The poet must never touch his inspiration –
even if he could –
it must reside in it’s exalted realm,
just out of reach, like the sacred fingertip.
If he does touch it, he is no longer a poet –
the inspiration falls to earth and becomes human –
seeking only, it’s own pleasure and craving …
war
i’m tired of fighting
i never wanted to be
a soldier of truth
i only wanted to love
but loving was the war
and my wounds are deep
(down)
i kiss the earth
to embrace the bones
of primitive lovers
calling me (down) beneath
my twilight path
shard
always a missing piece,
broken glass
and things fine,
expensive,
delicate,
and the shard
that is found
suddenly, unexpectedly,
later
black birds
The black birds descend
upon me, now
a shroud of darkness
covering my body like a plague
devouring the remnants of life
before earth's pleading season.
A hawk circles overhead,
and two robins
in the distance, sigh.
dear mortal
dear mortal,
the embrace of love
is impossible to release
for love knows no temporal thing.
it is merely borrowed
by delicate hearts
upon a fragile plane.
our body yearns for pleasure
yet our refrain is that of pain,
and the colors of bliss fade
to black and white,
in human time,
as the flesh we wear,
this veil of silk and shroud clouds our vision -
the never ending flame,
love eternal
come to me
come to me
come to me
in any form
except that memory
~
come to me
in perfume rain
of louring mist,
quiescent gray
or slivers that pierce
the end of day, bleeding
upon the edge near night
colors dim in pastel light
~
come to me
come to me
in any form
except that memory
bomber girl
faceless shadow
shroud of virginity,
only you know who you are
and your hidden dream -
secret cartwheel
upside down,
skin making love to the wind.
demure bride of war
kissing the rug of prayer, wallowing
in the ghost of charlemagne
exalted in your father's army.
adorned corset of nails -
your heart beats
your body ticks
your purpose bleeds
through
the tourniquet of day.
did you hear the dulcimer,
is he ready to receive,
will he receive
those you sacrifice?
dreamer ghost
cried for 10 years,
prayed for 10 years,
exhausting mortal allotment of tears
-
reverently letting go,
ephemeral hand of lost searching
soul,
this lifetime
destined to be a holy man -
lotus and sterile
upon quivering cliffs,
scolded by the laughter
of river om,
peeling a snakeskin of smudge,
fingerprints of imposters
and false lovers
revealing nothing, save the storm,
gales of scarlet turbulence -
stupid will, drowning
in torrential zen,
and deep within dark sheets
just beyond mortal infection,
yet close like lingering perfume,
modulating, noise and note,
virgin silhouette of inspiration -
the dreamer ghost
falling kiss
falling deeply, my innocence -
my faith,
through seas of martyr’s blood
and sandstorms of wind and bone,
through jealous ghosts that cling
and memories of people i’ve been -
falling out of body into essence true,
i fear no pain, nor blur of screaming impact,
just reaching into her light -
trust my soul her sacred grasp,
for it is she that carries my fall
upon wings of feathers
to soar and guide - forever deep,
forever deep, my love
the perfume of this kiss
