A Galactic Starburst In The Shape Of A Bullet

1.

I am a thin sliver of doubt

floating upon a sea of devastating tranquility.

 

Yet I dream with the velocity

of exploding stars.

2.

As planet Earth rotates at 1,000 miles per hour,

my mind twirls with dream-time possibilities;

 

like a ball on a string we simultaneously zoom

around a lemony sun at 66,000 miles per hour.

3.

Even when I try to cease these clock-tick movements

the chemistry of life churns onward as heartbeat by heartbeat

my body rifles through space-time.

 

In the massive serenity of the moment

I sense the glacial churn of the Milky Way;

 

though our spiral arm spins at 483,000 miles per hour,

it still feels like swimming in molasses.

 

4.

As I sink deeper into this cosmic mirror-land

I hear the faint rattle of a snake’s tail

as my perspective morphs again.

 

Relative to the Cosmic Background Radiation,

the Milky Way barrels through space-time

at 1.3 million miles per hour.

 

5.

As my essence bathes in the faint

universal whispers of the big bang

 

I taste millimeter-sized wavelengths

bursting with the flavor of human epiphany,

 

for I suddenly know that,

since the formation of the Sun and Earth,

 

the quarks that compose my body

have spun around the Milky Way twenty times.

 

6.

I am a thin sliver of doubt

floating upon a sea of devastating tranquility.

 

Yet I dream with the velocity

of exploding stars.

 

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic

 

 

Illustrate Your Muse With The Needle Of Your Verse

1.
on her arms
carve a delicate
bloodletting

each pinprick
a sandy glint
in her Martian landscape

canals of meaning fill
until finally the storm has left her streaking
like an iron sunrise

on her limbs
the word-tattoos dry
like calligraphy
on tree trunks

2.
she
so mysterious

a
work-of-art
in motion

a
crimson flower
stamped with the light of dawn

 

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

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Metaphysical Magic

How To Lose An Argument With The Monsoon Sky

1.

on this blood blossoming highway

my heart is a steam engine barreling onward

as the sound of air

 

violently decompressing

 

floods the passing terrain

with the crimson wailing

of indelicate endings

 

2.

trapped under the wreckage

of her defunct smile

 

I met an angel with a bow

made of ancient bones

and poison-tipped arrows

imprinted with the double helix

 

as the black soot of agony

caked onto my face

 

I saw a mutant devil

strumming his dozen arms

like a giant harp

made of centipede legs

 

3.

here on the stretcher

 

as my stolen oxygen streaks

through the air like burning tire treads

 

I shall await your returning fingertips

like a newborn awaiting resuscitation

 

for here

 

the licorice night

chomps down on

the iris-heavy calm

 

which once catapulted

this singing skull tower

 

from yellow to white

and back again

 

from sun to moon

and back again

 

4.

I,

with a mind

of a cyborg child

 

I,

with limbs made

of broken robots

 

am gone from the fight

 

returned to the great

filthy underbelly

 

from where I recall the inquisitive eyes

and the rare but admirable personalities

from the perspective of four thought-soaked legs

which splash and splash inside swelling puddles of rain

 

5.

as if the atmosphere

itself was saturated

 

like the pith

of a rare citrus fruit

that shone like purple diamonds

hovering over a pink skyline

 

I vomited the colors

as time carved my midsection

with the blade of living

 

then dried my organs

into tea leaves

 

to be soaked and sipped

by the slothful spin of the earth

by the mindlessness of the water-hungry trees

 

6.

fate melts into thickets of disguise

as you approach the avenue of despair

 

so I

turn off this rain

 

of consciousness

and strain

 

and as the escape hatch snaps open

the skeletal black

 

rises

like

ebony

dinosaur bones

 

swarming into the killing skies

swarming into the killing skies

7.

I see an angel with a bow

made of ancient bones

 

I see a mutant devil

strumming his dozen arms

like a giant harp

made of centipede legs

 

I watch from high above

as the artifice of the world

slowly exits from my body

in smoky kaleidoscopic ringlets

that playfully drift towards me

 

like a jester’s mischievous smile

like a jester’s mischievous smile

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

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Metaphysical Magic

 

Articulated by Raising the Blade of the Tongue

1.

Nervous butterflies line my palms with coronal patterns:

silent, colorful eyes that erupt with the crunch and

scald of evolution.

2.

I set a trap of future lullabies and pet names

under your patiently restrained eyes

(which twitch and pause with the muscled power

of romantic possibility).

3.

The wisping curtain of our harmoniously whispered song

flows from the stringed instrument of our meeting eyelashes

and penetrates our concrete-carved defenses

with the sun-kissed beauty of our outstretched,

welcoming palms.

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

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Metaphysical Magic

Home

The winter flower’s bloom
erupts in fragrance
as your weariness cascades
and crumbles with each step closer
to the warmth of home
(which is simply any space
in the universe where
our hands meet
and our eyes say hello).

In truth,
I hold on to you tightest
in the moments
when we close ourselves off
from one another.

Even during floods of anger
I know that soon,
in the patient darkness,
only regenerating beauty
will spill from your night-sleeping eyes
to mine.

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

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Metaphysical Magic

Time Filled My Pockets With The Glow Worms Of Momentum

1. The Sound Of A Teardrop Distilled Into Alien Ears

the faultless sun
sure shot us
an indecipherable gaze
that day

we drifted to the
atmosphere’s edge
naked

like an orchid blooming
against the defunct metal
of an orbiting satellite

we were left stranded
on the rooftop of the world

where regret pools
in wailing shadows

yet
together we formed Pterodactyl wings
and flew away on thin sheets of skin,
the prehistoric wind brimming
with the fitful sleep of ancient matter

2. Her Superior Genetic Architecture

she
a black-skirted spaceship
hiding in the glare of the sun

stepping lightly down
from the clouds

the brightness of her face
swaying under the slow-churning skies

beneath her
doors creak open
in anticipation

the brightness of her face
swaying under the slow-churning skies

the world greedily swallows
her rings of ambrosia
in savory lumps

leaving nothing
for the scurrying insects below

 


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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

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Metaphysical Magic

Existence May Be Ephemeral, But Cool Is Forever

 

 

Graffiti tags stretch over his mind like plastic surgery gone wrong, like Tunguska flattening a million trees in 1908, a minor asteroid blip bad hair day for planet earth, just ask the dinosaurs, 66 million reasons to bow out into bony dirt for the human race as we pose like dirty harry, cooler than any upstart species ought to think itself to be.  Lock & load like it’s the 80s and go out in a hail of lead, a hero’s final heartbeats painted across the cluttered cityscape while the invincibility of youth bleeds out in the black & white swansong of a fading vintage photograph.

 


Please enjoy my books (FREE pdf of first two books here) and leave a 5 star review:

Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic