These are my words.... not poems, not prose. Most of them are born from stream-of-consciousness / non-thought. They have no agenda, but to express my feelings in the truest, most honest way, hopefully providing the reader with a mental environment as i address a person, a thought, a feeling or circumstance.

Each moment we experience is a pinpoint, a specific set of coordinates on a single plane within a multiverse. From that specific point, there are infinite tethered points to where one may transcend. I choose one of those points and further it, allowing me to write from that new location. It may be called simply one's imagination or fantasy, but in traveling to that reality, i experience smells, sounds and countless non-vital stimuli which provides me the most sincere writing environment.

Other entries are inspired directly from experiences in my present reality, written for a specific person or possibly to remember a certain set of events, or simply a feeling. For better or for worse, with happiness or regret, all of these entries are me. All of these offerings are true and chronicled to hopefully provide some benefit to the reader.

i hope you enjoy my experiences.

You, To Me, In Many Ways

The hours we shared played parlor tricks and fooled me into believing this was a beginning.
But as we sat, still and hesitant under a red glow in an icy room, i realized that this has always existed. The world stopped long ago and we were left with the notion of anything else truly existing outside of this moment. And the kind darkness held us the way i imagined me holding you. 

Your heart is what called to me the most.

The shallow push against diffident palm.
My arm draped across your inhale, slowing the breath that i receive from you.
Our muted songs marry and speak melancholy testament to the undeniable tether sewn between us.
And in sharp lament we pause to acknowledge the silence of calm and stars we've created.

Your eyes are what kissed me the most.

They looked far into the quiet and kissed deeply without words or breath.
And within them, a certain sadness reached us both.
And i felt helpless as i screamed out a thousand dreams hoping for them to kiss away the slices upon damaged wrist.
Delicate scars tell tales of a life in flux and of moving blades faster than thought and skin.

Your lips are what touched me the most.

Haunting and with upturned corners, they measure the air between our tongues.
Without promise or anticipation, they are still and certain, motionless upon mine, creating veins of air which spill across our face, holding our necks, and that moment, excitingly still.
We share an inquisitive breath between our mouths along with several conflicted themes, yet we still fly.

Your energy is what moved me the most.

Placing your brow against mine, we sit and share in blinding exchange.
We are wrapped in mirrors and hemp cloth, then explode into midnight thoughts and aether.
Our consciousness joined becomes a muted silver sky, while our quiet laughter transforms the heaviness of life into venerated embrace.

And the reticence stays, as bright as the light behind our eyes and as free as the conversation of two figures under a red glow in an icy room...

Inevitable.

Some things remain constant in my life; desire for understanding the subtleties of life and all things present within, the air of art and creation from which to breathe, the burdensome struggle of light and shadow...

.... and, most tragically, the introduction of a profound energy which I am unexplicably drawn to. Then, without reason or regrettable explanation, they are gone like mist meeting mid-morning sun. 

It has happened again. Even though they professed the desire for ongoing exchange despite the distance between. The phenomena of fading away was not going to be the case, so their lips spoke. But the newness of light brought by me fades quickly in people's eyes. The initial adoration merely becomes nothing more than a momentary infatuation better suited for school children on a crowded playground.

... distant energy appears never again...

... after the night quiets thoughts, after the stomach and superficial settle, after the misinterpretations and apprehensions fall away....

... do i cross your mind, and as you think of me and remember the way my eyes looked at you, the way my lips and tongue honoured and whispered to you...

... you quietly hold the attraction nearer and solemnly question the hope for us... ...in silence....

Impending.  [in two parts] 

[A new energy happened into my world recently. Unknown and without proximity, this sharp light continues to provide a brilliance undiscovered, a lighthouse to guide me from the fading, tempting me from the grey. Maybe it's merely a defense mechanism necessary to keep my sanity. Or an omen scratching the skin with razored beak, telling me to keep eyes and flesh open for the soon to be whirlwind coming to town at a time soon definite, yet undefined...

