I Am Going To Transform You Into The Tulip That You Are

Crying in a dream,
riding in the backseat
of an old car,
Pearl Jam’s exquisite B-side
Yellow Ledbetter playing in my head.

The soaring sorrow
of a dislocated heart
rising and falling like birds
kissing the sky.

Star-kissed lover,
tears and years deep,
something so beautiful
has been unleashed
from my soul.

Although I am spilling
salty tears from the past,
it is only the catharsis
of finally knowing
what home feels like,
clouds of darkness
holding in the rain,
until one Sunday a monsoon
of redemptive love flooded
away all the hurt that
huddled in fear around my neck.

One dream of a girl made of magic,
one hope of a boy sent to learn
the language of the stars,
a fleet of anguished ships
diminishing upon the horizon.

My love for you is infinite,
yet expanding exponentially
into the bright blue sky of our love.

I was so powerfully
in the moment
of that dream,
weeping for all the artists
in all the universes,
for those evocations of emotion,
those scarecrows of the human spirit.

And then the lyrics transposed
into a message from my heart to yours:

“I am going to transform you
into the tulip that you are.”

And the power of poetry
drove me back to consciousness,
back into the true surreality
in which the most vivacious woman
in the universe is somehow mine.

And we fly high above the Earth,
and we paint with rings of color born
of the husks of supernovae,
nebulae so beautiful we don’t need
eyes to see them.

And we laugh as denizens
of the cosmos should,
as loving friends bellowing
to an inside joke.

Communicate. Kiss.
Caress. Make love. Make art.
Reflect. Learn.

And repeat.
And repeat.

This Is The Silence That Strikes As A Dagger Falls

I.

Upon awakening

my skull feels clustered

with the deadwood

of dreams.

 

Raising a lightning-soaked hand

to my eyes I am suddenly buried

by the approaching rumble

of a swaggering summer storm.

 

Stepping outside

into the midnight mist

the trees look like logs

carved from clouds

of interstellar gas.

 

Gazing upwards into

the blurred atmosphere

my star-drunk thoughts gallop

through the expansive and opaque landscape

as my legs shiver and contract

as if yearning to outrun

the turbulent shell of sky

that encircles us all.

 

In the frenzied flutter

poignant flashes of thunderclouds

tilt the stained-glass revolver of my mind upwards

to marvel at the melting moonstone above

which looks so bioluminescent,

like a thousand year old Honey Fungus

leaping the eight light seconds of distance

by sliding down the ubiquitous root system

of expanding space-time.

 

II.

As my cheeks overflow

with tears from the sky

I pierce the livid sapphire ceiling

with the pain from my eyes,

recalling how we once huddled together

in the explosive arms of night,

unafraid to bask in the eternal swerve and sway;

content to marry our wounds to the phase-shifting sky

as we attempted to untangle evolution’s straitjacket of consciousness,

one thread of free will at a time.

 

It was then that an asteroid field of gray light crashed into our eyes,

injecting our mirrored gaze with such tender momentum

that soon we ripped into the heaving skies like a pair of wiry hands,

slowly unfurling an underlying layer of painted canvas

that resplendently filled us with the irrepressible buoyancy

of a blazing dawn sky.

 

III.

As time stumbled to a halt,

the fabric of the cosmos

became gilded into the handle

of us.

 

Your imprints

drained in oily whirls

into my emotional center.

 

And into the porous medium

of your receptive mouth

 

I planted an orchard

of fruiting desire.

Drown Me In Hungry Glances While I Breathe The Oxygen Of Your Smile

I. An Edifice Of Isolation, Built With The Bricks Of Desire

In the darkness of my bedroom
I send my love out in all directions
to search for your gorgeous and delicate brainwaves;
all the thoughts and desires that make you,
all the sparkling electricity that jumps and flutters
as your soft breath and pulsing mind fills a universe.

II. Where We Become Drunken Painters

As moonlight graces your intoxicating eyes
the tender reflection of my emotional core rises and scatters
like a horde of butterflies lifting off in erratic flight:
playfully flitting to and fro like a clumsy rainbow,
they gleefully splatter onto the canvas of the sky.

III. To The Rhythm Of Pounding Hearts

Your delightful countenance decorates even bare walls
with gloriously painted landscapes that sing
like a thousand springtimes captured in a bottle then vigorously shaken
and swiftly let loose into the spaciousness that blooms
whenever two lovers gaze longingly into each other’s eyes.

The Escape Velocity Of A Rorschach Sunset

I.
As the fiery half-eaten orb
melts farther into the mountains,
the heart shudders in astonished jolts.

A gilded feast of morphing shadows tempts
the pattern-hungry brain to arrange
dozens of weather-beaten points
into monstrous faces of jagged rock.

Vectoring like a maniacal dragonfly
the eyes construct (and deconstruct)
tensile bridges of silken meaning.

The shifting boundary of the rugged terrain
slips in and out of focus;
the cerebral cortex strains
like an under-powered microscope
scanning for a fistful of wind-strewn prions.

As night sounds alight
from their distant cliff perches
the velvet handcuffs of night
ease onto the day’s dumbfounded wrists.

