all in my heart

All in my heart,
The ancient tree, and the west star rising,
The road and the journey,
And I wonder in whose eyes this time.

One by one I memorize,
The call and response,
To shuffle the clouds,
And another way to enter,
The childs resonance,
Memory with a rhythm of its own,
Silky moonlight,
Rain from the gathering,
Of all that could be held,
And a warm voice,
A delicate ghost in the window,
Until I am forced to make a choice,
to pull up the dancing threads,
and clear resolution,

All in my heart,
The point and horizon,
That already knows my name,
I ran for I was promised,
but I took a chance,
And left with the wind,
The only touch worth saving,
Revelation and my laughter,
Am I here yet?
Out in the desert distance,
I'm a small child,
lost in the subtlety broken in three places,
And I ran gathering gravity,
And there were only moments to speak and behold,

All in my heart,
The passion and the unstoppable,
One by one,
The red star rises,
And all in its’ moment
And speaks of it’s own,
And in the clouds I’m crying,
All in my heart
And what I left behind,
I cave and crack,
but glide smoothly,
And watch out I repeat,
I leave and I leave,
And out there trials obey,
And I slung them low,
The fastest wheels and deals,
No one told me,

All in my heart
The poison and the wound,
The timed and the timeless…

night is upon my alter

Night is upon my alter,
Shadow after shadow descends,
Bends the light,
Death lets me pass,
I see a million secret mouths,
A million different versions of peace,
Touching abyss to abyss,
I listen to the malaise,
Where the first loss as clear the last,
I hold them all with the same hand
My heart smolders in perfect darkness,
In shadowy watery folds,
All my wishes come true,
Only not in consonants or vowels,
The answers are just as clear,

Night after night consumes me,
I hear the sound of my own name,
Seeping out of borderless shadow,
Sound to sense,
Touching in,
Death lets me pass,
To form an anchor in my heart,
Hold the the moving field with the moving lens,
Slow the sweet passage of imaginary friends.

betrothed to a moth symphony

Betrothed to a moth symphony, I only had eyes for cremation,

you knew after, but first tell me,

I love you, even with your poison eye,
I love you, even with your siberian head,
I love you, even with your snake charmer trance, your dances of banishment, negotiating windblown earthworm heart with cystic comrehension. Inviting bermuda gestation only to beg. Caved abdominal hearth. I love you in your misplaced desert, shining reconciliation, thoroughbred dismantlement, bleating siren anticipation.

like starlight

Somewhere in my room. Round pretender. Corpuscular blizzard rhyme. Glowing through my bed. Moth procession, upward hatching jungle myth. I am the echoing hall.

carrier scalp

Who rings with no answer or call. Keeps to the morning softness. The turning soup of joints and bones. Their undulations hang in the air waiting to be touched.

endless

Has no name. No role in my day, no location in my domain, no way to find the dark liquid stream.

dim glow

My hearts a different shape.

candle flame

Maze of residual masks worrying about the future. Bits under the comet pierced with turning heads. Tales whispered with a digital eye. Dragged venus tooth through the night. Sorting the vultured switches with desperate amulets. I told you, the scratch is an oceans reflection for you gaseous impermeable brimstone mantle ragged hollow flash. God is the vacuum seal on times memory stick.
ashamed
Loosened dusk breaker in the inks survival limit. All the mornings come like this. Striking the micro organism suspension stitch with white languid sea bowl rice wandering welcome. Only the glow doubles itself for a narrow dew spilt curiosity. The laughter nucleus of an old womans’ crow flown walk and her railroad childrens’ satellite faces.
awkward

Turn, I get an hour for lunch. Turn, I get an hour when I get home. Turn, I get an hour before dawn. Turn, I get an hour between the time I’m dividing out that decimal and watching out for that root. Lucky me. If I add water I get the drunk brushwheel glass ringed monster. If I add soap I get the spasmodic erie frozen deported sand clockwork bruise. If I add enough time I’ll forget all about it. My honey comb reflex circuit. Stream line the quicksilver through the turnover of singing memories that greet every dancing record. Outside, secret fingers blow pinctonic torrefickla glimmer in dust flake stillness. Bright day leave the lights on. Dark night dim the power station. All the missing links come together in a story.

skipping trance

Through concave wizardry projections. Buried skeleton bones in the geletin puzzle. Grinds bucket fulls of robe excavated shadows. Weeping orifice contraption spiderweb.

c a n d l e l i g h t

Those withered hands not quite folded up into human form. Secret delicacy of less than one eye curdles great tablets for wiping my brow. Because the Dalai Lama wriggles in his dandelion afternoon camphor ignition, iodide radar winged signature. I like to pick the grey scabs off my eyeballs. Owl delight signifying the end of swag trails, strings and limits, in a ceaseless universe and my unrecognizeable sleep. The race of hurricanes in silk running boots. The beast through my available arteries and veins. The thin line between my eyelids, another seam in the sewing machines breakfast palpatations.

thank you

in the echoes of my heart beat

In the echoes of my heart beat,
I hear the flutter of golden wings,
that fly in the horizons with an ebb and flow,
and breath the stillness of a thousand whispered dreams,
In the echoes of my heart beat, is the perfect mirror,
for me to rediscover myself,
from my own mysterious creation,
through the perfect love of an empty stream,
that fullfills the dreams, before their seen,
before the moment that’s forever been,
giving each beat in turn, the chance to begin again,
in its’ own unique forgiven listening,
to live as one, in the image of, equality,
and will always be,
in the ocean of echoes within my heart beat,
in singing golden wings, as they are purified,
by eternities presence, with twinkling prayers,
and perfect meditative stillness,
from the moment unended,
innocense unsurrendered,
that completes a circle with a window without an other side,
which is but a spoonfull of the power I give,
when I know God is indivisible,
and ask to be held in and become,
the rhythm of folding entrances,
the ancestors corridor to the last question of a million ages,
the perfect mirror in which to breath, the perfect mystery,
where only tears and beliefs remain,
before the empty stream, of forgiveness and equinimity,
before the ringing bell of nights crossroads of ecstasy,
and before each day relives the invisible chord,
before all the endless glimpses back and forth,
that only in the very end, as all the alters of breaths are woven together,
and to that final one, life is revealed and revered,