I shall see...         ...and I look forward to the conclusion, if nothing more but for a conclusion]

part 1... in recognition of the linear.

With thought and pure sky (the subtle chance)

... autumn thoughts of wind blown hair and leaves of tussled fabric flying along bare skin. Your eyes were what amazed me most - the quiet, the secret longing for something significant or maybe it was the deep anticipation of something fantastic. Your hand spoke to the air unaware, as you were caught in your own thoughts. It lilted playfully, seemingly without notice, conducting an invisible orchestra of colour, cloth and cut. Your presence lofted and spun as you hurried through busy corridor and around self-diluted people who believed anyone but you mattered to me. Gathered with friends, I caught your eye to my grand surprise and we exchanged glances, sneakily, without agenda or attempt. Or maybe i was just me. I found myself looking over shoulder and down ant farms hoping for a moment which contained you - an image to bring purposeful momentum to my day of contempt and frivolity; a single purpose to attach a tether bound to awakening. And yet it was tied off at my neck, preventing me to speak as in lost paths past. The day beat on and, in one moment of impulse, I freed simple words to condemn my desires. Desires which held me, questioning, trying to interpret your response to my intrusion. Unwarranted and unfamiliar, a moment's quiet found us exchanging air without sound. To my surprise you stayed in play, leaning in to hear my softened words. And then, that exchange that was ours alone, without the crowd, without words. Just your eyes and lips in view; no hesitation, just a moment slowed to allow a significant exchange. In that moment i flew far from this cemented earth, far from what i didn't want  - interaction of dimmed souls, tepid attempts of commonality wrapped with  brown paper, vapid and temporary. In that moment I saw a thousand strings shooting into the familiar shadows, pulling me into a thousand conclusions. And then in the next - boom - back to everyone else's life. You offered an exchange once more, later that day, a peculiar offering of chocolate and expresso beans and my response could only be a look of perplexed embarrassment, as your friends looked on, analyzing my reaction. Or maybe it was just me. As I rushed off, I thought of side remarks and clumsy jokes at my expense. And I had to remedy the awkward, bring balance to the exchange, but in a moment you were gone with late night air and possibilities wafted along with tailpipe smoke. But charred embers retained a small glow of promise. The next day brought a moment, more karmic than of pure chance. You appeared, like desired mirage after a long night's delirium. Though escorted by fumbled conversation we quietly connected again, briefly but just enough to secure  implausible thoughts within my mind of reunion. And as i remain stubbornly enough in a small room of doubtful air, to connect for future thought and touch, I am content with invested time and impending discovery; sewn, unreasoned attachment to unknown cloth of distant familiar. 

... and I wait.

part 2... in acknowledgement of the abstract

With touch and pure breath (the splintered departure)

... autumn thoughts of wind blown hair and leaves of tussled fabric flying along bare skin,
your eyes were what amazed me most - dark centers of evening peeking playfully from between folded branches of fingers and leaves of electricity,
shyly looking for me to join you in finger churches, steeped and entangled,
they are joined by hands pressed and arms engaged, readied for a communion of breath, mind and flesh,
the limits progress beyond,tactile members visit mouths while tongues tell tales only neck and abdomens can hear,
my mouth hovers just above your mouth, quietly, and eyes slowly become steam as thoughts melt into colliding drips of premonition,
a tilt of your head, subtle and slight, exposes a course of warm canvas, anticipation and heartpounds flutter like butterflies on honeysuckle palette,
Neck flesh cries out to sharp teeth, eager to make favor, scrape along sweated cord and invited vein,
Warmed cotton, twisted and stretched, woven between cradled arms and thighs, draw water like candle's wick, away from submerged hosts,
Fingertips with definite flight massage prose into recipient skin like an amorous salve, having divine colloquy with thickened oil and gathered sudor,
eyes roam wildly, draw back and refocus upon rear walls,
a touch of saltwater runs freely about forehead and dives from brow and settles upon lashes, causing both eyelids and minds to descend... as well as lips,
cheekbones dig far into inner thighs, allowing the teeth to return, sending messages of good promise from previous consort, though giving lead to lips in lieu of tender vellum,
kisses arrive nevertheless and masquerade as nomads, wandering about a desert of silk, discovering soft tissue and lather,
they hold court in repetition, with concentric circles facing an alter centered within a well of susurrus and grin,
two figures writhe and respire in consecutive confession of the dreams found in breath trapped between joined mouths and liquescent skin,
the air of life rises high and beyond like released window smoke and is found buried deep within married palms,
hands placed upon bare feet allow us to walk among the heavens and breathe in the sound of angels and the impending hopes of two strangers meeting again for the first time,
I sit back to look at you falling back to look at me, I see once again the eyes that began the journey, the eyes that immersed me in departures beyond logic and calm, and the smile you gave me to begin the exchange.

