This Journal is defunct and on hiatus untill i figure out my poetics.
I am planning on publishing my so far recent full works.
I need to concentrate on birthing a few more, editing, recieving peer feedback and finding a publisher.

love.
Q

I am black ant, my greed is shade
my language is black licorice
I am even with brood, brine and bread

I am peasant king under the sun
I have seen egypt sing, egypt bleed
i have seen cotton fields crack with whip
and blue lightening whip around and grow wings
I guard my families in the night


I am undefeatable
What i sow, is god's holy words, so that
one day and each day they rise
even more stable and sturdy
our promised third.
I am creator, carpenter and
mindful corn
Silent i work under red sun rise

The tides that turn, the mind that hives
my cousin's chariot, that bugling
sweet sonora blue bumbling bee
rises to our mother's throat
and drinks the nectar,
and there she sees
a glimpse of our path
and where to go with our fear

I am black and god's carpenter
and jesus set free
i am raised to arms
Night Herald to indigenous
sky born earthen swim
star milk progeny

I am the last drunken bouts
of indians in the streets in american
cities; drunk yet holding stiffer
than others, where our futures
onward will be.

I am black and, black salt
I am silent and unseen
lonely shade giant, manta ray
i am your lover and
back door bouncer boy

enough of me is enough of thee
i do not estrange myself from
my maize. my corn's eulogy.
i am her lover and a strange
place to be. we two are what
is expected in place of ourselves,
our own perfect match. It's a
sort of Duh! But not many
realize that where theirs are due
is actually what was already theirs
as "too".

We are underground and anise
fennel fronds flirt with our
gentle schematics, our blueprints
- we soar- spiritual ascrobatics

We are the turning, we are the tide
we have been wading, eating shame's side
Its a mix of mixups that makeup
our forms. we are black on red and
red wards for black.

I am. Black ant. I am. honor
under scorching sun. I am
future of our futures undone.
I will welcome you to my table.
given autumns and given time.




************************************


I am black ants with my sisters, black ants
red on their head, red on their chests
we are deeply forested.
the birds, they know us.
we are people of the sun
our empire larger than your citadel
we inspire the turning of the wheel
we know our angels and they testify
they reveal that no angel knows
their infinitude spelt before them, like
the angels who are woven of and into
the chlorophyllic wedding of ancient
woods, our temple world forest.

I had found myself called to, beckoned
by the angelic choirs. when I had
reached a space in the darkened woods
the bliss split me and i called,
a bird like call, a mix of "auxilio"
and "I am here". I am somewhat shamed
I had no song ready for them.
The color of my call, violet and white, sharp and high
It went like a falcon or eagle, a phoenix.
just learning, testing her lungs.
as i sit in these kraelion days,
i find it comparable to 99 red balloons
go by. I sent a message, someone's out there.
I am flower prince, rose too.
My self and my journey an equational
invitation unto itself.
a song, yet sung and stirring.
the stars, the stars, they await.
I await her, my mate, and my love of my life.
these days and henceforth
to deliver us of strife.

the moon bunny, she collects some more wax, some threads a button or two. just enuf.
some more, to see what the deep forest would do. dew.

We eat our love like i lick her fingers. like i spread her wings. like my face is in my pie.
like my probiscus gathers honey nectar and moisture.
like i wish on stars and plan for miracles. nice breezy nights. wakeful brisk mornings with a hot day ahead.
we eat our love like we put up with our misfit moments and whimper our edges. our soiled excuses
and our reasons for treasons. unending.

i hold my love like i hulk. way beyond eros, my hulk bear house shadow scares me.
makes me a bouncer. cupid gives us our masks. we know his smile. they're our playtime masks
with glints all around. or at the edges.

eros is how i know cosmosis is the true definition of how chaos realmed connexions into order.
the universe births itself in large ways that take Exits at Aeons.
And in a minitude of macro ways that make seismic waves through space and time.

Cupid hold's life's nest. The rose and the thorn. The puncture is the point.
Your lips and pointed teeth, my neck, arms, thighs.
the bruise. the broken blood vessels are what i admire, night of, morning after.
When you scare the shit out of me and when you hold me in a forever. the sleep that follows.
our coital rose space in bed. Not always moving straight to our red rose embrace - also yellow rose
butter cream sunshine fold in bed. Mary's favorite.

I know love like i know Erin's hills. like the breeze, the expanse, the mists and the music (hidden)
that sings gold to my soul and to my spirit. that i would cry gold and silver inside,
to an enchantment of place and time.

love of the rose is to be in a space of emotional liquidity and know it for the blessing it is.
It is God's and angels and space for love in an eternity of choices.
some of us are lucky for one or two, some perhaps more.

for all i know is that shadow's dearth is claim to hearth and light in love
is our golden above,
families and families and families of doves.

I am strange swarm.
I am sitting in the cascade
water part left and right
dreaming, becoming
god's cold hard, tired of
cranking the season to
bitter blind and negligent
lords. muffled vassals
and dead scattered peons.
Now bitter biting
dark solar winds
turn the crank
God eases from the task, chosing instead
to be making his house more
padded.
he is going to rest, soon.
padding his bedroom walls like cushions
decorated witht the sort of elegant
fare not seen since madame
Blavatsky retrieved dna strands
in a monocle from ectoplasmic
alien vomit
time travelers licking her ear
fingers on her corset
helping her up.

God has a big bed with a canopy.
King, style but princess
in extreme fancy.
All the plush love made for a lord.
He will turn down the
temperature thermostat, remove relieve
the suicide wave, the psy wave making
tears bitter as ice in heavy
space holds too alrge to deny
the crush on soul, spirit.
Not mending aching bones.

God will sit in a fallowly
just and serenly comfortabley clamy
atmosphere adjustment. More moisture!
Not boiling. breezes and warm
enough for comfort life.

