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| 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 |
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| Lady Auburn Serve me some silver I will not eat it Deck me in it I am scales and universal Red and scaled. Her scales. Her scales. Human and red, robed red What is there to measure? Blood? Her son, has left the dreaming fire. Red clay. The red dust. She gazes, sleep, steeped and sheep at the fire The world dream She and others, slumber Awake sleeping They are watchful, dreaming deep milky eyed and finding peace in witness We are breaking the boys And we are drowning the men I heard for it to continue For it to continue Crush Crushing till bone white And red rage Red Paint white lady’s Red lips The memory of red dust On her cheeks Warms her Puts her to sleep She is endless Boundless and master of her domain(s) She bows for no kiss, bows to no one And turns her cheek inland A river flows by, Delta Heralded by sea, bay With bushels of trees lining the banks Each night in dowry Each night in plaintiff Her orchards, plum, peach ,apple Climbing roses Wake her wisterias, grasses, long hanging vines a moment She is orchid, yellow and stained glass A dark passenger to this portrait hovers back turned towards her her attention’s captivity the dark man is head wrapped, stitched and patterned aboriginal cowering, he makes motion towards rotted wood a boat’s lower levels a staircase leading into the depths of the seas terrible depths there is no bow nor stern to the boat just ocean sea salt Windowpanes, Move through space Cross this vision, like large marble columns And the sort of relief, had After a fever When fevered nightmares Are remembered briefly And then recede Lady Faces inland Having spent time - Somewhat - at ease In doorless doorways Her Casa recedes Leaving plains, meadows Pine forest The river of afore meets a bank A dusty white path Clay and hardened I wonder, Does the dark passenger Emerge the delta shore Only to follow this pilgrim’s path? White clay on his feet? Mountains positioned Distanced With a brotherly mirroring of hills Lady’s expression Speaks inland With her hair, her jawbone, Her nose and her collarbone Expectancy, direction, promise, prospect Inland, Flows gold to her Hand Face Warming skin This is her welcome Lady this Lady, Lady of Auburn |
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| Blue Sky and a Soda pop The hardest part of healing is sitting with the feelings so I gotta be real to heal but honestly it’s a lot to fear
how to be
happy. angry. at the same time
Blue skies I'm reachin for you
pull me up climb out of this box of shadow mirrors
wanderin' strays bumpin' in to me and all I wanna do is leave
so what, so what, how long am I gonna just sit for this to be I'm not. I'm scaling these walls balls to the wall win or lose I'm shooting high.
kiss my old life goodbye. raspberry and periwinkle in the sky; is this a sunset or a sunrise? It’s been a while since I let my spirit look through my eyes.
I’ve been sliding around on ice in this strange cocoon. like a butterfly trying to get loose and I’m feeling numb when the sun is shining cant help but be whining.
how could I just waste these years? nah, I didn’t waste them. they wasted me.
now I’m here and ill be pullin' myself up by my bootstraps. start a new life.
Maybe be a wife. Just kidding, I’m not a girl; don’t wear my hair in curls. I'm a guy and a play with colors paint the world take its textures and run for color.
Swipe a sunbeam and paint the world gold.
Sometimes I kick in the mold Sometimes that’s too much shit to hold I like to freewheel it goin for the sky blue sky rise high that’s my alibi don’t need no pie, I cook my own one life to own so I’ve been shown my times on loan no, I can’t groan And I’m not a drone I'm an artist and a freak I’m a mystic on a peak |
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| 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.
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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. |
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| 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.
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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. |
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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.
- Mood:blank

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| 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...
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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.
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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. |
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