... and I wait.

Tactile...

Having you feel my words is crucial to understanding me. To not just read, hear and comprehend them, but to absorb them with throat and skin is to join me in my discovery of mind, passion, ultimate truth and connection. I contemplate over tea leaves the possibilities of you doing so...  and close my eyes and dream to the potential...

Coppice

Covered in dust and iron shavings, a singular thought walks among shadows and spiders webs in a forest buried deep within my palms,
And with night’s hair swirling like splattered ink, it tussles and tangles with thought birds flying low to avoid the early morning light... and hopes of redemption,
A microcosm of hope and anticipation shudder between the lashes of a dark brow,
Furrowed thoughts engage an air of momentary calm in battle for the last semblance of irrepressible blaze,
The remnants of a familiar's touch slowly melt away from beneath my skin,
And the last memories of glorious scratches scream as they fall from branched arms and compromised skin,
The diffident light climbs treetops and mountainsides saying hello to toughened bark and sod, giving whispers of daydreams to bowing petals and into the ears of insipid irises,
Weary owners of spindly fingers and spines of thorny berm stand inert, like contemplating antelope - figures priming for flight or oblivion,
The earth shifts slightly as it amuses itself with animate mischief, causing the sky to scream deep laughter and stream tears of irrepressible release down its face.

tele line

...every so often i receive an inadvertent call from an old man.

Apparently, my number is only one digit off from his son's number. He often sounds sad or lonely; Although the other is an unknown, we end up chatting for a bit each time. As peculiar as it is, i enjoy speaking with him. I find the quality of his voice soothing. Funny. Maybe i'm a bit lonely too...

... or maybe i just miss my grandfather's voice.

escape.... like black smoke through open window

When something is set aflame, burning and giving birth to dark, thick smoke, the natural reaction is to open a window, allowing the bitterness to flow into the outside air... Into oblivion. Some would question whether it is the same when addressing a relationship. There is a slight difference when people and emotions are involved. The process isn't always that linear...

When such an event happens; the deterioration of a union, the burning of time and effort given, what is created is dark, solemn spires of steam streaming from the acceptance of that final touch. One cannot open a window and shuttle those feelings of loss like the thick smoke from a singular fire. The embers that remain after can be the most destructive. They stay upon your palms and are grounded into the soles of your feet. They seep into the corners of your mind and sit, waiting to be discovered during some future moment of loneliness or solemn reflection. 

The only true catharsis, freeing one from that bittered relationship or undesired end, is to yourself escape through the open window. Fly free of misgivings and charred hopes. Journey through, like Alice did the looking glass. Discover a new life and lives within that new oblivion. 

There are things that wait for you on the other side. Unintended and uncalculated, unexpected and yet undeniably intrigued, they seek to be fed by your beauty and thoughts.... 

         ..... and they wish you the stars and heavens to hold in your palms as they desire to dance next to you, while soles of feet and calves caress in quiet calm.

There can be a freeing, but it's not the smoke that escapes.... It's you.