God with long white beard black
skin nice uncircumcised cock,
large balls and gorgeous eyes.

Night gown. Frilly and funny.
Sexy older god in skin, cocoa
his favored ambition.
tired of cranky corners of whiteness.
a god, made rainbow.
bored of fanfare for pallid flesh.

god, tired and copulating with his
right hand.
tastes his semen and
massages it into his scrotum
his granite dreads.

Photo of a pigeon.

West coast    East coast

        BADASS

Pigeon, Rock Dove
Framed in his
bedroom.

Mistress away,

Queen of heaven,
lately laughing hysterically
loud bellly laughing
taken form
shifting too much
to rest on.
little girl,
older woman,
laughing and crying
at the same time
Goddess, granting herself
this prismatic
overpour of
enlivened serenity

Lately she has
taken to painting
on clouds staring
at earth.
in her secret
planetarium.
a space within (and without)
space. a held blank
and bold darkness of its own.
outer space to the female
Herald of Creation.
her blackened roots
to her speckled dreads
tits full and sagg
in unappreciated
normal used clothes
stained, patched.
loved by her, the Matrix.
Queen mother, birther of beyond.
agile avarice, knowing contempt
she studies this.
So not, her winged soft smile
wrinkled nose, she paints
a world inside itself drown through
a hole into nothing
looking up and seeing a reflection
of creation.
dreamscape
Gabriel's playground and palace,
his heartache woods.
herat carved in petrified
wood, I love my phallus, palace
drink my wine heart.
No. Thats not it.
Just a love not to himself

a heart pierced with cherubim spear, arrow.
"garbiel loves you" scrawled in the middle

a note. a tag team effort
of his left side, right side
his hide and go seek invitation
to his salvation, redemtion game
and cedar song.
lonely blood. spark
stolen to indian salmon stream
black and red records of mary.
gabriel's herald. Dark.
his hand latticing understood, misunderstood
layers to creation matrix. azure, cobalt, navy moon
starshine world.
unkempt blueprints.
his careless locks tithin sight from his eyes.
gabriel. eyes down and sorry dove child.

queen mother, Goddess embryo crone

She is younger now but weather
skin.
lopsided awkward youth, still cacao.
God's flesh, Favored of God and God's flesh.

She paints lanterns. entrance to visual
in her painted piece has colored lanterns.
You are floating in water deep dream world
like she is. only you observe empty rowboat
and chinese multicolored lanterns.
close to edge. hole above your still.
backwards marker on the right side of the
scheme of things. you are here. that is there.
she takes
down her painting
moves
out of her dream
art studio creation
space.
her painting
is sold in a vintage store
in New York.
No longer what she
painted.
Paint stripped off the primed canvass.
it is dogs playing poker
or famous dead stars in a cafe.
This is the afterwards of life.
the epilogue.
the world is not ended,
she just misscarried, your choice.
gave up on dwindling
human heart care with knowing design
her - film ran out - what was she to do?
she had to take some time
for the dark between chapters.

New York winters come mroe easily
now and the west side is fresh in
a chaos that birth's their green x super
angel team.

King and Queen of Heaven

are slower involved in these  times.
each master of their own pleasure.
sometimes with mortal or
with other first born.
Spirit children of the EXISTANT creation.

They, God and Queen Bride, only
heralds. old accountants.
Still preferring dark flesh manifestions.
They masturbate, a lot these days.
Ruler's each respectively, of their own pleasure.
They take their time and move their
motions with great pace.
They love mortals and other god's children
god seeds.

a few times, drunken on celestial
harmoic found themselves
flirting unabashedly with their shadows
shadows animated and mercurially
seated in different moments.
God flirted, one evening
with his disinterested
shadow in someone's portrait
of a sloon.
Shadow, silent nodding
God nearly drooling
over his shadows innatentive smile.

Some nights
the two of them meet up
on building tops, let go of
city doves, not theirs.
purview chicago, as children
laughing and spitting, swept up
in the sweet liquor, pan's call
so often heard by blood
in youth. the enrobed nightfall
beckoning you to attainment of-
something not held by day.

Through shadow
streets the king and queen.
run and laugh fire intheir spirit
eyes alight with the wicked fortune
of youth. sandals, saltwater
and street tag.
They drink malt liquor on shadowy
corners in city realities that are
painted sets for a child's fevers.
blank streets one after another after
another. brick, cobblestone and empty.

young loves they are
28 looking
32 perhaps
on carribbean island corners
making house calls to
spirit first borns, gifting
Seasonal greeting cards.
letters, gilted gold embossment.

She pan's the seashore, off Havanna, in the evening.
aware of a myriad of critters
sun, moon and starshine and sparkle
observing footprints from the day, barefoot
singing to herself, crying at points, laughing at
other points eyes caught on a though, refracted and
learning stories from the remains of seashelled animals,
markings in the ground. Reading the world and
learning stories of love, life, loss, loneliness
and laughter.

Cuba, these lands no stranger to their admiration
for humanity, their caution in interferrence, their
reasons for taking time off for themselves.

The King relaxes, naked and young on the beach,
where the tall ocean grasses are, masturbating slowly eyesight resting
upon lovers former and current, different dimensions their
activity concurrent with each other. visuals fade. God's many
eyes. he sufferes a minor headache as he blinds himself temporarily
eyes colored by smokey white blue
cataracts, clouds swirled and reflecting the approaching
lightening and thunder now. a storm coming up from the sea.
she is coming. just to watch.
Mother of the sea. Large monstrous
blessing, harmonized and fury crackled with
storm. entrance brief warm the rushing wind
he moves his right hand up and down
his phallus.
Cock growing to fourteen, fifteen inches,
8 or 9 around.
foreskin, plentifull and heavy in its
lightness.
pubic hair afire,
like the burning bush.
precum, sweet as honey
salt as the sea.
leaks. pink, dark chocolate and
firm fleshy fruit.
mouth opens.
blind eyes sensing only the rush of
blood cells
t-cells turned ichor
in his now growing form
dreads resting
barely salt n pepper.
still younger
than simple edged notions of this form.
slightly bigger than a mortal now.
metal, chain and beads in hair.
lips parting, back and forth.
like a fish, angel fish in an aquarium

Rain starts

The sea Queen climbs from the water.

