(Feathers and Cotton)

you asked a question, with

                           finger-tipped tendrils 

                                     tracing the life-lines of an 

open palm. 

The flashcards rapid-fire, 

projecting behind flickering orbs of adoration;

streaming the tales of a 

thousand possibilities-- 

           floating in seas of flora, 

                   laying buried beneath millions of their 

                   solar-rayed satin tongues, shrouded in the bee's busy work; 

           hand-held happiness; 

           memorization of moment each time 

                       eyes entangle                across               piles    of       feathers and cotton. 

So yes- 

sweet stellar existence, 

                an answer is deserved-so, 

but when I entreat my mind to 

speak 

      soft vocations of your affect on me, 

pretty meets happy and 

hallowed ground as such desires a quiet, 

                                                        contemplative 

                                                                        consciousness before I 

clatter in the clamor to 

find speech in perfect-present-tense 

to say...


       ...that silence seems golden until songbird soars.


Grasping,
Fingers
      follow            and     swell, 
               hollow


Hope hides in heaving breaths,
                budding between the fences,
                                                      coaxing
                                                          each
                                                            out
                                                       of gate.


Dance in sandstorms,
                            heat-lightning lengthens
                                                     shadows splashed from
hot-lamp-street-light.


Serpentine rhythms
          heat exchange
crying out for a
             kiss from the cross breeze to
chill the spine, supine sparks fly

(All the Wild Things)

Timelines trip the toes
of the Fortuitous, and eventually,
a trickle that treaded softly amongst the
soft-spoken become
torrents that flood all
connective-tissue, exacerbating the
gash of a cruel-chain-of-events.


Where
do all
the
lost people
(things)
go?


Never-Never Land, hand in hand with God-
waiting for a fold in time to
reconnect the disjointed     delinquents.


Eyelashes sticktogether
bonded by the salt and sweat, and
Sweet Dreams.
Eyes impregnated with
flash forwards of what
can be
should a stream of consciousness
prevail over preliminary percussive poisons.


A veiled stillness imitates
withdrawl
when, behind the curtain the
effervescent shit-show of
renegade relics of personailty
sing songs.

(Mountain Song)

Dazed dozing eyes wide open
Free fall foliage
Iron giants stride and stretch their
Life lines under the
cool breath of god.
Listening to the notes, searching for
Synapse fire. Something
Recognizable or relate-able .... or
Responsive
Carefully bursting the bubbles of
Captured concern
Disassembling during delicate dissection
Rummage through rumor and ruin.
Stagnation supplements stoical solution.