Air Within Palms (portrait of a dancer)

I stare deep into an opened palm, worked and lined like gently crushed linen,

And though no one sees what I possess upon thankful skin and what weaves between my floating fingertips,

I have kept a moment of you and i close within this softened grasp,

I caressed and captured the air we denied coming between us, in that moment before I walked, dazed and blessed, into a rain-soaked, early morning dim

The air dances about, leaning into my chest, climbing against my side, traveling across pitted abdomen, curiously pushing against one outstretched rib and then against the other

The air floats free and flies like brilliant sound, swirling in my head like a thousand tiny whirlwinds, creating sunbursts in midnight sky eyes and constellations named in your honour, glittering as they say hello from the distant systems of calm and still,

Though, it cries in silence at the thought of impending finality of severed touch and sight, it drowns in emptied vessels of greyed emotion and lowers its eyes to the opaqued horizon, muted from the mist of that same early morning,

It mourns a tethered life born of ill precognition

And dances soliloquies to the memory of a love never realized,

The air circles my feet, separating soles from the hard earth pounding against them, 

Allowing me to float as if within a Kundera circle, releasing all thought, releasing all premise, and releasing itself from me... and you from the center of an opened palm...

release 01: descent.   (from the suicide consecution)

Late evening thoughts of you become a welcomed visitor traveling across several midnight dreams,
A remembrance, familiar and settling, blankets me when the night bites as my mind abandons resilience in the splattered black of blurry room corners,

The wind flirts with eyelashes and bare shoulders while a core chasmed perches upon a battered, crumbling fire escape, staying just long enough to bring a chill to the water composed upon the surface of the eyes,

You come to me in the folds of tree leaves, in the midnight flights of insects... with their buzz and sizzling sounds,
Echoes of rustling finger branches and sudden swirls of midnight birds deliver applause to absence of contemplation or flux,

I remember your heartbeat, small gentle thumps creating rhythms and encouraging movements within spines and abdomens,
Yet holding court in allusion, avoiding the heaviness of regret or vulnerability of longing,

The night pulls me to the edge of rusted railing,
It introduces me to the brilliant silence, holding my palms open and upward, facing the aether and a void opaqued,
It washes away the residue of soured paint and melancholy reminiscence,
The night plans the itinerary of release and forgetting,
The incessant shadow, the eternal sky, the funereal sea to which I'll crash all return me to the lucid, to the quiet, and to thoughts of you...

... and for a moment, I fly...

Parts Of You Fall Away

The haunting of past drops of touch fall away like unexpected snow on an eave in early spring. Your fingerprints inside my mouth have grown shallow, while a weighted dream that bloomed beneath my sheets has all but drifted into mist. The postcards tacked to the pinboard and wedged into mirror's edge have been removed and placed in a box marked limbo, waiting for a Viking's funeral. Tiny photos inside miniature frame and pressed between clear stone suddenly find themselves orphans in the world of a bedroom desk's drawer.

Our ghosts from past years run about my residence less frequently now, only sometimes bumping into sore shoulders that cry out for tender hands to touch and massage away their worry; Wishing for palms to dig deep into lower back and soles of feet. i stare beyond an abandoned window and hope for quick severings of neck from lips and eyes from heaven. Our laughter was left unattended on the street corner and it went insane beneath the lamplight, believing it was a soothsayer breathing out the union of our future souls sewn together at the abdomen while in eternal embrace. Our ghosts, our laughter, my shoulders and your palms all sat at a bright turquoise table while rubber tree branches poured Earl Grey with milk into tiny vessels of chance. A pearly cat danced and tumbled, laughing as they all attended a tea party between two dreams i once had. I carry the corpse of a dead spirit clutching its unborn dream, and discard it, placing it upon a heap of tattered rags that once tethered all of me to all of you; without administration, without howls or presage, without audience or scribe.

