I. These Heartbeats Are Made Of Bark And Tears
Here inside
the carbon-stained
cliffs of my aching mind
the bustling time-spiders
inject their venom of oozing seconds
and shape-shifting moments
into my Rorschach consciousness.
(There is a healing whisper
forming on the lips of the wind.)
Blood like paint converges
from the battling hemispheres of my brain
to rain down from my eyes
like a syrup of agony that forms
a flailing field of rainbow droplets
which splatter against the fluxing fault lines
of my tectonic heart.
(There is a healing whisper
forming on the lips of the wind.)
II. This Love Is A Tourniquet
We ascend like angels
across aged castle steps,
spiraling away from the dungeon-like emanations
that arise from the dead and defeated pupils
of the bastard children of time.
Like the prismatic eyes
of the floating dragonfly
I capture all the stages of your ascent
from innocent to carnal,
playful to maudlin,
frightened to blissfully content.
And now,
as the wind delicately tramples
the moist corners of our trembling lips
we drift towards the water’s edge
to reclaim the calming language
of swirling leaves as our own.
As we speak in forest tongue
each syllable softens our anxious faces
until they suddenly split like a waterfall
to reveal our hidden flames of longing:
with bare feet and exposed hearts
we begin to fire-walk over the tendrils of creation.
III. A Thirst That Cannot Be Quenched
As love forms from the smoky fruit
of our smoldering body-friction
we dissolve into each other’s arms,
slipping one molecule at a time
past the palatial sieve of time’s icy fingers.
As we disappear into
moments yet-to-be
each future possibility
sends us stumbling
toward the haunting reflections of our eyes
which gently meander down the distant waterway
like faintly flickering paper lanterns,
whose delicate murmur is:
always homeward bound.
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Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse
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