easy to clean off they just seem to evaporate

When the oasis of sacrifices, at the bottom of the hole in the cave of little moments fail to get to mother superiors round face sanctuary in the night waves,
Where sailors of ripcords and cross tides, timepieces
Become pirates in taboo private tables, having a grand feast unearthed with the super tide of their sublimated history,
The commodities of hope and promises splash,
Laugh and something hides revealing something of inside canines,
Mother superior please squeeze out another chance,
I’m haunted by coma, counted by cola,
Semicolon zia comma technicolor don’t play into the source at the end of my rope,
Where I float, a crooked ride in the broken mirror,
Torn inside, behind the wizard, below the mask, under the curtain.

When the extreme default record didn’t replay the hopes of yesterday,
Mother superior please squeeze out a longer piece and a safe return,
Or at least correct the risk, my wish, and my conspiracies,
Commodities of double sided equations,
Am I variable or sacrifice?
Sideways glances and but I have a new word for it,
Copy counterpoint kiss corner they don’t surprise me anymore,
When at the end of my rope, I find I’m a new comer,
Please mother superior squeeze out another tear for my bleeding ears,
At least one of you personal sounds, I hear in moments of polarization only you would know,
And in the same refrain, I wonder, if that’s the boardwalk on the Seine,
Or one of your cauldrons over flowing with youth where smiles remain free,
They won’t let me pass the ordinary results of daylight; I have another word for the slipping tide timbre of the window screen to breathe in the Sunday bath
Either side a slack backdrop mother superior don’t fit,
I bit my lip for a taste,

When I need another room for red stains on the roof,
Spider webs with tongues and teeth,
Bowel rumours laugh, “Where did this chase begin?”
Happy hour at the dock of mistaken postages and photographic steepness,
Elude in sleeplessness bent delight pieces are all codes and feed back
Put together home by home, where each head by head takes by heat a rest,

It’s only mindfulness that can hold me.

scars

Scars turn sacred, in this candlelight vigil,
In the sound of one hand clapping echoing in the stars,
In twilight of beginnings and endings,
Things I could almost do, like climb the blue bird angel,
but first had to come to be, dark enough to risk sharing in light enough to meet face to face with lenses where shapes and symbols turn upside down and inside out,
Are neither here nor there,
When my world doesn’t seem right,
No place to hide in immeasurable scars,
In haunted flowers, with shadows as long as their karma,

These scars blossom and sing of things that could almost be true,
What is and what shall never be the end,
I thought they were telling me about how I know myself,
Now they tell me of how I know others,
At bus stops and train stations,
Department store restrooms,
Checkout lines and freeways,
Places where humanity shows its secrets,
Not so much in the sound.
But the consistency
Not so much in the wound,
But in the carrying,

Scars held in the tension of remembering my dreams,
And a fear of not being able to touch the places marked by an X
Places behind my back,
so many I can’t keep track,
In market places of perspectives, where I don’t see faces, only truth,
But I am not ready for their messages,
These reddened lenses only read black and white,

In the matriculation of resistance, opinions known only by their density,
My scars come back as hungry ghosts,
I gather the flash shot depravities with the gentle wind of a long clear silent night,
And their whiplash language settles to the bottom of my tight wishes,
The fish there begin to sing to them,
And a new sea is born,
The wheel is empty,
And there is no trace of a gate,
My scars are part of me now and we tell the story together.

wires

So many wires of time sensitive information, I try to solve with instant crazes that talk back to back and side by side in codes and different modes,
In wrinkles and winks, so many close calls
I’m farmed and framed again,
To obey little orders underground, It took me so long to find them,
I’m still in the rough, shedding little bits of my allegiance to love, to honeywell hot town, she’s the got the rest of the sound in my ears,
In her quick and clean desert heat jamboree,
Waking up the windscreen, my buried fingers begin to see,
My own land under constellations of the undertow and books of the empty brow,
Directions toward the programs memory,
Bends the mirror reveal uniform slipping a few new moments,

Now she’s bold, now she’s new,
Now she’s winning, now she’s sold,
Now she’s been, now she’s skinny now she’s blue,
Now she’s old, now she’s swimming now she’s true,
All the calls of the hidden keep her blipping,
Now she’s gone, now she’s done,
She holds nothing in her heart,
Only space for what can be born,
A place to share what can not be given,
Energy to repair,
Just room enough to spare,
She’s bolder, she’s a soldier

All the time, one thing to become and to live another,
Do I live undercover?
Born in a dark room and racing for the places where I hear a murmur,
Dim shapes and little sharp whispers I call mother,
Grasping at straws and I feel warmer,
Covered in the contours I call underwater,

We all begin in a dimly lit room
Call it by different names
We all begin unaccustomed to the pressures of everything we hold
slowly the consequences of the strange strains unbeknown and slowly at some fortold hour,
Day breaks
And becomes an unrelenting approach
Of shadows on the wall
They come to warn us all
What did we come to know them as after all
Put them back into a hand me down package
And wonder where is that little voice?
Over the phone or in public is any place really open minded, free clear and authentic,
Read cards like faces in the crowd,
Put them into order for the pleasure of one to remember,
All the little parts and pieces,
Part of my own blindness to discover,
What are the real fears?
The ones I carry all the time.
The inner voices vortices,
The ones I have to trace thread by thread,