The parts of you that burn, branding scars of saltwater and thorns underneath my eyelids, still send morning messages with the sunlight. Even though thoughts of what might have been stab me from the inside a little less. But the heart, o the heart is a stubborn tenant, refusing any renovations to this isolated room submerged deep beneath water and claret. Separating my sky from any sense of levitation, the feeling of release. And i love you all over again. Even though thick canvas is wedged in my mouth, refusing such an utterance and only blind, bloodless pigment  stains the masterpiece festering in my throat. And i banish your memory of us all over again.

The tapping of new fingers along my spine, the requests for empty conversation between lips and thighs shout and bite at my ears, yet seem so far away. I submerge my thoughts in words and breath both into empty mouths without apprehension, and without engagement. My dreams walk down throats, lost in empty chasms of illusion and ineffective correspondence from beyond the route's end. I speak silence into an empty bedmate and embrace only the surrogate of midnight whispers. The chords of deceit held captive in a chamber furrowed deep along the viscera, allowing only contempt and leisure as observers. So as an alternative spine, i kiss my own palm to try once more to feel something... significant.

I speak fewer words to the shattered pieces of your shadow's remains scattered about my floor, running up a wall textured with neglect just above floating baseboards, stained with the echoes of a thousand points of  laughter, dripping with the sweat of countless lascivious flights. Bits of smiles and childlike glances embedded in thick layers of paint going back to our genesis, our birth from stardust. The shards of misguided anticipation, these discarded feathers of forevermore float less unwillingly back and forth, lowering themselves in defeat to earthly mausoleums in sawdust-filled corners, never again to fly. Less frequently I reach across the room without thought to stroke your face, hoping to feel that touch that warmed me in countless moments. My outreached plea now greeted by wet, foggy remembrances held in a midday shower's mirror. And with one motion i clear the blurred residue of an opaqued ardency, only to reveal the reflection of thumbs pressed deeply against my eyes.

I dig ditches blindly along my darkened hallway - complete with abandoned road signs, rusted and forgotten. The patina of  gentled voices settles upon and binds all glorious residue of past exchange, etching signatures of park bench promises, filigree of illuminated colloquy. I stand halfway down the corridor, eavesdropping on the whispers of our former selves embracing waking dreams of thatched roofs under azure heaven. But now you alone are lucid, and i merely stare numbly from far beyond the looking glass. As i am now an assemblage of withered feathers from an akasya branch and scars gathered upon uninvited memories. I have left the dimmed hallway and now reside dangling above river's edge. And as i wait to float willingly back and forth one last time, all of these parts of you fall away.

And i miss you all over again.

I Do Not Want To Be This

I do not want to be this.

I do not want to be the remnants of loveless kisses and passionless embrace. I do not want to be loud clatters of undistinguished amorous. I regret the touch of a thousand lost dreams and the explosion of hearts upon scattered, pulsating desire. You anticipate the drop, the movement of souls in flux. Your hand rapidly taps the echos of impatient life down my middle back, until it reaches my severed thoughts of calm.... Your desire to complete the path of arrows bite and rip until my wrists are raw with questions. Questions of touch and meaning, questions of truth and tongues, questions of life unfree and hands bound by significant tether. I hope for you. I dream for the flying inside you. I steal glances of suffocating loss and replace them with indignant light.

You move me by touch, our eyes tell lies to one another, not believing the distance and shadow. denying my reaching fingers toward the segmented thoughts of pain and release. And the lost meaning of desire and sky... the abandoned dreams of children and monarchy. i cannot feel anymore, i cannot hope to hope anymore. i type, i write as a unwitting subject in a circle of fire and remorse. My neck can no longer hold my mind's weight of severance and lost strands. The music remains and it bounces within my head, free as children in creek water.... but blown as beetles in a drainpipe. I scrape... i claw.... but my wrists drag upon blunt edge and reminisce with lost thoughts of open air and free falling. and the sky never seemed so bright. A handful of air fills my legion, the grip of aether gives blankets of sky and a pillow of solar systems tucked underneath my chin and a loving head caress from a ghostly feline brings me back to terra.