Tits full and boyant. hips sway, large
and full. Ass - stupendous.
She rises.
skin meeting atmosphere with crackle and sizzle
phosphorous sparkle around her legs, drawing attention,
to this. Sea lover. Mermaid mother.
Black skin, Shining purple.
Hair strikes fire, changes from midnight blue
to red orange yellow white fire.
shackles adorn, appear around her. limbs, neck, midsection.
queen still naked before the sky.
Shackles.
love poem to her children,
black brown, white and red.
deformed, enslaved and accosted.
children who are like fishes.
She rises from the depths.
A large black creature of the depth
surfaces, from the frigid deep below.
Soft smooth skin and blinded eyes.
Breathing cold salted air through nostrils, ventilation.
She rests herself atop this proud blind beast of burdens.
She coos, fascinated with the King Herald
and touches herself lightly.

He is maddening now
Lips frothing some and sucking soft
his lips. blood some. ichor like holy metallurgy - like mercury.
nose pierced and decorated
she smiles, slowing her already moderated
and at ease exploration of her god sex.
She giggles like a school girl at him, some distance
away. eyes shining as she watches. curious and fascination
sipped through her attention. sweet and liberated. cool and observant
her smile flashes as the storm builds
he struggles some for ground, under

the building storm, he is enraptured
by the racing blood cells, t-cells, water
and ichor rushing cascading
through his body.
years of the savagery of civilization
start to flash accross his blinded eyes.
he is reading only dna strands
karmic backlogs, confessions of the hearts,
whispered assurances kept and broken, the silence
of heart breaks and the poetry of
love. the sort belonging to heroes and heroines throughout the ages.
not so much the sort mortall beings
have in their media, book nor film nor
song nor story.
bloodlines crossed and the heavy
darning of justice with karma,
under the heavy cowl of our mother of
peace. twin sisters, karma, justice.
mending seethingly yet meditatively high on the
lyrics of angels, the cursings of Demonia and
the howls of the blackescorners of sorrow
and despair. a stack of notebooks, their ad lib rules
stitched into their shared agreement, karma, justice.
feral sisters. Rules of love, and loss and harmoic
attainment. the legalities of the conspiracy of heaven
to move hearts in an effort to move men, and kingdoms.
That sort of, High treason. Sisters. Angry and howling
and all that comes out of their black chaos mouths
is silence. moving twisting universes. and echoes
answered. to the sorry, the sick, the suffering,
the sour and the sassy.
for their seriousness the sisters
mending find their stitches mended
madly as graffitti. in their book of
regulations.

Mother peace always comes with
weight and the sisters born of different
wolves, have had their hearts crushed by
her. By her even handed and
granite temperament. her heavy presence
open to the limit of space which is none , but
weighted at its curtains.

Both sisters sit side by side
in the place of place, a hllowed
sanctity.
Castletorn mountainside and heavy
storm clouds. Mother Peace is terrible at times.
Coming in to scold or usher them, mend faster.
face torn and bleeding by her dreams and
Nightmares. The war town torso of the earth
takes its toll on her ancient bodym still strong as
the mountains - epoch after epoch.
tits that still lactate. a child conceived of
the greatest heights to divinity. virgin mother, still
concieving, young and as ancient as ever, her terrible children.
dark and alight with hers and hers as fortune.
au lait starlight candle. milk eyed and morose.
a child of and children concieved of, the greatest heights
to divinity. that infinite point.
genderless and resplendent in its unending completion,
creative transition. that godhead as lightspeed. so to speak.
Our lady, Mother Peace.
Eternal grattitude and terrible mother sister, guardian
of our mortality. herald of eldritch and rainbow wet nurse to cherubim
buddha infants.

Karma and Justice

Darn and mend the tatters of story on earth.
concerned with the red sang and the
hearts contentment. sang real. they move in swaths
and never cease to surprise as giants.
the brilliant twins, storms each of
them, hold their fury and it raises them royally
as rosen, featured high above the movements
of man and woman.
Each mending to their
creation lullabye, the contentment of the heart,
the placement of heaven's conspiracy and
the alchemical quincux owed and due to those dark
and brooded many, but equationally few, that are world/soul
tracts for the unbelieveable limits and extents of stories
due as birthrights and maker's mark in unending
existance in the universe.
both darkly a brightly anarcharchistic
in momentum. Sweeping chaos and inspiring
harmony in the hearts of Samsara with its
demonic undertow, viscious elusory tracts to her
veils and infernal machinery still throwing the
sister's work out of the easy somewhat sleep grasp of providence.
Providence; their mettacognizence and the
silver spur that birthed the two.
Children of the Skies. Born of a Bromeliad
hymnal - the fettered tatters of
Europa's faith in love, her innocence drowned
and gagged.
A vibrant reccolection of the heresy of women.

God, the King Herald, Their work
behind blinded eyes.

The sea mother, Witch Queen watching
entranced. picking up pieces of the twin
sister's work as though HIS blinded eyes
were television screens. eyes avidly eating what little is refracted
from his eyes to hers.
Yeye emo eja, Mother Whose Children
are like Fishes. This Witch Queen, Mother of
the Sea, Christian Crucifix for her softer emanations,
mermaid goddess and brilliant yet viscious
vanity of flesh. She lulls now, asleep in
a half knowing and contented haze as the
storm increases.