I know timing is everything for the lookout, when all the wires have been double crossed, and the birds have gone,
When silence reigns and I’m sure she’s gone for good,
When I miss her bleeding, and treating me for nought,
and the instant sting, sweetness of the beatnik,

Now in abstract psychotic playgrounds, cancellation of the origin,
Shifting, misty I keep wishing if only I could really listen,
Know the maniacs’ message in the corner,
Feel the emptiness between the sheets,
The memory of the super instant kissing that keeps the trains hissing,
My lips wet and ready,

But she’s/I;m nothing but a ghost at play
A phantom of disarray
Out in my/the yard and in the cameras’ eyes,
I am sure she lives another life

It was all just a set up, a trigger for this state where I can’t smell my way back,
My fingers tell me again and again,
All was set in motion,
Packaged up all nice and neat,
For easy consumption and to be easily erased,
Concealed by common place,
Confused with the next case,
And moments to disappear in the nest lace,
Lost in the previous face,
And all told in how I come to know again the now’s sense,
Its’ inner secrets, my fears and dreams.
While my is head astray,
Can I still learn inner salvation, the root of play,
In all the vortices courting delusion,
Where I look so deeply for pictures of easy handling, of the storehouse of primal variables, the roles and personas,
Stop and go solutions, controls, and blown out chances to behold and bestown,
To know the moment but I could never show,
The ever changing face over the sea,
My voice in the background like the moon behind clouds,
Where is the sky that holds it all together?

I can’t see my way off the couch, I just love to say ouch,
I can’t see anyway out of this house, they only invite me south,
I don’t know if I’m headed up or down, I never made sense of the writing on the wall,
Lost track of how to import the present tense,
Presentations of past inquiries and pretensions wrapped in rapture are all that’s left,
In the cyber spaces of little cubicles I rent,
Consolation for the instalments of the stinging wind in my hand, brushes with the over the edge exquisite believer,
The last minute healer,
Heats me up on the backstreet,
With the dark star and the burnt beat,
Seals that memory seat,
Gets me back on my feet,
Soul syncopic,

Is it the wind or the rain, salt or the sea, shadow or sign, ritual or inspired?
My voice made the gaps just this wide,
All my own noise, karma and questions,
The moments can’t make their way back to me,
Keep me guessing,
Wake me up in the night,
Higher and higher,
I play connect the dots the way I grew up.

Emptiness becomes sustenance, now all my faces have names,
Innocence compressed, cut and cracked.
Responses to instability,
Opportunities still remain as unpredictable,
With hearts on fire in the outskirts,
In the outer rings of desire,
Past the double time spinning visions, while my own invitations melting away in my African robe,
Consume, compartmentalize, and explain, nothing outside the reports domain,
Opening the door to the dawn but can’t find the eye,
The great beholder fades tracing the tides,
Layer by layer meanings are rearranged,
And the song I knew come and gone,
And I hid in the lines,
And fell night after night,
With a blinding maniacal smile,
While people are born and people die,
Hopes and dreams made and faded,
I watched the colored lights behind my eyes,
The incredible angles, contours and layers,
The blue light for the seams,
And the candle hides behind the screen,
Haze of believing in the moons’ seizures,
Subtle in their arising, in the garden of reflected time,
A wheel of liquid jewels spills and fills in the shadows,
They take on voices and put them into synch such that no one would get inside, today’s afternoon, tomorrow’s vortex, future alignments with what can be perceived as being safe from the boogaloo,
The forgotten made into a bunker tomb,
And I keep thinking I’ll make it through,
With cloud busting, fingerprint dusting,
Powder dosing, figure posing,
Some of my only re-creations,
Each sense another world, no way to count the variables,
Where they all begin, in a different shawl, a tongue with a drawl, drawn out in the call of bell toll, the multi verse where the still pole meets the tender soil,

Obey the law know the subtle flaw,
Spread so thin, molecule by molecule, be revealed,
Leave me in a whirl,
I will lay down with the spinning stars,
My eyes running wild, just full enough to float the load of my aquarium of blues, cool enough to stand the sad news,
I never figured out how unfair it was,
I never knew to close the window and take the temperature every hour,
When I finally opened my hand I could see what had been hidden,
There was nothing left but rags,
And I cowered into submission, ruined my power,
Spent so much time height of the tower,
Jumping around in the treetops,
Anywhere but now, sensitized in the silence that stretches in the film past the breaking point,
Flexes in the wind unheard,
Expanding the limits of what can be sewn together,

And still not quite awake enough to count the times I’ve been around this beautiful carousel,
Or stare down the demons that arise from density aged dust,
And the predatorial refuges,

There for a while I knew all the ways to smile, before the miles and miles began to teach me how, what and where to hide,
Half of what I knew becomes the beginning of what is new,
And I can pick up just enough to continue.