That my feelings will be less, that with their extent
and my developed trust in them, they may diminish.This is an infant's fear.
Shall I accost the skies,
Their blue elemental porcelain plastic glass,
unending dome panel limit? seamless. seamless. infinite.
a baby shadow is a moth.
She is blinded, feathered and concerned
with other things.
like the boy tonight, her top, jewelry
and butter-down locks. she has a mane.
What a lioness of mimical proportions.inside water, a waterwheel turns.
we are mimical of star galaxies. MEOW
feathered fortunes and a strong gale.
We are all sailors in medium ink blue
Royal violet is our yum sum sour love, albeit we too witness the clearest
White nuboso by lightest bold blue.
We are midnight sailors.
We have cream for dawn.
We are mended, mending the tatters
a rabbit on the moon
she rolls her nig wax ball. a pack rabbit she searches tirelessly endlessly.
she finds you waning, waxed. I mend for her. she boons.
I mend spring. Dresses, kilts, shawls, and baby shoes.
My shoes. A pair of booties and some moccasins. Mukluks.
This Rabbit, She is well worth her stars. The starry eyed sky casually observant.
The Moon, She Glows, is as strong as her path.
Red Earth. We darn for her. Our blood, is her birthmark stain on earth's scowl.
Maybe earth will ease her forehead, her green armpits oblige the ease.
I am compelled to hold, faithfully, that we will ease among her hilly mountainous
declotage regions. We take her skirts and weave, mend them anew.
I sleep beneath Moon's dew as the breeze basks in swirls.
enchantment. I am naked, erection and breathe - Life's dew.
Pine. Fir. Madrone. Cedar.
Deep forest angelics hold me in a breathe.
I sleep, my breathe a boon, and i cry. Silenytly I return,
Uterine fetal to my rose. There I am closer to me, the depths of me, the hearth of me,
in my moonshine,sky dew and angle, graced by her greenery, my wrist, an ankle
I am enthused, golden downy some, and bidden a brief abrupture
A stag, golden and russet enters enters the light
Stepping hesitantly upright. Looks down at me,
eyes alight, smooth around a reproachfulness, revealing
a younger insecuirty
I drown, The hart looks up, off and beyond
and then down at me, eyes distracted, focused on other factors.
I am still and darkened some and off he goes. A breathe in the otherwise silent forest.
I am again alone. I am foliage to him now, for now.
The wind chills me for a moment
and then blows in warm from above me.
Rocks high up still warmer than the night.
yet i am cool. cool enough to shiver.
My mind strays.
Before sleep closes my eyes.
eyes far larger than my given face.
I am Hind
My legs are Eros
and they move, confidence,
sprite spring and buoyncy in
their knotted cords.
I look down, still
aware of the scar on my
Inner thigh. the one that
marked me. Venison it read. It read red.
i feel marked, marred by it. And fatty, fattened for bloomers.
I grab my hind quarters,
flex and feel complete
in my foreskin, turn round and peek
I observe it for a moment
poke it, as if
he were his own entity, my penis
a forested anenome, a morning glory
my own luminescent celestial towers and kingdom
a phallus palace.
something to see.
made for moonlight
and days of swimming
underwear, belts, socks,
Shoes that clunk some, shoes that squeak by, clean rubber and sock lint
the comfort of fit jeans and an ass that likes a good pair of loose
My hind quarters speak up again.
I curl. I am hind him now.
hind my hart
'hind my heart.
heart went fro, to and fro, forward, held it for two, to..., too!
my heart went ahead.//**
I am wendigo.
I am Wendigo
Murdered sheep and mutilated male children,
little girls left to watch, the show and shot to rot.
what greasy palms.
you deliver me to cannibal white masters whether chinese, aAmerican, or Australian.
These are wendigo cain maggots. I am wendigo.
You fear in revelations the wrath of the Lamb
I am Murdered Lamb.
You did not see me and yet you knew me all along. I am dead lamb infested with dis-ease and blood of cousins. dove, goat, lamb, pig, horse, deer.
I am murdered deer child.
I am faithfull fire married and marred to sweet streams, sweet dreams and oceanic salt titanica.
I am murdered and slain. Your darker curiosity. the murder of my mother, you slew her in pregnancy and drew from her my sister, cut Her throat and blinded Her eyes out of spite.
You men. White as cream and dark as your doubt.
You are dead and barely mended.
You hunt and live atop skeletal remains of our solar
father's honored many.
We aren't as easily scorched. We do
Bot hide as maggotry. You pick my body apart fill me with your magnetic filings
inspect me, rub my fat on your small egos. The little you just holding on to your self-absolution.
I AM DEAD AND BREATHING. I will now hunt you for your brains.
I will lick my fingers as i understand
and offer you an honest insult, and no injury.
If you hunt the Holi again, I will not spare your flesh to holy fire.
You will be ash rather than steam bath and health, soft heath hearth.
Wakeup and help yourself to clean up time.
Take a whiff of the filth.
How else did i track you, my precious, my dear?//**
my heart is no more
it tells me how rotten it is.
Likea beefy tuber Rotten
with wear and sour blood
I'm changing my diet.
It is strange
The thought of eating
Your heart, Spoiled, Stringy
and Sour. It would be
Simmered in a tomato broth
with celery and potatoes
Served with Good chewy bread.
The dish inferior to the bread's
quality. I must cease this diet
of carnivorous voracity.
Eating chemica pinche destetura
quagmires that clog: Can you See NAZI
fooded items? Little whored out children
of cafeteris fare. Barren and peeking
their pink and green at you. Would
You take them home for any excuse
or gusto pure and simple.
Does your heart rot in protest?
Mine does. Death to this Kraft Cheese BOIL, INFECTED BUBO RAT PACK GREASY SMEAR INDUSTRIAL RESIDUE.
How am I to enjoy this whoredom of American Whiskey jack logic?
I eat little caramel confections of wndless nuances?
A Black and White honey bee.
They are to be eaten. These honey nut Cheerios, Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops.
A balancing act. Rue to the paige.
To the Knight, an evening with Pen.
The Pauper, bread and butter and a flagon of your finest Meade.
I return to my visitor's permit.
This is not my daughter's promise.
I can walk this one myself.
Yeah and I take your bad sugggestions
and THEY WILL be recycled and composted.
And NAW! I Mulch. So you can leave it. get it?
My days are not numbered
by your illlogics. I will be stompin and rain calling
once i step out. Out of this hospital.
MY mush'll be PHAT. My arrows, dartses.
My Meow'll ruffit. Therell be salt in my eye,
and I'll be raw with my Skylines.
FUCK YOU! NOW DIG IT!