Poet Introduction I love to write on the edge: Not all significant poetry goes down like warm soup: Don't fear the burn It just might awaken you: In the words of Jim Morrison... 'Wake up!' (I don't remember where I am either).. Note: I write heartwarming stuff too..
Stung to death, an ill begotten fate, sisters in tangled limb, sisters in wombs' blood rendered of yesterdays remains still hunted.
Weaving angels hover over the early death trapped, entangled, consumed in poison, wrists bound together praying for new life.
Son, beseeching all I have acquired of you, You, whom the dusky late hours have made, You, whom I lusted for and listened for rattling as bells toll, clocks revealing our closeness in hour, our embrace before the...
in winter all worlds are born to die (in you) vacant it seems we are born to live by love (it's true) "unmoving we pass walking deaths in idle breaths seldom seen by few" (behind a dirtied pane you sit) beneath some loveless halo of doom and hurry (worry) as black leaves on a tree of life are (hiding) all my selves in your minds grasp are (abiding) I shall see you there (falling recalling) I shall grieve for the one heart that died inside mine. what heart you say mine what is that you carry ...
Aloft, its wings rose on the breeze, teetering in the wavering whim of the wind's persuasion; Eagle, feathered in armor searches for what it needs and only takes that from the land it surveys. It brings the weak, the lame to their final throes, removing blinds from their eyes in a way that becomes necessary to their completion and ascension.
The eagle wants it's prey to see what it sees, this is how it merges with what it loves and admires as precious red manna pecked from skins and furs...
Drunk on fetal eyeballs, cor'd from wilted apples blossom'd in pink velvet~ my bosom on your shards ov petals peeled from yesterday's remnants of us.
Slaughtered renderings sketch'd in nightshade billow in the nak'dness of your curls of agony. I lick your flaming skin as you crawl into the crucifixion of womb~ littered in transgressions, paradoxes of daylight slanted along the headstone of our drawn blinds.
I watched you lying there, I was still learning to love you. I observed your chest rising, falling, the contours of your ribs and your breath rushing in and out slowly in the captivity of your body needing rest, and near me finding it and welcoming it.
I heard the sounds around us become more distant as we maybe would become one day. I saw the light around us dim as the sun went behind a cloud, as one day our love might become dimmer than now.