The Queen Herald is down the Shore.
mildly more mature in form matching the
king. Under a large umbrella, in a
sundress and hat, at night. her hat rests
to the left of her. she can see
the firstborn of the sea, Mary as she knew her.
She had sometimes appeared as her. Sometimes
she still does. As herald she is herald of divinity and
ruler in throne. A menial position, yet without threat.
Thus her King and She had settled - with time
into a comfortable pace. she is shuffling cards.
tired and drifting deep into sleep.
Into the Dream Deep.

The Storm rages and it crackles
Scarlet, red, purple, gold. The Whores colors.
The sacred temple, the red tent. The color
of bones and blood and marrow and fat.
Shadows, reflexes, lustrous sorcery and
GOD, high, drunk
on the incoming brilliant blue lightning
set amongst the phosphorous orbs rising with
mist. zooming around and crackling
wind spirits flooding the area, grins and
hysteric bubbling like babbling babies.
the sky an electric atmospheric
american flag at once waving and at
once torn and aflame.

The witch Queen at an amused
lull by it all sheds her chain
and cuff adornments for nudity and white
gauze hair down, now alighted moon
crescent on her forehead.
seven stars around and Queen mother of the sea.
The giant fish, too, brightens up.
Chameleon in turn, and lighter, grayer.
exposing crimson cheeks. An odd creature
of Her depth.
Sighs like a ship, steamroller, relative.

Lightning pours down now and the Angelics are heard.
like phantoms, barely invited.
their wrath crackles the sky.
smiling faces betray their intention, sound.
roses and offerings of sea shells shown.
the Vision closes. each time with wrath
and each time betrayed by their benediction.

the conspiracy of heaven.

The Sisters, far nOw from the scene are grieving and exclaiming in gratitude in turn.
Guided by their eye in eye, the star steeple, lighthouse in the mind, sunshine sparkle that crackles
behind eyeballs. Their mending done with hands clouded by storms, their standard piece, mended, darned,
woven, right here-right now. in the moment. oh, hallow of hallows and storm of storms.
their standard; taking form of their heart. bleeding, shining and blood. Brilliant and burning American flag.
Their needles; angel arrows, lightening rods, spears. Weaving in nothing, weaving in whispers,
screams of the tortured, the slice and cut of whores slain, grams measured, the silence of death on the hands
of bureaucrats. Those wicked kings of parodies.
the reigns. the sisters pull in the reigns now. out of their clouded work.
the umbilical reigns of empire clouded and muggy with tox and biting windspun debris.
pulsing and bleeding in their hands. they reign in their work.

the two entranced in the storm.
faces shown. each, a mask momentarily off. the face of blood and war on each.
a nuance of old Japanese, but it is recycled. Justice this one. the stitchings on the
side of her face. smiling panda with bamboo in mouth, hands at red sun's base.
Karma with flag after flag of countries and states to come. a country easing itself to independence.
Cascadia, and a dark storm cloud. the Others shuffle by quickly. faster and faster
like cards or used paper napkins.
their masks return their faces to them.
eyes all black, they bleed from tear ducts. mouths swirling darkness. silence. their silence is Heard.
The swirl jiggles, adjusts and reflects nebulae and star galaxies.

Storm water rushes blood off their faces and returns their eyes to them. they weep gently
as Peace approaches. Muddy faced and as strong as ever. Barefoot as USUAL.
Cowl flying and dressed only in short britches. looking like she had been wrestling bears or planting
camas in the clouds that inhabit the mountains. Gardens for storm giants. bruised eyed and grim,
though grinning, she approaches.
the two had returned to smiling and weaving fortunes. the sisters.
Karma and justice.
Both in their black work gear. supplies and paint buckets strewn around.
Mother Peace howls at them in some sort of intonal gibberish about the storm and raises
a pointed remark at the heavens. a light shines down from above into her and then softly fades.
a skies with doves are seen in the lights. Body alighting for a moment in soft gold, light blue and white.
then easing some, she marches off to scrub. mumbling something about mumbai and Eritrea.
pamphlets of universal joy appear her as she stomps off, littering the halls. each stamped with a
veiled elder moslem lady. the word "Messenger" below her black and white messenger.

Karma and Justice started in on it. A polished piece of howardry, the gossiped long and graced
over the Rose's dominion. The doom kids and the processes in a world silently - spaciously - awakening
from its imprisonment to the infernal machinations, the brotherhoods of death and blood whose turn
it is to fall, if not for the violence, then for the lies. the lies only a portent of the violence.
the realm shifts occurring on the planet. the delinquency of the roses. the towers of shame and violence
that haunted rose and hers. Also addressed was hell-on-the-table karmic backlog of shadows girth,
made to keep the world enslaved to the Evil Empire's infernal machinations.
The howls of the suffering living and the theatre of the dead. the sisters offer extra blessings upon
the red-and-black-blessed "doom" generation as they halfheartedly nudged words about them.
The two had been working on the dowry for them; the living earth and the entrance to the garden.
the unravelment of fortunes of young young firstborns, god seeds, angelics, guardians, hearth keepers,
heroics and starseeds. The incredible explanation for dimensional data being converted into intention
and creation and spatial shifts.


******

Months later

The King and Queen Herald found themselves enjoying their moments more.
Somewhat sleepier, they noticed the signs of dream's udder activation.

Dream, now happy to be online. Light cream, drenched by star and moonlight.
Softer now, and more stern in her explanations, movements.
Dream, now properly online again.

The heralds. Their micro awareness went now to the smallest of dream's
inhabitants. gathering their awareness, the heralds sent light-some angelic and fae beckons on the wind.
soft utterances of atonement for missing moments. Dream's recollection. Of herself.
mildly, dream blushes. and continues.
Like both Yin and Yang. Drawn ON, and spent forth like the day,
always curving,
always moving,
like water.
Love, Rose's breath, first
on the breeze down from the House.


