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The Killing FieldsHalf a world
away, though I linger
here in a field by a
and on the horizon,
a temple of skulls;
though the dead
don't rest easy
as towering pearls.
Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams
Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”
precious momentsi used to play checkers
with the grandfather clock
at the local flea market.
i visited him every day,
somehow, he would still be there,
week after week,
standing regally near a
lamp missing its shade.
grandfather clock was a quiet fellow,
choosing to say something
only at two fifty three, and only
every other day.
the ugly baby with the owl eyes
couldn't keep quiet,
rambling on and on about
how it used to live
with someone who played
the banjo (at least,
that's what i think it said.)
in the stand next to grandfather
clock, there sat a statue
of elephants, bronze and rusting,
who preferred to stay silent
unless there happened to b
the weather latelywhen i tilt my glass up,
dregs of iced tea powder
become an orange starscape,
an eclipse wrought with holes;
summer, beautiful and searing.
weight of the worldand suddenly--
it was like the world decided that
it didn't want to carry its burden any longer,
so it shifted the weight
into the hollows of my bones
and told me that
it was my problem now.
White FlowersThe doctor was old
and had thin old braids
for skin, hard
red fingernails. She said,
it's not that you are a bad woman
but more that you cannot leave
things be. She looked sad
and fabulous, liver-spots
and lipstick, teeth
like dull old stars,
like the weeping boys
who used to love me
and steal my dresses. She said
you are not bad,
are you listening?
and I swallowed, turned
the rock in my hands, said
There are these teeth stuck
in the back of my head
that tell me
I am not good,
I am not good
at all, get 'em out,
and we cried,
into my hair.
TemponautSundays: no one's butterflies are
going to affect the wavelength
of the sun magnifying ants
(nothing will happen anyway).
Rewind, the air wrinkles into
sundays: no one's butterflies are
stuck on weeping quicklime (not yet)
that doesn't hesitate; floor it.
High-pitched tires are slashed by the
hissing water, parked sometime on
sundays: no one's butterflies are
run over by broken sunshine.
One last time to make this right, keep
blinking back - stop flapping its wings
'fore they reek like pelting rain from
sundays: no one's butterflies are...
feelingfunnycatfish in a fish farm
staring at the sky
to dream about the sea
See People say that losing their sight is the most frightening experience a soul could endure, forever wandering in the dark, unable to see the soft smile of their mother and blind to the affectionate gaze of a lover."I am alone," they would say, "All alone in my misery." Then, their mothers will draw them into their gentle, tender embrace and their lovers will drip words of golden honey into their ears.... and all would be well. Different, but well.
I lived in that deep void, not left alone for two consecutive moments since the day I was born. There were always people around me-- my parents, my sister, Bea.... the comforting presence of quie
Freezer“…Hell? I guess you could say that.”
The man coughed again. At least, I think he’s a man. I can only see the light from his cigarette.
I expected to be anywhere but here. What “here” is I don’t even know, but I don’t think it really matters. All I know is that it’s dark. And damn cold.
“God, how cold is this place, twenty degrees or something?” I asked. I might as well make conversation with the man, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.
“I would say below that,” said the man. His voice was husky and cracked, the kind of voice a very heavy smoker gets. Go
perfect calmsuffer this,
while you are cutting up my poems,
rearranging lines and repainting the room
where we first met.
is it sad when we can say that yes,
we're setting fire to the sails of a ship
still miles out at sea,
but this is what it takes to dream these
it's times like this where even the stars
can't guide us.
so suffer this and suffer me
when I am in a mood to (feel);
to color in the broken bones
that are all
we can leave each other with.
It Can Be So ElusiveOn the reservation
and all that jazz
I am always hot inside,
a dinosaur in the garden.
But life, like a tunnel
if out at night,
in a whisper
I remember the good things.
Not the machine evangelist.
and i'm shivering cold on a well lit stage.there's been silence for a while now
but not in my head
at night those words rage
against my eyelids
they flourish and grow into
a carnivorous plant
eat me up
swallow me whole
when your body unites against you
it should be crystal clear that
you either have to change
your venomous, excruciating, catastrophic
just go to hell right away
i am still deciding
i probably will be for ever
today i'm indifferent
yesterday i was sure of my victory
over myself, over you
over the world
the day before i had sold my soul
to that good looking iced man
that freezes you with his gaze
till you burn in a cage
that will no
the house still smells like you
and the right side of my bed too.
your pale love marks still litter my neck,
the creases of my hips
and the curve of my shoulder.
there's a ring from your coffee cup
on the counter from yesterday
and a pack of your goddamn cigarettes
on the living room table.
you don't clean up well; never did
always leaving your orange peels
on the damn window sill
and your towel on the chair
in the corner of the room.
i hated that-
but i loved you.
when all's said and done;
after i've liquored down the memories,
i will be the only tangible thing
left to prove you were here at all.
