Wrinkle

Symphonic jungle:
The dashing of the xylophone
As I curl my toes in oceanic shock.
I stretch
My memory in hopes
That I can retract that evening
On the mirror-like docks:
You handed me the full moon’s
Storm in a calescent bassinet:
One flower that would have me
Tripping thru waterfronts
Dating back to
Aphrodite’s first appointment
W/ a laden apple.
Your eyes trickled honeyed
Sapience & I glimpsed
The secret history of circles.
The forever winding of radial
Complexities immersed
In a liquid salutation
As you dove back into the sable
Blue & drowned upon
The rock-n-roll that the stars
Let rain & rain & rain…
Who are we in this serpentine
Voyage?
Fish-faces. Looking-glass-sages.
Sold-out-fortunes
Wading thru the carbon-copy
Visitations
On a boat-ride thru impulses:
Distilled chemical romances
Spiraling each other.

True Blue

How do I capture virtue
W/ a camera or an epic prayer?
It's floating in the air
Like a voltaic murmur, amphibious,
For it knows the sky
Is really a secret ocean laden w/
Chrystal wishes & aqueous
Amenities like that time you
Kissed me
& I tasted like aureate champagne.
That kiss was a flying fish,
A pneumatic messenger
Being born into a million
Microscopic spectrums that maybe
Looked light some immortal
Paradise: thru eyes of virtue.
Beautiful features are what
You want them to be.
As is, any vantage point
Of human nature; as our we;
No moment is ever wasted if
It's lived in love.

The Mermaid's Purse

So, what are you waiting for?
There's the seriousness of our revolution.
It's lies here... a somber willow tree
Desiring the density of an oak:
It wants to put down a bottle of gin
& fall w/o the drugs
Into an apocalytical chamber of belief.
I'm losing it.
I'm losing the metaphors &
The chimerical touches of creatures
I invent thru musings upon abstract
Talents; I could deliberate poetics or
That truth that is all fucking poetry.
All poets are getting at something.
Some of them try to reach epitomes of
Comparison; some of them try for such
Metaphysical intangibility;
Some of them paint fences to keep
White horses safe; some of them like
Word games; and some of them just like
To see/hear themselves speak.
Poetry is the breeding of Science &
Art & the their child is Honesty.
But this time,
I'm responsible for a mermaid's treasure
& goddamn if I'm going to be
"Feminine" of "Masculine" ---
I'm who I am, kneeling before you in
A puke of libretto
Facing you the facts: take me to the limits.
Take me & my heart to know
No other place than the palace of stars
You painted long ago when you said
You knew me. You loved me.
What I hold here, in this purse, is
Everything.

Curious Obsession

He prefers telephone wires.
He prefers to look at buckled staples
That have rusted over & under
Public information.
He chooses real-life but endears it
Fiction.
Classic elegance.
He prefers rocks.
Clear skies.
Trees & undoubtedly
Crumbling red bricks of antique
Architecture.
There are literary tears nearby
To replace the soreness
Of reconstruction.
He makes a note or two
On a tattered journal
That looks more like a tattoo
F/ Hebrew scripture: it's a style
That you wouldn't understand
Because it's liquid-fire w/ a sense of self.
Sense to bind itself together &
Even throw itself away.
Ah, the destruction of poetry.
He wonders to himself where that
Energy flies to.
His perception is a sacrifice
& as a spectator of him, I only know
Him as the strangest muse.

Overnight

My halo is bent.
& I continue w/ a fragmented posture.
I'm one-of-those
What-do-you-call-'em...
Angelic-harbingers-of-misapprehended-
Brilliance...
I take existence & turn it into
Consequence
& after all that... I whisper things like:
I am Aphrodite!

Hallways & Hallways

Photographs lend me no alternative;
I must confess,
I wear a million dresses
In the given space of a day.
There is no mistake, 999,900 wait
Captive of a dreamgirl's wake
Into a world that will never change,
Therefore make,
Any headline; they will stay a
Forever-rain-collage perpetrating
As honest art in some surreptitious
Palace;
I know this. I've been there. I've seen.