Oh the chrysalis!
amidst the coffins
of dead leaves
Oh the chrysalis!
amidst the coffins
of dead leaves
Running across the spine
Of my mind like too many fingers-
The rain
A wave man
wound too tight
To ride the Way
To sing/say what a moon child must
a ronin is an arrow flung deeper inside
where the rhythm writhes
And rides as an 8 legged horse running a course through vein
(Mother lode)
Ceiba-sighting the last days of a genesis almost come
Hills pass through reflection
Inscriptions of silhouettes & wraiths
Wrap around days
Snow lingers on the water
Driver calls a stop
As the image fades into night
Lost like sight
In the ether can you hear Her? “Who” is my question
Forever severed the moment
Guillotines of gasping
Guide me to sleep
Dissolution is the queen’s move
Across the board, her game of death a leap! A thrust-
Already captured
My life floods before my eye
River & branches, cityscape
Scraps of trash & smiles broken like streets
Line my wiles with willpower and whim
A sorrow sights me & fires
For she (how many now?) had left me
How many bodies line the streets of my mind
As I walk behind the line of yesterday
I jump across into now to sound te ether with a briefness-
I was here! (who?) already gone
A wind, a bell, birdsong
A silhouette fell beside me speaking flame
“Fly fly to where memory and thought fall away
Fly to where the tree drinks all your water
Yet you are always quenched
Erect and naked
Blinded by moon-light
Haloing the head with a reverb of
Flesh & Query
Allegiant to the mystery
Alone with you now-won’t you taste the wavelength
And lose shame as we come apart in the dark-
Finding light where our shadows play?
Won’t you stay and help me live this?
Won’t you taste what’s fleeting? Already gone like ice cream on tongue-
So suited is moonson to the moment
Dying to sing your crying from where pleasure
Plucks notes of layers clothing the soul
So to unravel you into the reaches
Of a sleep dreamed by Gaia
Mama Gaia sighs her cry from a womb
woe riven while our soot-swollen eyes blink
@ Tyranny tearing us Down to space-dust
Until even our rind screams-open
Is this wound of Being singing of knives
Cutting in line-hushed our fate now falling
Down and merging with ashes dashed like brains
Against stones -no One to save us. The sea
Still murmurs & rain falls like an echo-
A sorrow sounds between bird call
And streets
Cracked from where bodies fell like buildings God
Struck. Numb & dumb we with throats scissored
And scarred, too scared to speak the holy strangled so slowly
Surrounded by priests like hemlock made of
Microchips dipping our bodies into
Rum to burn in effigy of what we
Once were, sacrifices for the artifice
Now, who Savors the scent of the bloodied
This, the destiny you pay with credits
For benedictions from these priests prying
Open the mind to enshrine the line of throats slit
With scriptures scrambled and coded
“By paying tribute to the men and women whose only instrument is free speech, who imagine and act, UNESCO recognizes in poetry its value as a symbol of the human spirit’s creativity. By giving form and words to that which has none – such as the unfathomable beauty that surrounds us, the immense suffering and misery of the world – poetry contributes to the expansion of our common humanity, helping to increase its strength, solidarity and self-awareness.”
Burning along the Wavelength
Hanging on spirals as a dead man kicking-
Sticking to the point, the beak plunges,
Talons lunge into the lungs to pluck
a breathing, feasting- Life devours itself
as the serpent its tail