**KING and QUEEN,

Herald

Invite you to the seasonal masquerade.
An invitation of Art and creation.
Welcome Life and Love anew
as season smoothes along.

dressed as the best, dressed as the rest,

yours truly,

King Deo Divino and Queen Dea Dea Divina**

Word was soft, and would be, for some time.
Spirit firstborns smiled a little more,
Loa stirred. People moved.
Left. Appeared.
The seasons shone and Bright, but kind.
an echo of footsteps and sweet breezes.
Orchards.

I enter, My PEACH.

Today I rise from camote,
No, I do not want marshmallow
Cream or puffed bons.
With my sweet potatoe
breakfast.
I take it with soy milk
se dice, leche de soya
I am hiding my frailty
and cry baby hands, soft and dried
out by the sun, charcoal.
I am gender confused
soft neutral and aggrivated
assault
charcoal carbon black
face, hands
I am your sambo
NO, I am your black
ASH Indian running you
square in the ground
I am fidget and insecure
aware now of what
the lightning
made clear
this tree hollow is carved
charred burnt
I am getting up from it.
as if in "what was i doing?"
only I am done with this
charcoal.
Come to standing here
in the afternoon.
I ran here earlier hands,
black with char and ash,

black out/white out

sickened memory strain where it is
No- the ad nauseum
I back up feeling nauseus.
vomit in my mouth.
nothing.
just acid.
feel hot and dry prickly heat
fester.
my skin angry
My hair frying in the sun.
Black and brilliant.
my eyes are alight, yet
down some.
gathering my weight, my body
my spring care.

I leave and turn.
I am no more here.
Light burnt this tree.
Sun roasts my brown and fries
my black.
I am settles in insecure insecurities.

I am going to the lake. To swim.
first shade. I am still charcoal
painted. My sin a charred tree and
a different sort of OCD
I am, a strange child.
reasons withstanding
reasons, no doubt
random reason.
a reason withstanding.

You mark me,
You cross me,
I burn you at
my hearth.
You, ash
Me, sweeping.
no more.
out. out. out.

I open window
and let in my
mother. fresh air.
fresh air.
sun breeze
and optimum horizons.
You'd know. but you never met me.

Red shoe
and its off the track
black tire rubber burnt
on asphault,  morning sun
after cold night
easy breezey warm sunset
fresh morning
and your red shoes
you sprint
to the store
you buy milk
you do not notice him
his mother at the register
check one. gum.

you leave.
you smoke a ciggarette
on your saunter back home.
red shoe
red shoe
you pass along in the morning
so clean, so fresh
dandelions and you crush the
grass
underfoot.
over sea, under stone, you are
and this is hardly a jog,
wait, no
your cock and balls are fine
i like your saunter
i retrieve my whisper
you are
still mine
mine mine mine mine mine
you pass a lady walking her dogs
your eyes hazy with morning and
love love dew that milks your attention
onward, elsewhere.
i love you
you pass her
and grinn like a fool
eyes alight and she moments
suprised. grins like a sheep
in her age and
steps quietly on. feet wearing
flats, hair still tawny
like the younger girls.

blue sky morning. clear sunshine, limber dim -
the sun breathes easily and with width
and she still hasnt hit the peach,
peeked her solar yolk, sofly cupped custard face
only her sky is alighting
what dawn awaits
your socks are and your pirate's booty bay
your sweats
I am missing your blue eyes
cocoa skin and curly hair
that i feel complete in
my fingers at west in
your sable gold corona
your curls, rough and ringleted
like blood letted
i am biting my lip, tasting my tongue
looking out the window

below
ground level, I am
waiting for you
I sit on my base and
stamp, move my feet
impatient and swirling
the salt of my holy streams,
white cells, red cells, t cells playing backgamon, bones and poker
red as iron debating
its penchant for games of time
it is 6:19. I am waiting.
This is lime green to me now.
The color movement, a reality trip.
it is 7. No, it is 6:19, i am waiting...

************************

I am waiting for your,
fingers in hair. head down
i take an account, over despair,
if despair is an ocean floor
a quadrant, circular angles or amoebic
in overall shape, i feed the fish
and sea life chum and food as if
they were in my house aquarium
a sea horse love, here with me
i look down, observant of my
phenomenon.
despair no longer tastes like she used to.
used to draw
draw me in,  used to taste of my sorrow
a crevass of magnetic implications.
no she is there, she is tended to, tending
her new life. Around to remind me
that she is a possibility but for now she
has other responsibilities.
like being a whale of a ghost.
and smiling at me, genuinely star eyes
water's nacency.

