My Algebra of Dreams

26 notes

lips

are you up to it …
leaving
me your lips …

those
architectural lips
full of artistic passion
that measure distances between
me and the moon and the stars?

are you sure
this sideway
business
of loving
me is
ok?

humid and hot
swimming in and out of
the deep reservoir of love … we flew

into intervals

seeking
infinities
where we lost ourselves
to our privileged freedom …

drenched
in the bluest
ray of the moon’s elixir … stretching
toward
my fiction …

where

you
gifted me
that ruby flesh
when you kissed me
with one last drink of art
touching each side of existence …

52 notes

custody of love

your spell
holds
me
in custody

vigilante clouds
boasting
of the
absolute …

as hourly wages
fatten the banks

of rivers

crumbling
through the migration
of beasts … in motion … and

we are
these beasts

we hold
hands
in the
questions posed by nature … where
we are mounted in mirrors

looking
inside
out

and
we leap
into each
other’s soul …

like
whirlwinds …

twisting
in the dark
easy fabric … of love

discharged
from
the
fiction of reality -

we hold on
to each other
without words … where we love so easily.

37 notes

the great contamination

convulsions
are not sedated
avenues that reach

inside
scripture
fixated with
self-markings

with watchful eyes
of thirsty tablets of

labyrinthine
syllabic shadows

kissing
as ghosts do

with the immensity of silence …

otherwise

silence … is
a place
of pause
from the scruples
of erotic convulsions -

a place
of
no-anxiety

layered
with footnotes
walking into the sun

next door
to the animal kingdom
where we breathe only

the oxygen
of the earth …

this is when we have ripped out everything
and nothing stands still but the zen-mind
anchored to the earth inside the soil
of the ten thousand centuries
that have lived before the
great contamination.

49 notes

hipster hips

her ferocious
and thundering
hips are confessions ….
they yearn to colonize your pulse …

specializes
in tyranny
with
love

sutured
in madness
with foot fetish
affective cat markings …

her eyes weave
networks of
lusty
aesthetics
cresting like
ocean waves

as delicate sweats
pour their lavish
honesty
upon
you

the scent
of her desires
articulates her hunger

and

it’s fixated
in the folds
of her eyes …

she’ll slaughter you tonight
when the singularity of
her madness will
intensify into
her art …

your eyes
will
understand … the meaning of her hips.

44 notes

poetry waltz

place your phallic thoughts
inside the strumming of words

it is the business
of the night
when

metaphysics become flaming flares
of old stars stitching language in metronome carnality

letters offer style - be diligent;

hammer them
into social events
with the charms of
coke- brain chemistry

falling off
a stack of clouds
offer word discounts
for an afternoon
of riddles …

put them
to work … otherwise

subordinate urges
trespass into fractal footnotes

and

fly

into an abbreviated sky
full of mollusks from
an ocean crab
hooked on
salty
sins …

language cracks
its collarbone
full of wordy
bullets …

and
your poetry
runs through my
fictive lonely arteries

they ask
me for a dance …

award winners fly
away
and
bid us goodnight -

61 notes

she offers me …
a pause
a moment …

an 
interlude
handing over
simple truths …

reflections, insights
into axiological
moments

and

my 
heart 
leaps into
the healing
home of joy …




available at Lulu.com

she offers me …
a pause
a moment …

an
interlude
handing over
simple truths …

reflections, insights
into axiological
moments

and

my
heart
leaps into
the healing
home of joy …


available at Lulu.com

Filed under Lulu.com writteninjoy2

40 notes

drunken words

she
liquors literature
with saliva full of culture
extracting time from infinity
to temper a blind-spot of
her soft childhood
soul

but she ignores the hemp
feathers of my wings as they soar

beside
an insufficient reality
seeking conferences

with
ghosts
and crows …

and

pages
of floating moon-words
laying on her luminous

ocean floor

shiver in
the night … these are my words

written
for dreams
to capture her

soul

from a thousand fists
screaming at an
abbreviated
universe

concealed inside her palms
full of narration babbling
in the language of
childhood
plotted
along
the lines
of her innocence …

i’m here … my soul is drunk …

and … my wings …

seek her spirit
through these words … of a drunk soul.

49 notes

she, we, him

she
reveals
herself
to be elsewhere
in an outer layer

of love
of a persona
of sleaze mischief
in a seminar of self-discovery

she torques her mind
into a collection
of bios -

while

i lose faith
slipping into
crashing equations … and

her words are urges, questions -

but

he crafts himself into hip-hop sentiments
mired in animated elegance as she funks

herself into
his chintzy
events -

she incarcerates her other mind
into the folds of his puckish self

but

i cringe
on the battlefield
of my rugged alter ego … as

urges fall awash
into silences
beneath
the
skin

beneath the breathing
apparatus of summer

here … i
lose her to him

here … i
hear the noises
of my summer flowers

screeching
with envy
under
the
sun.

61 notes

of crows and bold whispers

you breathe
of crows and bold whispers
carried along
on a notebook of roses … but

i spend
my days
in the scent
of jasmine plum …

perhaps
your hands
tell me stories
as they tramp
across my flesh

and life runs
its tongue across
the paragraphs of

your thoughts - full

of dog bites
barking
into
the

future
of sounds
and syntax ….

calling me
for more nights …

your eyebrows
are half-spoken fictions
measured by the spells

of archived selves
cracking through the
emergency clouds of

amused
tomorrows …

i’m tensed up
when you talk of love
and rewind it in the night

as
i live
in the

nomadic links
of your verses

you are
poetry on the run
with an inebriated breath

talking of
crows
and
bold whispers …

while i sniff
a whiff of eternity

and
fall
back
in love
with you.