oratory
syllables dance
with
metaphor levers …

resets soul-making
into synchronous
poetry.

words become
martyrs
as
blood splatters
upon a page -

… use them
for poetry

… but dance
them diligently
as if
they were spirits.

slither
through portals
of
a mandala - see what’s
there -

likely a dream
dancing near
the Void.

the jungian shaman
warned me
you’d
carry
me to moons beyond
what time/space
capsules can
reach -

he talked about
poetry moons -

“she lives there” -
he rattled -

“where moons make
shadows and simple
truths”

from there i get
tossed into
the arms
of the
sky

… and your alchemical
poems
draw me
back
into shadows and i
vanish
from the
earth
time and time again …

you are the anima
in whose shadow
i live …
in
the
dreams
of these
poetry moons.

i rent a condo
on cloud nine
to be close to
where you fly

if you fly … too close
… i will jump for you

… then the sky will
explode.

spring is the season
to dance
with a ghost
… better still,
sleepwalkers
are better partners - you can
lead them …

but

the universe is a
dream … in this
world of Snow White …

ah, or is that cocaine?

perhaps …
my mornings would be better
in Beijing
if i felt the presence of
Confucius in the air - moral
bliss
at my fingertips
would remove
Amphetamine Annie …

from my diary …

perhaps … i’ll walk to
the forest monastery
… where monkish
wolves
are only known by
the moon …

perhaps … i’ll only catch a
sleepwalker
talking with
an owl …

for ghosts have long
abandoned the
forest of the
wolf.

while poets sing
i dive
into the dark
into solitude

there - an Idiot with
passion
greets me,
fills me
with hatred …

walk away
from homo sapiens … the voice
tells me -
beasts are
magnificent - they love, they love

yes - the midnight city
loathes me
… but a cockroach
greets me … with a smile

ah, such morbid
thoughts …

could i ever
escape from
this junkyard dog?

could i ever
just fly … again ..

and
bleed in the
sky with her who
understands my soul?

in the dim shadows
at the foot of
the mountain
secrets
flowed — to and fro

a script written on
the embroidery
of a butterfly
faded
quietly -

… but

you wrote
my grief … on
a snowflake and
turned
it … into a sunburst,

now … it sits on a star
ripened, glazed …
it’s a breath - it says “love”

the quiet moon
blinks
and washes away
the night
of sullen dreams …

into a crisp
crescendo -

there, my friend
you shine -

you balanced me
as i stood on the sky
frozen
in time
where

… even ghosts
can’t find
me

… but
you knew
i
walked by myself
by the pensive moon

you found me
there
as
always

and you
held me …
until the winds
carried us

… to the
mountains of
Kauai …
where we
drank the juice of
ecstasy

… that day

we became
our own truths.

the moon came late
… it had gazed too long
at your
eyes … yet it brought me
the wind

… and your secret text
from your Babylonian
nights
of long ago …

when you drew the
rain upon
embryonic fruits -

… and the pharaoh
had called the gods

… where you stood
as a goddess
and

the Nile groaned-

now,
the night
becomes
my cathedral -

i offer
a sermon of your
text to the ‘
stars
and … unsaid verses
are unfurled
at the night …

in truth,

the moon has never
shone so bright.