are swollen

the grandeur

of the woman

bright-eyed

hard-eyed

beaming or shrugging

love love love

each other

I say.

The world is love

is terrible

is the infinite connection

of us

every living day

until we die

that we grasp hands

and raise our voices

to the great galactic sky

that we are fighting.

The seedlings

are sprouting

tiny green

pieces of the

universe

breathing

the whole structure

of time

to love one another.

We stand

howling through the black night

our cry reaching

the blank heavens

for all to hear

that no one is alone.

we have each other.

we have the world.

of sound from sweet lips,

the tone of the words

singing from the great sky

of the infinity of love

you feel for me.

I, the tragic beast, I fear

I love you so deeply

that the thought of you

driving in your car

music blaring

in your fantasy mind

will not see those headlights

will fall will fall.

I, I fear your bright eyes,

your winsome face,

the depth of your letters

as you stroke my brown hair,

your meaning drives sickness

into my stomach

for fear of losing you.

Please love me, little one.

Please understand that

I am trying every minute

to be wonderful for you,

I flick the ashes from my hand

and guilt consumes me,

but I know that I need you

more desperately than

I care to admit

and you will help me now.

The moon is waxing, she beckons your weary eyes to close.

I am the moon, I cradle your tender limbs once darkness becomes you,

Bespectacled, blinking

Into the brilliant sky,

So infinitely close to my small pink heart.

Swept up in the poetry of the water.

A lark floats down impossibly soft,

Takes her downy feathers in his own,

Breathes into her warm beak,

Her world devoted to his birdsong.

He chose the gown she’d wear.

What grew pitted in her belly

For the world to love and share.

Her hum blew low among the brush

And swept to corners deep,

Yet none would chance to hear it,

Tucked sightless into sleep.

God fucked her for He loved her,

No pretense in His gaze.

He let her burgeon quickly

A child made to amaze.

She drank her tea quite slowly,

Her fingers at her lips,

While a poor man held her cleanly

And watched her shaking sips.

He believed though God was silent,

Speaking naught to his white face,

While sweet she knew God bluntly,

Stuck with careful grace.

She was fated just a mother,

Though this day we bleed cool will.

This was an ancient time then

When God decided still.

I think of her so bluely,

Her life rendered apart

By a Lord’s black want for legacy

That He belittled her poor heart.

She is nothing but his mother,

A man who yearned for all

The stature of a deity

And so tragically his gall

Drove iron through his palms

And thorns upon his brow

That day they murdered God alive,

And somehow it matters now.

will weep, and want, and wait.

‘I am in love with a memory,’ she says, her maid pressing a ruby gown in the corner of the room,

‘I miss his ghost.’

‘Think not of this ghost, madam,’ says the maid, ‘for we all have ghosts of our own,

‘And ‘tis by our choosing that they haunt us, for the dead are wont to sleep.’

‘Tarry not, young maid,’ pips the duchess.  ‘The dead must be awoken,

‘For what person should not want to live again?’

‘Ay, the dead are wont to sleep, madam.  We must needs leave them be,

‘They have died by God or Nature’s grace, we must needs leave them be.

‘Nor would they be the same upon awakening, no, no, we must needs leave them be.’

there has never been a song more beautiful than this,

this flight of words and the deft brilliance of its music,

and i beseech you, that if your lovely feet are stirred to dancing,

dance with me.

lay your jacket on the table, align your tie, and dance with me.

*

the bright melody of this song,

how it drips like candle wax into a puddle on the floor around my feet.

i sit, legs crossed, its luminous colors soaking in through the fabric of my skirt,

seeping across my small belly, my breasts, pinks and blues my face,

the oranges are my eyes, the reds and greens and every dazzling color

of the whole goddamn universe is in my hair tonight.

*

this song, this harrowing song, the racing violins, the sonic beauty of his voice,

desperate to adore her properly amidst the surge of percussive love,

alive! alive! at the sunset framed by the window of the car

that exists somehow faraway yet tangible as his gloved fingertips graze the glass,

the sunset that he hopes she is watching too, as it sifts away,

and the sun begets the moon.

darling, things will be better soon.

BANGan exodus of birds from the trees

                frantic thoughtless beasts

        with no realization of why

                                they are scared

                but they are scared

and they fly away

                screeching, ‘fuck this,

                                        let me be safe’

where are all the infant birds?

                                left in their nests

                                for a prideless kill?

the babies the babies dont kill the babies

they

cant

defend

them

selves

.

She sits, her head tucked under downy wing,

Aflight in dreams of lovely green green spring,

Though now she must sit patiently and wait.

The night grows ever colder, glowing late,

A time when sifts and stirs nary a thing,

She raises up her voice to sadly sing

That nothing is beyond her iron gate.

Sharp woe is patterned ‘cross her speckled brow,

The cold and colder night she deeply fears,

When candles are snuffed out for timely sleep,

Adrift is man and patient deer and sow

This hour she has nothing but her tears,

But smiles against the urge to wail and weep.