My Algebra of Dreams

29 notes

the remains of the moon

putting softness on facial skin
concealing broken mirrors
cracking through
her uranium
nights
she
seeks
mystic moons
on savannah icebergs
thrumming into volumes
of shakespearean symphonies

as
her feet
dangle from
lavender dreams

wet
with
rushing rivers
of hair-braided lust
spinning upon the waves
of a nearby shipwrecking sea
she talks with poet sailors pointing
at an hourglass inventing her own legends
for furthering her career as a gin-soaked torch singer

she excavates
the remains of the moon
whorled away by slipstreams
of falling patterns of fractal souls …

she seeks
ancient ruins …

perhaps
she left him there.

45 notes

her abstract faces

she draws abstract faces
on cobblestone walls
to murder herself
with tumid art
but shadows
dance
with
me
laughing at
a parade of
classic ghosts
who remember
fragments of her past

a time
when shady
flowers whispered
secrets over and over … teasing
reactionary graves with church doctrines
as they scraped erotic fragrances off of flaunting nymphs …

such graveyards came to life
when she dug deep
into the
night

now …

rain pours down upon her
rinsing sins off her fluffy hands …

and her art
begins to
suffer

so …

her thoughts fly
to hummingbirds trapped
in cellars of beautiful minds
calling long-distance for a simple
rendez-vous with travelling butterflies
who swim by my open window
on imaginary oceans as
i leak my thoughts
on blank
pages …

creating
more madness
as the day stretches
itself into a vortex of confusion …

the circus
winds up my mind while
my endless self-conversations
take me to her symmetrical soul

sitting there
by the window
with her hummingbirds
and a thousand butterflies
littered with abstract faces.

51 notes

her falling petals

trees
alongside
the rails leaning
into the heavy sun
as the day turns darker

eyes
in awe of
her secrets
flowering into
tired old crows

crosswinds
carry stones
with words etched
in paraphrased beauty

her poems were captured
in yesterday’s arrogant storm

now … like petals …

f
a
l
l
i
n
g …

into the soil
of my hands

seeding
mystery …

loving
her darkness
with holy temperament …

she nudges
the earth
with
her

f
a
l
l
i
n
g …

dark petals
slipping through
my tinkered fingers

there is much to learn
from her immense tragedy.

48 notes

the hallucinatory landscape of your words

a subtle
gathering of signs …
outside my broken window

no more
solemn days
to betray my hell

ah … will i begin another season in hell
and read Rimbaud again?

will i take
an interest
in hallucinations?

reading a little bit of Wittgenstein
shrivels the elegance of my syntax
and your words, my darling, are the

holy stalkers
of souls …

but … go ahead

heap your love upon me
shatter me into pieces
christen my flesh
with your
poetry

i’m
unfamiliar
with the scales
that measure our
flimsy illicit passion … but

i run to darkness
to escape the night … no one knows why

it is a
beautiful symptom …
it asks for your care

but these laminated
thoughts throw fists

at the wind
eroding the clouds
with my endless habit

of crying for one more season
… to be under your empire of love …

your words
paint
landscapes i fall into -

they are my redeeming hallucinations

i crave your
words like beautiful poisons …
they have strange energies …

a crow
told me
they must come
from a goddess …

52 notes

soul to soul

howling winds
look sideways
past the moon

shadows and the sound
of wings bury my thoughts
beneath the squandered soil

secrets lie
in dreams

sometimes they scream at me
but i turn away at your command

as
my
nights
are written
with hot blood …

my soul
lies beside
a broken tree … beheaded

by
demons
orphaned by
the sullen moon … hollowed out

by nightly screams …
not of the natural world …

you
sleep
so far
away … but

somehow … you are here
and
i smell the fragrance
of your presence …

soul to soul
our palms are
pressed together …

soul
to soul
we have crossed over
into each other unaffected
by the beastful deadly night …

soul
to soul
we calm
the forces
above the sky
beneath the earth …

in the morning
we will fly to the sun … soul to soul.

67 notes

we play like mystics

night sky
trembles
fingers caress
the apricot moon

we are
left alone
late summer
finally sleeping
by the dusty road

autumn is
aroused
winking
berry
eye
at
us …

we lie
fetal posture
mind guessing
the path unknown
i meet you halfway
inside my fractured soul …

you read
palms
like
a
spy … but

barefoot
you read
me poems

closed doors open
into the blue
emptiness

timid
stones
talk to us
as we let
go
of
our perspective
falling
backwards
out of Time

and
we play
where there is
no today, no yesterday, no tomorrow …

48 notes

you guarantee me lunacy

i serenade
the disheveled lunacy
of your articulate poemology

as

you become reckless
with the gathering of your engorged
studious torment
groping for the perfect poetic anguish

climbing the scaffold
of sultry poets
grinding
in and
out

of transcendence
soaked in cherry blossom alchemy
of sweet tooth late post-modern capitalism …

i feel the
heated submissions &
shuddering surrenders

i see
ruffled
plumes
weeping at
your hauntings … and

feasting on
untamed affection
i ache for the urgency
of your refined lips and tongue

dwelling in the
excess of your writing
i surge into rivers of freedom
with the guaranteed lunacy of poetic
ecclesiastical worship at the local winery …

59 notes

feeling the insecurity

the immediacy
of
this madness
“to be in love”
wedged
in
our
fiction
in the stage
of starvation

located in the absence
of a night journey

is where

the
troublesome
soul
of
hysterics
blurs
the lines
of separation …

it loses
the context
of the turbulent
meta-narrative joists
of holy flesh and blood

and … dwelling
in the morsels
of mirages is
the privilege
of our dire

existence
sprawling

across the
monstrous

insecurity
of our
feelings

especially when
we reach out
just to touch
what we
think
is
real
love.

64 notes

i lie here … as you disappear

markings
of
sin
travel
up and down
the path of your flesh
full of flayed fretted graphics
of a long ago herculean legend with
a residue of my silent idle melancholy

bleeding silently
dripping endlessly …

such abstract liquids
are feasts to hungry ghosts
when the supple celebration
of your redemptive arrogance
hunkers down in the flummery of
blood groomed stained questions …

the
cross-fertilization
of your incoherence
within the clamps of envy
echoes into my pores
and into my weary
bones

i lie here
with your name
shaking on my dying lips …

i lie here and smell
the coming of dark angels
watching you turn into an apparition
expunging your soul and flesh out of existence

i lie
here
and see
myself on the other side of the room
looking at me with wild eyes trapped …

in an orbit
of confusion
silently screaming
through an endless night.

62 notes

be careful, girl

i love
those
dreams that
bring you caffeinated vertigo
organized with lips burning for
a catalogue of networking lovers

but
hold on, girl

hot cleavage
and a sedated mind
grow charming claws

but …

hold on …

your
boudoir
tongue parades
like massaging hands
cultivating erotic spasms

and

wayward eyes
with gesticulations
resplendent in the fawning
conceit of your capricious gestures
are masquerading deeper secretive thrusts

into an empty
feisty fantasy
bursting
the pharmaceuticals
of your delicate mind

hold on ..

your life
is already latticed
in sweltering storms ..

be careful …

of his
calculations
and the ratio
of his urgency.