Seeing Madness And the Sea

I awoke to myself choking me
the walls as soft as bread
and light from the street

In my step sensitivity sewn
deliberately on my descent
I drew from darkened drawer
to leaves aching at my door

I climbed into a coat
and managed down the street
peering through the window

A foggy trip I know not where
possessed me spill my memory

The ravenous voice of heaven
mumbling into lives before me
mother and child recoil
and fathers with dry hands
soaking in the soil

Crows in trees frozen wings like fruit
chosen to hold on for fear of death
to fall into the air or to suspend where
nothing remains by one's own hand

Two thin men with eyes burning in love
lead me away set sail from bed to bed
and smiled right into the aching at my door

They shook me roared and took me to
a figure tall with lips light blue
crimson nails and smokey hiss

The sky was damp pink
glowing pink long after
the last cast of light did sink
a colorful warning I slept through

One bird flew into suspense
and from below I saw him slide
driven mad straight to the sea
the wind pulled him instantly

Father Pavlovitch Karamazov

No head upon the Father of Lies,

Who, taking offense, plays the part of the martyred,

Sadly shedding dignity before his sons.

With vagrancy behind grotesque eyes

He teaches them how to pull a trigger,

End a lie, start a fire.

Nothing withheld from him but his own head,

Our Father is, by self-arrangement,

Passionately disturbed.

A kiss, then, is so unharmonious as to seal his fate,

Placed upon each boy’s neck,

Causing brothers to turn upon their own flesh,

Like ascetic bliss.

Wolf Calls

The night air stirs.

Unexposed, I meet my universe.

The trees greet me in the moonlight.

They peer and whisper with the wind.

In its madness, the wind paints everything.

In the darkness of my imagination,

What courses, what causes moments

To gleam and never die,

There's a shaded sky,

The shifting of leaves,

And a mare on the rise.

I blush and know I exist,

Aging with these colors of green and gray.

I am of discussion, alive

In the phantom romance of the woods,

But the wolf calls for me.

In this siren, death approaches and I freeze.

This world of green, without path or marking,

Is drawn by instinct, pointing everywhere.

The wolf's eyes, ever-wide

Without sun or star to guide,

Yet I am found.

Vows

Say a word for all my children
That will never be.
Explain the use of rings and fingers
If I’m not bound to thee.

Your hands are portals, North and South,
And glacial to the touch.
I’m torn to poles, my body in half,
Unable to hold as much.

Now, apart, my mind, it shivers,
Feeling twice the freeze.
Every direction points to you
And covers all degrees.

I wilt over your bed, my love,
Pray that you might see
Within my eye reflections of
How still you are in me.

Seven Ways to Love from Several Distances

Hundreds of hungry acts to

Lead me to you, my darling

Flavor of sweet desire,

Grooming my mind as I sit,

Floating me off as I stand,

Leaving me without an out –

Letters dying to meet you.

Drifting to and from comfort,

My home or stabilized thoughts,

Pressure by flight, track or waves

In caves, clouds or thunder’s roar,

Your voice, like the wind, follows,

Flows and soothes my raging tone,

Packing my life into you.

Prayerfully dwelling on

My hand dripping with blue ink,

Bleeding out past poisons and

Promising pages for you

To soak up fears in your heart,

Take this to your quiet place

And knock with faith upon faith.

Winter standing over me

In the sightless state of doubt,

I lie helplessly, face down;

Carefully and with kindness

You tweeze out of me the thorn –

Radiance in your smile

Warming my extremities.

Aging, thinning of my pride,

Leaves with every fresh shower –

A shaving of youth, to rot

By bad blood or troubled tooth;

Your touch no less hesitant

Or longing eyes less potent

With patience, abounding love.

I fall apart knowing you

Are the catcher of my eye,

The progression of my song,

The fragrance of my day dream,

The stranger in the orchard,

The rest upon my pillow,

The subject of my poem.

Dryness and darkness linger

As mist blinding the mountains,

Laying, praying, pondering

Life, afterlife and the tomb;

Night comes soon, I barely see

How you tuck me in and sigh,

Tear in your eye shed for me.

Draw Deeply from the Wound

A stranger passing with slide of hand

Lingers upon my eyes stealing my heart

Yet somehow I miss nothing

But the touch of my plunderer’s palm

I reminisce in the twilight of the terrace

The memory of my confidence

Slips below these thoughts of romance

Like a tragedy leaving numbness and fatigue

Sleep knocks and is turned away

The mind so unkind works through the night

To breathe and think

And think to sleep

Become her world

Stars upon my pillow

I float off

Whisper to myself of love

Dream of her touch

And with a motion of her eyes

I am tossed to the sea

Pleasantly

When We Touched the Mountain, There Was No Betrayal, No Soil, No Funeral

You were struck by lightning
And we saw through you.
You said you heard bells
And saw fire tying you to heaven.

Tears and ash smeared across
Your perplexed expression--
Light grey eyes looking back
Somewhere to escape.

The cypress creeked in the wind
As we climbed down the lime green cloud
With our hands lifted to the sky,
Hazel smoke on a sea of green.

The cactus and stones stretch,
Infinitely unthreatened,
And I cannot outlive their might.