Dreams are always birthed full grown
intemperate like Venus, they in their soft and wanton shapes
beckon our extravagance

our oceans conceived
and brought forth
a stunning form

Her sensual innocence intoxicating
She covers herself
to be unveiled with time

caught a breath
vertical emotional repetitive lines
sounding metal, slamming cage

that breath kept stirring
with abandon in this prison
flitting about in panic held while turning
from essential gas to poison

a sigh, a winged entity
lung-breathed and heart-breathed equally
blown out within this tragic expulsion

a still frame of the epicenter
flapping wings feeding the fire
that licks between firmament
and surface texture

complex and suggestive,
truth goes from fluid to solid
with time or conviction,
but both states are impervious
and mostly unknown

complexity focused
inside innumerable melody
uncounted and singular
unattatched, but interwoven

called within a peal of helpless laughter
healing rang out, uncontrollable
in transverse vibrations
building and destroying
becoming indivisible
unlimited, sacred

thus the intolerant and ruthless sorrow
stretches with the restless wave
unprepared, vanquished

the point where the sun and the horizon meets
reverberates with passion
and the water misses the shore
until they touch
it's the contact of the rock and pond
that creates the uniformity of circles
rippling outward
the sweet caress of sonic waves
against the eardrum, bliss
is the embrace of light and the eye, sweet
is the blend of spices that dances with the tongue
in closed position, breath on skin
scent winds through emotion
and the wind and trees unite in this
music of connection

Physic(al)

I can make you wish you were never born, never died this death with a thousand cheering tormentors calling on you to pass through the deathway before they do themselves. I take pleasure in the diverse satisfaction that wells up inside me at seeing you suffer with it as I have, even as I wish you well I want to see you falling. It's the perpetual drop as the noose seizes you with finality - the motion when the trapdoor releases your feet from one oblivion to another, the state of mind in the split second before gravity and mass become your executioner. It's so simple and complex like the science of time, the passage of it condemning your sweet breath to a final exhalation. But instead I can make you wish you'd never die, make that moment between birth and death less complex, more pure in feeling than the heat between us when I lose control before you do, lose myself in the sounds of the crickets and the movement of the ions inside that Tesla invention, beauty is power contained. And so I sit here like a plasma globe, touch me and I funnel it all into you, towards you because every molecule reaches out when I joke and touch your arm with the back of my hand. They lose a piece of themselves and recombine with a blaze of glory.

I always steal these words from you
beneath this undending passion of connection
like teeth to skin I feel them biting

marked, now
I proceed in the direction of self
a blue bruise forming in imagination

your lips mouth consonants
developed in linguistic simplicity and whispered
like dawn's slow ascent from the lake

a rolling boil covers the surface
of the calm and silent water
when it ripples with release

surely you understand it as
the surface tension mounts
behind your eyes

Walls

Just a stone's throw
from my glass house
you stand

I built it with such clarity
to see the sunset
uninterrupted:

I know wood floats
when you build it
a burden on the backs of others

but glass falls,
sinks when it shatters
when its heart breaks

my skin is a curtain
another permeable barrier
that folds with time

the rubble of my fortress
is a moat that leaves me
closed in, vulnerable

I hurl my insults at you
while the walls rise
cold and hard as stone

Evening Dress

variegated darkness curls
edges laced with the brightness of the sun's garment
a monarch's evening gown
sweeping over the uninterrupted horizontal line,
drowning with heavyness beneath the divide
bent are the living green grasses that breathe and curtsey
they weave between each other like a fluid ocean
they drop off the straight edge of the earth with her, into feeling
the line drawn between sky and her weaving fluctuates
until they blend themselves together
the wind sighs last as the cloth of the dress
dips below the fields,
the fence a silhouette of black lace
all falls silent, released into a single shade
the back of this dress is star laden, sleeping
a solitary button holds the weight
lights the sky in reflection


Feedback needed, I want to submit this to PrairiePoetry.

Old Man

This morning Time and I
have not yet been introduced
He's forgotten my name again
Old man that he is,

He's got Alzheimers'
and the weary movements
of his joints transfer to
mine as I groan
with movement,
sequential and irreverent

while dawn is still intact
beneath the horizon.

All but abandoned are my hopes
that someday I will find myself
in the arms of one who loves me equally

sighs escape me at the forced images
of movies and escapist literature
where the world has not collapsed

forgotten are the hopes for more
even jealousy has forgotten to plague me
I am empty in the face of fullness

how fitting that all my successes are null
meaning nothing in the face of this one concept
which brings me not to tears but to hard focus

Don't forget the inevitible change
as leaves fall, paying debt to winter

Wind blows the currency about in flutters
of undying grace, a decomposition of funds

Fall lasts and lasts until you forget what
comes so quickly.

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"Flat"

They say it's flat here
Saskatchewan
Saaaah ska chew on
they've got a lot to say sometimes,
pronouncing with silly syllabic accents.

But they say that history repeats itself
and when the dust swirls by the roadway
I can watch it spinning into existence.

The ground itself is alive in the spring,
rolling grass in the living wind
sky that breathes into dust and gives it life:

Soon the grain wakes,
mottling itself into the quilt
as the worn out land cries for spring.
Shiny nails are these silos,
hammered straight and true into the land.
Beneath these perceptions the roots of farming
are prying into these thoughts
and I smell the dust swirling
towards drought, once again.

This appeared here.