inside the peach there's a stone

Moonshine drink and carressing, a drunk,
takes my hand unwaveringly.
It doesn't matter the hand belongs to me.

.

if yr beautiful, u can get away with alot. stupidity even..

if you're intelligent, you can get away with a lot. if you're beautiful and intelligent, you might as well play god.

true biz


rose

.

mr chevy banshee plumber

.

to begin luck, one must grab at one's innards,
lay to rest his heavy eyelids;
after sleep, break an empty cup,
sing a sonnet through the swollen tongue.
was it half empty? half full with something?

apologize for the disease you have given me.
right now. sewn shut, oxidized, ashy.
sleek legs, lips secrete their handicaps, fingerprints,
something you'd have for breakfast, with syrup.

tune in some music, little lava lamps
dissected hearts wafting through thickness,
sprouted green olives, boneless.

clever little elf, how did they not see
blood slithering down the lamp glass,
eyes squinting a hell green.
distracted them with leopard prints.

you daren't grin, to show your teeth,
to let out that shriek hiss, snake named charles,
or to offer pardon for anything, nothing, not the cages.

but i'll find you, in tarot cards, a palm reading,
on horseback, through steep mountains, rafting
down canyon water and into your lush valley.

pluck the flowers and bring them to you,
all the yellow ones.

.

The wet trees sway their memorized dance,
raindrops stare through the fiery mist.
 I question the fog on love and loss.
fall brings the orange and brown and red.
Maybe this is why im writing now.


Like the time when I lived in utah snow.
we drove thru the blackness everyday.
how we marveled at the diamond surprise!
laughing at the fabulous contrasting light,
windows wind down, our kisses left to white.

do you remember our baby boy?
caressing to sleep his immaculate back?
do you remember that god owned the store?
ice everywhere, glassy viperous buds,
white house on 1700 and south?


fists have settled to folding in our laps.
we study each other's dazzled looks.
look, theres a line and a bit of grey.
is this another contrast, you mock?
I think that you have been gone a lot.

.

i am the perfect concubine.
soul has been sadly drained.
large sea with its hunger hands
wisdom knows much more than me.

i keep putting in the lazy grass.
i am entwined in radish green
hung ineptly from obese leaf;
moonshine drink and caressing a drunk
keys grossly to the frontal lobe.

humor takes my hand unwaveringly,
it doesnt matter the hand belongs to me.
it wants to kiss the swig and the watery words,
mocks the divine and wavers bright in the eye.

id like to see you duke it out with me,
id like to feel whats in your secret sleeve.
if you can expand to love, and win
and provide me the nectarine evidence,
i will indisputably knight you to a prince.

.

why, hello there, did u know ...
the peach resides within these stones?

peach meat fleshes out velvety soft,
ready for teeth and tongue and love .
spiders through the juices, poisons the blood.
beguiles the verb and allures the adjective,

careful what you want, be careful my one.

shine your brass spurs till they spark and dull.
loll and be so bold to test a sandy cliff.
flare the devils temper to see what you run out,
how will you angle the outer sea's corrode?
there is no infliction quite so brunt
than spirit muscle spasms, or falling rocks.

dud in pileus clouds, she winks when she stares.
solar deities pour, and the skies burn.
char and ripens and splits the orange feel.
you choke down the honey, she binds to the kill.

no, you're not aware at all.


.

How do I love thee?
Not at all, bee.

.

no matter how terrible things may get...
....








no matter how insane or split our lives become...
....








no matter how fast the years pass us by...
...








no matter how profoundly we may change...
...








i will always, always...

love you.

.

...............

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right.

................

but it is poor me why me oh me boring
the same old worn out blah blah story,
there is no good explanation at all...

.

great one, austere,
by whose intent the distant star
holds its course clear,
now make this spirit soar-
give it that ease,

out of the absolute
abstracted grief, comfortless, mute,
sound the clear note,
pure, piercing as the flute:
give it precision.

austere, great one,
by whose grace the inalterable son
may still be wrestled from
the corrupt lung:
give it strict form.


.

No matter how awful it is to be sitting in this

Terrible magazine office,
and talking to this

Circular-saw-voiced West side girl in a dirt-

Stiff Marimekko and lavender glasses, and this.


.

SEX, please

.

you press my skin, so tired of dreaming
and loving and kissing and scheming and burning
without source nor punishment or bible or demon

we always fuse back heart shaped and bleeding
we count the years with crooked precision
we're up to our elbows in strike and conviction

wait dear one im still engraved to your hand
im still here with you, im still sewn to you
i still laugh at our jokes, i still dream in our bed

"im sorry for looking, for losing sight
im sorry for apologizing so many times
im sorry for crippling our love"

but now the stern moon looks on us by
entwined with the stars and hot with the yearn
you become the ball the shape the cloud
i become the rain the roar and the clear

night flushed our curse at the crack of dawn
you know dear one its time for us
to cover the flame and bring it to ash
and spring will revive us from dying

.

You were my sun, you were my earth
but you didnt know all the ways I loved you, no







So you took a chance, and made other plans
But I betcha didnt think they'd come crashin down, no

.

I KNOW, honey child

its been a looong time


.

my pink swan of origami is itching to be un folded, then re folded. itching for it. yearning for your long slender fingers which are beautiful and tender, and hooked like a cats tongue..... and oh so rorschach precise.


.

i'm too happy to write a poem.
damn it


.

come on die young




.