the corners are sharp tonight against the sky

wincing at half hearted attempts
at anything.
everything.
swallowing the sweetest deception
offered amongst the band of thieves.
waving no flag.
it wasn't meant to be, i say.

and perhaps believe it.

show me what you're made of.
who you are.
how far you're willing to go.
keep growing
into and out of yourself.

no.
more than that.

then ask how it feels.
and i'll say
something like an atomic blast.

where sensation expands in waves.
collides with edges.
as though helpless.
like iron filings to a magnet.
when everything is sucked back.
to the point of origin.
and released.
swollen and tender.
hungry and exact.
in that moment at least.

and we hold on.
as best we can.
like sand in clenched fists.
powerless
to the inevitability of movement.
and the tendency
of realitites, like the wind,
to change...

having this
overwhelming longing
to be seen.
really seen.
with more than eyes.
inside out.
for someone to say
oh, yes.
to vibrate
on the same frequency.
it stems from that.
to be touched
somewhere
deeper than the surface.....

consequences. a test. or dare..

sometimes amid the noise
i sing my heart out.
regardless of the ghosts
who, as always,
are hungry. looking
for a way in.

as though they ever leave.

so, go on.
crack these ribs like a wishbone.
already there's chaos in the castle.

you're caught
between my teeth and fingers.

bare the bones in your back
and defy the laws of probability.
approach from every angle.
learn to read lips and eyes.
carry this heart because,
not despite, of
it's million red strings.


..........


"..If you can
love without politeness or delicacy,
the fox says, love her with your wolf heart.." ~ from how to love the dead, by jack gilbert

the madness of this milky morning. every day.

there is always a choice i thought.
but then some things sneak up on you
quite unexpectedly.
like sleep.
and love.

lying here i notice
the clouds are moving the wrong way
like the melancholia that moves in
for days at a time.

and the heart of me,

aquainted with the night and this mind
that never stops
-perhaps a flaw of inhaling too deep
and the power of becoming-

wishes you could read,
like braille
with non-eyes,
the invisible ink that paints
this ever-contradictory portrait

of me
in words.

movement. in silence or not

as if returning from a dream you had before you knew you were sleeping. secret somnambulist. vertical, i think. carrying prophecies that melt from solidity into everything you cant quite put your finger on. thy kingdom will come. and when it does, would you even know?

though you sleeping beside me are no wiser than i about futures

less audible but more perceptible through their shockwaves are the drumrolls proceeding the chance encounters that later prompt the question "what took you so long?" especially when, on those kind of drunken nights in the garden beneath the moon's eye in northern skies caught in your energy filled with light, im held in your mouth and hands as the stars whisper how we are our thoughts brought to life and more than a little mystery...