Last Song of the NightYour hands
1:28 AMI tell myself that you are young.
So often I forget the sound of
the ocean. The gears of my inner organ
cannot emulate pain. It would
but the mechanisms howl for a name.
I couldn't hate you.
The garishness of my drunken
syntax delights upon the vision
of a once loved you.
When I think of you
I think of what we are--
cosmic dust in the universe.
but yes, I understood
as I plunge down into the senseless
reimaginings of a past,
an orifice, a symbol.
Indifference is cruelty.
Some Lovers III died on a cold
day, numbed fingers flexing,
grasping at the last traces of embers
withering in the grate.
I died holding your hand,
the hand I accidentally fractured
when I pushed you too
harshly near an edge
and you flailed to find
a more elegant way
to fall and then
I heard the scaphoid crack
but I didn't. I heard the cry
first and the pain came later
but you held my
I died with my arms
held over my head,
pinned down to the sheets by your solid
mass, fingers entwined
with yours until I
could no longer tell which bones
were my own. I baked
in the aftermath of the dying
heat and fe
AlabamaIt's hard to see God sometimes because we don't "see" Him. He doesn't walk among us as he did with Adam and Eve in the garden. We don't see His face. He doesn't sit down with us to talk as he did with Job. He doesn't present himself among burning bushes and instruct us when we are scared. We don't generally see Him, at least not in the physical sense. Sometimes days, weeks, and months go by without "seeing" Him. When so much time goes by, one can began to lose a little faith. How can we believe in a God we can't see? How can we trust something when we can't see a face, or hear a voice?
This summer, for one week, our church youth took
Sleeping Beautyshe’s in love with a character who
never existed but in the labyrinth of her head:
a patchwork composition of beautiful, lengthy words
she’d heard in her catatonic state; coma living
day in and day out, reliant on the salvation
of a man made of foreign wishing
and imperfection and necessity – an ignorance
of the less than ideal perception of self she’d
come to fear, absention stained romantic to the point
where daydreams were a standard for survival
(real living is for the purposeful of heart,
he loves her in her sleep)
achromiayou used to tell me you loved me,
and amidst all the destruction we
held in our fingertips ( damage and
hopelessness and scars and hell )
i thought that i could believe you,
but the world was so achromatic then.
white was the colour of you setting
my darkness alight with your love.
white was you when you told me to
stick around, when we spoke of love
like it was a possession we could
keep forever, ( if we could only
remember to polish it once in a while )
when you smiled at me like i was
the universe, when we spent hours
trailing through memory and anecdote.
white was when you sent me letters
and taught me to have faith, it was
just so you know there is a difference between loving someone
and being in love with someone;
but it hurts just as much to lose either one
LongingIt is far too lascivious and cruel,
the way the glint in
your unnerving stare commands me to come hither
yet your lips
keep pulsing with isolated, rigid greetings
like you were pushed to a dare of some sort.
But still, I know better
by the sometimes welling that form at
the corners of your eyes
- which you try your best to hide, and
by your ocean-deep sighs that
your longing goes past your matting lashes
and mascara tinted tears.
It is never easy, hiding
everything I desire inside of little words
like "Hello" and "Goodbye" when
all I really want to do is let it out,
set it free, and
chain myself to your everything
with words I shouldn't spea
crypticyou look like a desolate artist
as you huddle into your
own depth of body
if i walk home in the
night blossomed wind
i hold a key in my fist
because trusting the open air
can't be an easy thing to do
i call upon lilith
i call up hecate
i run home with your power
and i don't get attacked
the owl hoots, i think of their
black inked eyes
if i could pluck leaves
from the highest trees
i'd weave and weave
a noose for you
Lascivious DominationMy voice, an erotic key
Your ear, a deprived passage high
Seduction awaits your mind
In threads of passion, the sage am I
Unaware of my parturition
Your mind gasps in exclamation
My mind, a decanter of pleasure
Your mind, a realm of inviting passion
Your sudorific sighs of climax
Your quivering body of lust
Your sensuous sinuous milky skin
And voluptuous appetite of sexual must
Awe you luscious purging mind
Simplicity upon thy rapid thoughts
Yet without the absents of precious song
Your blood raves hotter …
And your fortune now caught
sweet and full of gracebreathless but unbound
she swung through the
like a scythe
cloaked in soot
smoke clinging to her lungs
like wet leaves
bare feet beating
on the cracked earth.