These days i stack white
chips, bricks, bones, blocks of balsa
organize proactive faith and god's
glue universal optimism
buoyant like a castle above what is, was
doesnt NEED to be.
I am glad to be friend with
who used to be My Lady Of Despair
Dark Curtains
and well, an absolvent nature,
nevermind the twisted quincux
of what seems a darker loyalty.
like a faith.
It is good to note her place
in my life
Mi Amore Vole fe, Ya!
My love needs faith, Yah!
My creedence, providence sings
My lady, from despair to cheer,
hope, faith in love.
Perhaps this has been just
a journey.
despair just a starting point
just a resting point
aside.
of life. It is fair, then, that
She would remind me. Where life can go.
Where she has found me before.
I understand, my blood violet pink white light
and electric. my blood holds and understands.
She is jealous, often, my blood.
That isn't true. She is, I am
When she is as her she is me
and she is dark as i am only more easily
lit.
She is purple bruised and violet ways
electric calibre.
She is plum
And to know her is to know her as golden.
She is, an Italian Plum.
She manages.
She cracks me up
She, me, me inside myself.
It is funny
He is still not home
Me, him, myself, and my other half.
either of them
we are too good to be true.
I am shocked when she arives
She suprises me and i am in my ow skin.
She is very woman, for a boy with a penis to be
inside   inside.
it is funny.
they hurt her. bad.
she wasnt happy. she held.
Stronger than the rest of me.
an iron. a wonder.
he was smiling, she was around early.
he holds to him.
she is funny.
I am purple shadow
pink violet collage.
I have my dark rooms
they arent as obliging as
it is around him; robbie.
I need him, she needs him.
he drowned. exhausted in his purple
This last fall. I could hear
I could see. Over the wire, through
the phone. A king entertaining
soon to be ahugado in himself, not all
himself, totally his, himself the giantness of his
purple.
he left memphis before I got there.
he was fire then. my guess. probably smiling
With fire. cat teeth
or eyes alight.
I miss his plum lips
They are sour and i find them
favorable. to me. i will rest with his lower lip and his lashes
alone. he will not take them off, like a felt doll.
he is one and a half
75% of himself
I am too.
We are numbers, digits
addition, subtrastion.
division numbers squared
roots equations
Y E C
yes yes NO!
fragile transulcent
and slip away
we are ghost light,
green see through and
present tense
I will call you lime but you are not smutt
and hers as placement;
she moves on quicker.
you and i
we are lime. sweet and sour
fresh and agua
I guess this means we get to wear black
leather. studs.
pomade.
Dont we get gay
over each other or something?
Well. Obviously.  It's a motorcycle.
The rush comes.
I'm waiting for you.

I'm gonna be traveling south
along the coast, find me in the flowers
you, a welcome host.
I will sleep among the poppies
california, blue
the mercy lilac of their drop, droop, drip
of their petals, soft as satin satin and alive
like flesh.
strange things, flowers.
I will be the woodlands as i go.
Nature in me on me around me
I because of nature, nature because of I
I will be singing
dancing laughter
like butterfly belly laughs
the hidden quotient of harmony
in the lifts and dips of my
emotional, landscapes, seascape.
I will smell as honeysuckle
redder than the wildrose i bloom
as hibiscus. yarrow and indian paintbrush
those flowers that smell like semen in the
spring. rhododendron, my second chakra
moves, a waterwheel, it turns rhododendron, azalea.
echoes of a red red road,
My sex is gypsy,
I will wear her in my hair, for i have no hibiscus
I will braid and bead my hair, i will pack
my simples. Mi pintura, some inscence, oils and
creams. a few changes of clothes. a first aid kit.
Mis joyas. a sewing kit. Mr Snoogles my doggie.
My Ricki Bobby. I'll be  on the sand
Through the woods. My handprints in the mud,
the heart in the sand. Welcome my echo,
my echo, my echo on the sand. my angels
with G-D tech. The angel ships, my holy cadre
of white tech space travel ships.
GOD as a channel. like the lightning that
makes a portal active. The sign, his name hung high
like a horse shoe but in a language that knows
the shapes of birds, the wind around an ear,
the movement of leaves from a street corner
and how an idea is born in a moment
and manifested in an internal individualized
psychic reality. spoken. observed. shaped with
hands or a facial reaction. action. let go. remembered.
I will welcome this liquid stream. My heart a wishing well
to my soul. This naked language of trees and currents
in an ocean, why a raindrop, drops and who
invented an arco iris. a flower opens to her sisters, a pinecone
falls on a bed of pine needles. I will weave like a pollen bundle,
I will weave like a brook, I will weave like her feet
and his groin. I will weave like a sunset. I will
weave like he flowers, night dowery, moon and rainfall.
Strangle vines good as my bed.
I will eat some slugs, snails and something else around.
a tuber, some tea.
And i will finance a peach.
Yo SOY, el durazno.
I will go down the coast. My movements, my movements.
Is this one of those things, like windchimes
and windchimes and gails and fields? The
wind, fuller than a breeze and more ondo
than a gale. No lyrics, just fullness
of being of wind   so full, so deep
it knows your extent and my phantom womb, her lillies full,
love the gale. safer than an undertow a friend of
angelic proportions. How else could i hear
forrested friends call through space, time?
Like water running through time as feather ether.
Dragon weather, My claim to your soil.
The reason i love you and how i hear
about love, life, your cousin and his bones
your paper crown. Something else that steadies
me. I am. guided. protected by him/her.
The wind. a trust. in pressure by
an invisible lover's body. the reason I
pay attention. the humbling of birds.
NOT- their folly. how a bird trusts wind in the
sky is a practice in the tao. the way.
their way. how I love you. the wind.
the stream, an ocean. A lake. my timidity
My fear, the trust that i drown. The trust
that i drown into life. the faith
of weightlessness. the worlds of worlds.

my mother's dowery her womb and her
purse. her neighborhood, the vastness
of her reign. an enchantment of moments.
veils within veils within veils within veils.
And waterwheels still turn. I piss in the
Ocean in her lakes and streams. She
doesnt notice or she puts up with it.
I am her child, she buries her own and there
are graveyards in her body, an ancient temple
of her rib cage, her death through her death
through her death. the templars or light beings
that must attend to her death lands.
where i'd like to poke around.
with another.
women, men.
their blood and blind eyes.
his. her roll over and her laughter at it.
our temper. his'.
I am on the coast, dreaming of the darkest
heresies. I trouble over evil empire and her
negligent brain deleriums. Like the maddening of
a consciousness over the triviality of an insane world.
my mother cries for me.
I am upset at her.
Perhaps she should shop for my husband for me,
save me some time.
buy my job for me, save me some face.