I seem to never sleep , but it appears that i've been doing that all along. i sleep on mirrors, only to reflect a life i do not even want. I dream of dust on roads and dirt and sand. Water so clear i can see the future at its bottom.  And air so free it dances with me in the evening and keeps me company on my walk home.  i miss the air, the breath that sings to me as i dance. i miss the thoughts of palms and eyes buried deep within my mouth.

And a kiss so blind it stays forever.

release 02: discharge.      (from the suicide consecution)

 
Sound and sulfer... and a tinge of metallic release.

Like the metal wedged between teeth and tongue, this was an unexpected visitor,
As a single apparition i wear a coat of despair and loss seeking departure provided by copper coloured delusion, 
swirled and pooled around ice and held deep within my gullet before racing down burdened throat and darkened highway...

The serpent, defiant and arrogant, challenged me to skin its yellow-striped back for miles and miles,
Where upon that duel, two forces met amongst the mist of my future regret,
The moon played observing host to obliging flesh, bending so willingly around shiny new bumper of a chariot ridden by carelessness and piloted by the swallows of dark wine,
Unlike the cliffs whispering to the trees, the undiscovered form along the berm lasted only hours before kissing the nights air, with feet ascending towards a depth of an unspoken divide,

And now fast forward, my anguished mind scratches through screams of trembling night ghosts and mourning relatives,
Receiving light so brilliantly sharp that i go blind but for the bullet of sound bouncing along stitched and scarred forehead,
Massaging ripped tissue as bruised temple laughs one last time, 
Promoting a terminal dance, a quick jutting of the head and neck, 
Both slung with intentional force as a silver fish comets through damaged skin and my compromised vessel. 
Taken now, the strength of my empty hand now drops languid where once it clenched steeled release, 
I see it shutter ever so slightly, whispering once... then once more,
Until the past wine imbibed has given into its understudy of sanguine stream, 
As new blood tastes the crisp, late night air - so similar to the mist of that night of mortiferous cause,
I am finally at the end of the tunnel, at the end of that fatal road, of that malignant night, 
and I embrace the light as never before.
 
And it is brilliant.

on longing...

To miss someone incredibly and yet lack the ability to let them truly know is a most difficult thing. To so completely long for someone is a pitted scream deep within the stomach; one that crashes and sways with enough gail to engulf a hundred ships. This punctured ardor, this futile avidity desires them to make no more a grand gesture than to sit quietly allowing the air to surround coupled thoughts in a muted room inhabited solely by whispered feelings of departure and a ghostly feline.... and possibly life.

Coffin Nail

To live in this life does not always mean you are alive.

What one may consider living is often times a coffin, a mausoleum of stalled hopes and dimmed wonder. To exist is to seek nourishment beyond the mundanity of this world. It is possible to dream with eyes wide open, stretched as far as autumn shadows.

Reject living by proxy. Create, nurture and protect your consciousness like a precious child. Allow the lucidity behind your eyes to be thrust into this world like that of an expectant newborn. Everything you experience is subjective; The tending to the garden above your head forms blossoms of brilliant discovery.

Feed your fantastic.

Saudade

I am not over you... 

          ... and you are the muse beneath my finger's skin.. .you are the perfume that lingers and settles between the worn stitching of a snudge pillow,

you are the remnants of water and flour fallen about after late morning crepes and ginger beer,

An open window leading to an empty 'terrace' seems so peculiar without you leaned against it, cigarette in hand,

My heart... to be alive and alone with you...

To etch regret and contemplation of patience along a tattooed forearm,

You are my air... my light.

... and a singular refrain, echoing of an autumn's demise...

Gossip

... skulls sing in concert from my neck to your wrist,
knowing the remembrance of touch will last longer than the embrace of bed linens around our warm vessel,
nostalgic shadows, coupled in cobwebs, submerged in a turquoise heaven, whisper in circles,
Longing to rise and twirl like that of an existence for gone away,
And the shadows sing to the skulls, "Remember when were alive?" ....