once when she was a child
round face sweet
and full of grace
she stood at the crossroads
crowned in lace
and promised her soul
it only took one voice
one word slipping
from the tongue of
a serpent with human eyes
dark with hate
to condemn her
the years of quiet hymns
that hummed in her heart
and the feel of the
straight wooden pews
at her back.
it was not long then
before fingers poised
in her direction suddenly
recalling that one time
Suicides Learning To SpeakIt’s 6 a.m. A girl is beginning the journey back from Oz, anchored to life by the whirr and beep of machines and tubes. Above her emaciated body, nurses pace, write on clipboards, click their heels and purse their lips. She is oblivious. Her mind drifts in freefall, stuck in an eggshell skull wrapped in nasal gastric tubing and an oxygen pipe forced down her throat like a synthetic umbilical cord. Somewhere, neurotransmitters are sewing themselves back into conscious awareness. There is a person lost somewhere in that body. There is a mind overboard in a black sea, sending up a flare. The nurses are afraid that she will stay in there fo
Sloped CeilingsA black galaxy
billows around moon-rock knees;
bird-shaped and lonely,
the constellations twinkle--
stickers on a dark ceiling.
MaroonedI wrote many a letter to you
with my eyes
as they gazed across ageless seas
year after year of
with my fingertips
as they stroked blitheful clouds
shape upon shape of
I wrote many a letter to you
with my breath
that longed to be boreal wind
mile after mile of
pilgrimage to freedom
and my silence
as it merged with the night
ocean upon ocean of
I wrote many a letter to you
but the waves
returned each one to me
tide after tide of
ornaments I strung them over the lake top on silver garlands
mismatched spider silk hiding in
pockets of sky
& my pair of scissors can't tell me
which is light
which is dark
except that every fate sundrop
& of my own daylight
imperfect architecturedelicate temple
your heart is a chandelier
your brain's a traitor
Sometimes, it's the little things.He always told me I was deep.
An unfiltered distillation of a humanitarian ocean.
He accepted me, gills and all -
He knew that I needed my eccentricities to breathe
under the seascrapers of pollution
that hung over my head.
Or he said he did.
At the end of it all,
he tugged the gills open to expose me;
my innards trailed across the coral reef
as I swam trustingly forward, hoping for the best.
I tried to believe.
I believed him, gills and all -
But eventually, he left me, with holes in my sides
Where he had spooned out my intestines
To tether them to a boulder.
I tried to breath
FragmentedI desired to love with no shame
but your heart breathed sorrows into me,
leaving wreckage of broken souls
disjointed and worn.
My Body, My TombColonizing my spine
little seeds of contempt
of impious intent
shoulders turn, seized
from under my control
on once free limbs now
devoid of free will
within the clutches
of their venomous kiss
I cry, locked inside
this body, now tomb
from the burdened
burnt by the sting
of this blistered existence
which will soon smother me
The Song of Leaving BirdsOf tired feathers silken touch,
The ancient tale of pilgrimage
When maple leaves turn red and gold
The soaring spirits know no cage
Goodbye to mists and fading fern
To silver threads of gossamer
The rosehips red and bitter sloes
Until the spring comes young and fair
Goodbye to songs in dreamy dusk
And the warm nests of sunny youth
When wings are weak, the will is strong
And stars will guide us to the South
To the far lands where winter winds
Do not have power over Sun,
So we can return in the spring,
Because home... home is only one.
Death of a ForestThe forgotten gods can't stand the light
where the shadows used to fall
The Death is called brother of Sleep, the last of the Free.
She calls the crows to the depths of the ocean where all hopes sank.
Sagrada Familia queuing to step down from heaven...
In every leaf, every tear
hidden hunter's remorse
Lost between hell and paradise, between time and space,
Immense silence after the ice has melted.
No echo of my footsteps... It's time to run away.
A heart of steel is always the weakest.
Look into my EyesOf my all forms, there is only one left. Of all my senses, I use only one. I don't remember the taste of wine in Valmar. I don't remember the feel of the hammer and anvil in my hands. I don't remember the sound of the Song I sang once, before Arda came into being. I see. I see the doom nearing. It walks with soft steps into the very heart of my realm, and I know it's too late already.
"I have come. But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!"
The centuries of watching, and yet I didn't see this coming. I know this form will not hold much longer, and so I look for the last time. Because that's
In the darkest void,
A child is born,
Within a bright light,
Filled with joy.
She grows to be a beautiful lass,
With laughter and smiles,
She brings happiness to life,
Filling it with beings of light.
Time passes by,
She grows as well to give birth to a child,
Which shall live within her Heart,
That is why she will be called Mother Earth.