dress me as her own
and plug my face to answer
to her and her alone.
I am her blackbird, red wing
I am, loon, knowing her depths
her efficient complexity, her
King, I am I am
my mother's King
Prince boy and child
I refuse to take less
Than my mother's milk
I am greedy of what is due to me
her leche, my sister on the other side
I would tear at your face and push you away
leave me on her tit. I know her better than you.
You do not know me.
I am your slain sun.
I am your dead earth.
you WOULD trample my greens
and laugh at the sky for her tears
her crimes stain my flesh. I am her womb blood
Pink and white and red and blue
I am scarlet and plum, more my mother's
than her mothiness has placed.
I am lost child in her mirror
I am your lost and fornicated child.
I am your bicho
I am your trampled - wha? wha?
whatever was there.
You do not know me and I am to owe myself to you.
how much of me would you like?
would you skin me? rub the fattiness
on your starshine, sunlight
ask for the warmth of my redemtion so that
your coals may keep you warm
the shallowness of your being, less frigid.
you, less alone.
I am your pink lemonade and scarlet theory
one for table and one lost in time
to you.
you do not know my heresy
mine is to the heart
yours is to your sight
do not near yourself to me
i do not owe my heart to you
I owe it to the universal theatre
of mine and mine joy.
You do no mark me, you eat and bore your flesh..

.. within my circle, a circe circle and drawn
down by my proud and jealous mother
you do NOT see into my eyes.
I am your back door entrance
and your bastardization
you do not owe me anything
leave me
leave me be
You WILL not take me from my kin
I am bramble made and bees do
nOt defeat their blueprints.
their queen is not your whore.
My mother does not owe you her patience
yours is a kingdom barren and mine is
mine as a choice   a matter
an antigravity cuogualant, left up to the movement
of dna and stars
my dew - a cosmosis
my birthing. you WILL NOT
View me. I am NOT your Whore
Nor your easy brother. I am a child. I am your
excuse for an empty space and movement
and movement.
I am your pollen, honey king
I am August Moon full and my thighs
are not for or of vaginas. my mother's
wound is that i was not made for her.
My mother does not owe you a moment's peace.
I am August my life is not my life untill
my early Autumn has ushered me into a not so
backwards arrangement of my time in space.
I am mysteries beyond your television
I am mini dots unto a complete image, comic.
step up step back and watch a god in
action.
to HIM is his, creation.
HER's is so much older than you'll know.
she came before him and set up her
temple pillars. She is no fool. She is the first
to ONE. He is still a mystery to me.

I am August full borne in promise.
My plate is black and my shoes are stiffer
than my fruit. I am black, held, as a child.
My promise is my fullness-purple, royal and red.
This presence, she stains with wine - even the fullness
of wood. My days are late, I am late August.
I lost to NO ONE, I am a child of GOD in his
promise. I am misplaced quilt of faith. A darner
I darn for years, I have mended my faith,
since i was a child. Different portions, faith takes weight
in privelege. The sun does not beg for a lighter
weight in his height. I do not complain my blood over
my spirit. She is equal in weight. Yes my blood is
strongly female. She chose me August. Full of fire, fury.
I am, tale end or perhaps nuzzle nose of
leo. I am a day or two off from the virgin's entrance. the virgin's embrace.
She is my fatima, full of grace, and to her i owe and understand.
Hush child. My rage is not foul. My fire is stoked
by the WORLD and sky, milk eyed mender and sylvan djinn.
The Virgin in Red tending
to coals, she makes sure an august fire is not
her pity's pride. I am Sweet potato and first
harvest vines. I am not her slain, I am slain
before your eyes. were you to slay my flesh
dismember me, son, before my father's watchfull
Brilliance in the sky, she would hold me and
i would again be the lamb on you. the blood you'd
spare for another hour. she does not forget.
My Mother, blood, her blood as same as I - lamb
of god. I am here. She is so. My blood brought
me full to blackberries and an honest lesson of
creation. I am missing pillar of the torah.
I am Granted Green. I know my promise. I take
my answers to my lord.
The land is not always as sweet as it comes.

I am cold august mornings, dew and fog. Freshen the earth,
I KNOW my garden. I am not your illiterate place
holder. HE is nOt the fleece you use to insulate
a promise of rice powder skin and darker sin
alloted to mama's fullness or for that matter
her children's DNA swirls. I am virgin pride, virgin
wool, hart width and hind knows.
I am late August child. I am my sister's
peddler of her divorced eggs. red and green.
no, I am the one with my hands in the batter.
fingers lickin my mouth, tongue a lazy
compatriot to your sale. I know my pavement.
I am her heraldry arrangement. the word on her
invitation, the cost of our brilliance. I am balsamic
moon. She needs no reason to interpret her fullness.
just to read. to and fro. she is my julian
standard bearer. I am her arrangement for fall,
she sees why. I am her squid, in a swimming pool
she is royal luxury concerned with inheritence.
She is funny glowing seastar on my bedroom wall. Nightlight
and i am reason to relax. I am INKY....