II.
Right now,
on the opposite side of the planet,
day swallows night.

But here,
as the crackling firelight
concedes to the ashen skies,
the entire mountainside heaves
like a labyrinthine lung expanding and contracting,
expanding and contracting until finally,
in a subconscious spasm of breath-stopping resolution,
a flood of imagination floats perspective higher:

twin spires spike skyward
like the saber-toothed fangs
of an 800 pound Smilodon populator,
conjured larger than life
to stalk the freshly darkened horizon.

III.
It was as if,
over the millennia,
the beast had evaded extinction
while scaling the mountain peaks
from the bottom up.

As its rock-ribbed limbs
slothfully stumbled skyward,
an avalanche of tumbling stones
lazily colonized the landscape below.

And now,
the backbreaking journey complete,
its insatiable jaws rise
with the curtains of night
to prey upon the starry skies.

The Echo Collector Awakens Alone

I.
Beckoned by the lopsided geometry of a half-empty bed
the vine-entangled walls of my imagination crumble like leaves
into the concrete waters of the present.

As awareness detonates
a rioting hailstorm of consciousness
hammers heart-echoes in rapidly diminishing waves
against the concave shores of my charred psyche.

Dawn’s crisp light crawls
over the roundness of my lips,
melting moonlit memories
into teardrops that fall like icicles
from the ovals in my face.

Dipping her toes
into my fragile lake of thought,
she created a plaster cast
of the footsteps of time.

II.
Though the rigid tremors of Now
threaten to crumble the wobbling edifice of our past,
still we float together on this nostalgic life raft,
sharing air and space and memory.

Even as regret seeps
like a psychedelic river of graffiti
from our time-weary heartbeats:
still nothing is destroyed.

This solitary mountain trail
winds into the eastern sun,
yet as my sprinting feet strike the Earth
I cannot escape the panoramic view
of the towering marble columns we erected
while drunk on love’s astonishing elixir.

Cocooned inside the irrepressible buoyancy
of a raging bonfire our hearts leapt skyward:
there she dipped her fingertips into the drifting clouds,
massaging a miniature portrait of the sky
onto the subtle canvas of my eyes.

Love-Singularity (Awakened By The Tectonic Forces Of Delirium)

I.
Sensuality orbits inside her irises
like a rising river of lightning;
I long for her flickering hands
to carve shadows into my skin.

As our bodies drift closer,
the tremendous crackle of our electric love potential
streaks past our assembling thought bridges
like a flock of neon swans.

She intently studies my face,
unleashing a tsunami of desire.

Visions of a dress-less,
breathless her leap like a pack of dolphins
from my ravenous eyes:
repeatedly breaching
the thin boundary that
separates sea and sky.

As the thunderous wave of yearning
pulses steadily through me,
the blackened stone of my crumbling heart-fortress
dreamily dissolves like sandcastle walls.

I am left exposed,
a pebble in its cavernous wake.

II.
As the mesmerizing swans of desire regroup and return
I am brought to my knees like a worshiping peasant.

My heart helplessly trails the trajectory
of the encircling birds as they rain down
flurry after flurry of silk from their knitting wingtips,
transforming my crouching form into a statuesque cocoon
of quicksilver anticipation.

I slip from gravity’s grip
like a thousand separate strands
of her strawberry hair,
blowing in the wind.

I am carried upon the dawn’s horizon
like a giant caterpillar,
hurled too soon into the sapphire sky.

I melt into the pillowy clouds
like a tired child cradled in the arms of mother:
straining to remain aware
yet content to float idly by,
one finger slicing a trail of ripples
into the deepening river of imagination,
two ears gently catching the intensifying rush of water
as it escapes skyward from the vast ocean trenches of dreams.

III.
Before my freshly unbound eyes
can adjust to the crisp mountain air
my heart cascades like a barrel
over the scintillating waterfall
of her receptive smile.

As I splash down
the tumultuous bats of excitement
scatter like light through a prism,
coating her beguiling eyes
with the water-born hues
of passionate escape.

With a playful wink of her eye
the cocoon’s unwinding accelerates.

At first the strands simply snake
into the ground and disappear,
but soon enormous caterpillars of shimmering silk
emerge to form an enduring tree of joy.

Here underneath its expansive boughs
our fluctuating heart-leaps synchronize.

As we bathe in the universe’s greatest bounty,
our eyelashes collide like gilded butterflies.

IV.
Without these hungry fingertips
how could I sketch the capricious curves
of her blossoming body-language?

Without this dexterous tongue
how could I taste the kaleidoscopic streaks
that so sweetly stain the emotional foothills of our love?

A Constellation Shaped Like The Way A Mother Deer Tends Her Children

1.
Jailed prematurely
by an old soul’s solitude

the crystalline matrix
of her heart’s dusty corners

was born of jaded
molecules of hope.

2.
I find her wandering in a forest of shadows,
the stillness of her slight movements conquers my essence
with the magical flourish of a night sky replete with stars.

As she purposefully walks over the edges of winter’s frosty grip
each boot-step crunches through the silence like a fallen icicle;
as time splinters apart and begins to melt away
I become the fading echo of her voice,
sweetly clamoring towards the snowy treeline.