reason for WHATEVER...
You do not own me. I am Autumn's silent footsteps.
I am nurse-maid-child in thorns, ass in apple bucket
I am 7, pants down and masturbating furiously. singing
about everything that'd fit in my bum, given time.
I am her veiled sister as a man. I am angry
mended mouth foreigner with waxen peak and cold
passages. you do not see us. we are the softer side
the warmer recollection of the cold hate you hide in your iron laugh.
The sort that is sourly boxing your voice to
your changing vice. You are up down and all around.
We are not as crazy. We are no Coven. To be honest
afore myself, this bothers some of you. You of
greedy eyes and bad manners. You are my excuse
for another good meal. I am insatiable sour in my light-sugar
youth. I bend around corners while you crash.
We are no coven. We are blood. as old as your keepsakes
and older still than we have yet to remember. I am my mother's
reason for a silent autumn of warm leaves and
passage. I am my grandmother's answer to fear.
I am not as grim as ghastly be, I am boon-beamer,
moon beamer, star shine singing libberally and devoid of
pennance.
For your sins. Don't touch my foreskin I am
Not your rotting gloves nor your misplaced
manners. I am bloodlines older than time new what to do
with so she shut me up in a myriad of directions.
Only to gift me a chance to sing. You do not know me.
I am answers attractions hated only to be betrayed by
other's cowardice only to find what in myself i hated
first - too small a squid to portion my fire passion - anger.
So easily i rotted my waves to
black bile sour stagnancy acrid burning two extremes on
the ph chart of an unforgiving hell spun wasteland.
i am a world of childhellspun and aware of
what you fear, love, hate. your soft precious
corners and curves. your inlets your outlets
your eyelets on your shoes. I am you.
and yet so much different than your
eyeware shoes you. I am your elusive lucky chance.
I am a boy child come age like wine, dreams,
the furtherance of faith and come to an opportunity
to have sex with the living earth. I am black berries
as a promise to someone luckier than you. I caught you.
you will not touch me. you will not steal my mirth and
i do not fear your cold winds. they are just cold.
and darn cold at that.
We do not hate you. I am extra blanket
for fall, I am Autumn black. I am Autumn owes.
mine a bounty she returns come Autumn's she is far warmer
now, she-me she my blood in espiritus. Always violet and pink
amongst her purple scarlet golden flame. What it is to be alight for
yourself. Like drag but YOU and annointed and aflame
with passion. Like your base on fire, only up and
beautiful. To be fully present for life.
I am naked male child running uncircumcised in the water
of the rain and the streets loving myself and each foot a muddy
full step. I am louder yet silent still with fall.
The rain cold, so I am no more super me.
My limit, the farenheit's decrease.
A temperature battle.
I'll show them..
I am my mother's secret unknown in a male child.
I am My grandmother's excuse to be that much
free-er with her intake of breathe. her open window
and her misty early evening stroll.
My sister does not take easily to you.
I approach you, as not to be trusted.
we are demanding. we will not be demanded. I hate you
at points. and then i get over it. your rules. your game.
You do not own me. Or my movements I am completion
in creation - there's always something more.
I am mending my opportunities I am gifts
eye inside opportunity. I am the reason I have a life.
I am your excuse for what you want. I eat, your filth.
at times. I am too oil slicked grunged and entranced
to be so for your easy moments. do you see a moment
see how it fits see where it goes see how it acts, reacts,
what it means, weigh principle, invest in options, help it grow
I am fern gulley's portal carrier.
thumb up, my bum, thum up, I know what I was
made for. I am accountant to entrances.
I am no easy whore for yours is yours as yours
is boredom.
I am. architect, editor, artist of life.
I am no one to you.
I am, go away you only betray.
I am, leave me I know how young you are in your wei.
I am leave me, You have no hold over fortune
nor does she care about your sour bitter sopapillas.
leave me. You are no one to me.
You are. My midst. I am not of you.
I do not want you in me nor would i enjoy
to be in you. Do not touch my body. I am
your dark doubts and your murdered innocent. I am
fetal and childlike. I am me. I am baby lazaro
and I'd still pick your pockets.
Do not burn your lips. I am done with
wasting time. I am for sheep.

~~~

I will see the bay of San Francisco
from atop it. I will love the hills that
surround her. I am trolli Zeit-wise and Aqua for a
reason. Trees and their treason.
I am a squirm
and my sperm is to worm what
fart is to bart. simpson.
dont be rude. I am broken telegraph. Opportunity
for an ongoing comuni-KAY.

I am. I am.
I will be sweet and salt and
new jeans in San Francisco.
I will be in love.
I will see me, angels rise
and reasons for other worlds.
I will find odors and cedars in San Francisco.
I will hunt colors. And leave devotionals
to colors magnetic, implicated in dove's
carnegie crime.
I am portugese excuse
for a reason to care.
I am anise whisper, mantas
de miel. I am troubled
and dead in my passage.
I am hunter of exquisite curves
and atrocious angles. I have meaning
to evolution. I am pusher
of meems and please leave your mensaje with us.
we have two ears for a reason.
and one mouth for a different reason.

I am my love lost, broken and cold
and jealousy burning. I am greed of hearts
and a stain of underpants, lips bruised
with piercings and hips always there.
I am your candy magic trick
and your useless excuses.
I am a traveller of time sinks
and I am an alloted race
for myself. I am symbol
and metaphor chosen and not
created. I am chocolate
grab bag abd sweet n sour
candy tab executioner.
I am swallow and martin's friend
I am sleeping beauty outside of
your trends. I am wraeththu and
fortune fold. I am reason you don't
go to college and reason you find
hope. I am wind and whiny
attitude towards cloads. I am
suddeness and holder of harmonics.
I am shy fascinator. I am reason
I am to hate or love you. I am
your faith folded in and of itself

hidden and crying, I am your exhaustion
at moments of opportunity.
I am reasons for wet backs to continue
whetting their backs. I am your
Ragged Robbins and blacker tongues.
I am nest and egg, failure to hold and
comprehend. I am sutures in insanity
and reasons for mirrors and ghosts
and sheets and lady's faith. Please.
a moment for the Wine. I am where you
are not. stumbling in grace and your grace
is - well - wasted in your face.
I am reasons for adieu, bon nuit and
bon soir. I am fletcher and arrow.
I am little boy with fingers like candy
and hair like c-foam and reason my
reason is ma vie en rose.
I am your hidden angel and the
reason you lose to lose.

I am the satiated life and time sipping tea.
I am the other side of sanity and the reason
things fall apart. I know my spaces and
heaven is a moment, an exodus of sorts
and a reason my understandings are taken with distance,
precision, allegory, metaphor and incredulousness.
I am no longer myself. I am dead.
I am black and white, my shame - color.
my heart a rainbow heathen, dum supper
and child in front of the tree.
your lack, my gain.
I am, your greed.