Something New....Someday

We let ourselves out   One moment at a time,  Once on the inside, And then again when we unravel  When we speak together  We let ourselves out When we open our hearts With a symbiotic love We cycle through this tauric field An open circuit We let ourselves out When the soul has become weary And my body has broken  We can lay our bones in a blanket Of soil weaved roots  We let ourselves out  When the body has transformed And the myco transubstiation Has broken me down I will rise into new life We let ourselves out From the pores of fruiting body Into the skin of the earth Into the roots and soil We are weaved within all souls

I build prisons for myself Walls that contain me, With windows that open Doors with hinges Doors Without locks  Yet still I remain. I become my own jailer And a ruthless one at times All the days I never let me outside I dream of clouds  I dream of sky I dream of blue heron  And butterflies  I can taste the raspberries And the rosemary bush I can remember what it is  to be alive I build walls in my mind With comfortable chains At home on my skin I’ve been wearing them so long  I feel naked without them I build prisons Yet I am the one who is contained.  7/22/18

I know I live in an objective reality, because I'm constantly commenting on the beauty around me. but the truth is an entirely different notion. Things are neither one or the other. Dualism is determined on our sheer wonder of the object, itself. in this moment. I choose the vision of reality where all things are beautiful. We live in a culture defined by labels and designations. Encouraging A lack of identity-flexibility, with a lockdown personality. I want to stay open to who I am and be open to what that might be but upon introduction, I'm expected to make claims about myself in concrete terms. I find myself contradicting myself, slowly, with everything I end up identifying with. I can't live in a world where we only hear the hero's side of the tail. The hero is driven by god, they say, but is their triumph the whole truth? If god created all things, Then villains and monsters have also been touched by heavenly masters. Were they placed he...

I am mourning the death of my god. Like Isis, after fucking a golden prick. I am waiting for the new messiah to be birthed from me. But, So it Seems, The Lord did not seem to have the foresight to give me a womb. And so the Messiah sleeps, Calcified into a pearl inside of me. waiting for someone to disembowel me for the precious Christ within.

I wake up alone, But in my dreams you held me. I'll be bringing your arms into my day from dreams I wake up alone, But I wake up to your words running through me. I'll be bringing those cherished verses into my day like prayers from pursed lips. You enter, from dreams, into my arms at night and in the morning I find you in my bed I wake to the sun resting on the amber skin of your cheeks. Your Tiger's Eye gaze pierces my soul like scrying mirrors. I'm in a haze of cannabis and the entangled hair between us two, high off of your heart, and slipping softly into dreams

What does that look like? Retrieving the nine fragments from my heart, taken from my 9 lovers? What spell will entice those parts of me to return? What veins can I cast to bring the flow of blood towards them, so they know the way home? Perhaps some fragments have already returned to me, while others are still jealously kept Some lovers received different sized fragments, and the largest one is a hope diamond placed in another’s palm. I know that the heart responds to song And so perhaps With enough music in my soul I might lead those precious stars home to complete me as a constellation.

I didn't realize I'd still be sad after all this time. I guess that's just the way things are now An entire new space in my heart has been reserved for the sadness that we've now acquired. I still picture you at our bedroom window with the spring sunset light on your face A cup of tea to your lips as you look out over the valley and it still feels like home feels like home I feel slightly off balance in my emotional state I've been stumbling around and knocking open my fear and anxiety I only really feel like myself when I'm alone in my room but I still crave for touch, I crave to be held. I remember driving down a dirty desert road with the autumn sunset light on your face With my hand in yours Listening to Peter Gabriel recite The Book of Love. We were forever locked in that moment, I'll never let that part of my heart leave me. I feel like half a person these days that Ill never be understood by another the way you understood me. Sl...

She is a gentle ocean storm, With the breath of seawater salt. Her hair, like coral red kelp, Brought in by the Tide Adorned with seashells. I watch the moon waxing above the conifer trees in perfect unison with her smile And I am the setting sun lighting up her eyes with an amber glow.

North and Rambling. Finding fragment of mollusks left over from the days of the deluge. Snail shells scattered like seashells, crisp and white in the dirt. Spring has awakened the earth, and she bats her eyelashes Fresh in the form of Parsley and Pine, Cliff Rose and Clover. There is such a stillness and spirit to voice such a song. It slips through the trees as ephemeral light and rain, covering the leaves. An animistic spirit, And a spark of freedom, fragmented and fallen Crashing like entropic waves over my face. Southward in a desert autumn, Passing through the Ponderosa and Pinion. I am held between the fingers of this blooming mesa. Sipping on an herbal brew of Ephedra, Juniper berries, and Sage. Bitter Tea, Astringent and Stimulating The colorful tastes of the painted desert. A Cattle carcass erects a cage. Picked clean by Vultures, Ravens, and Magpies. Housing Prickly Pear, Yucca, and Barrel cactus in a morbid desert garden bed. Waking up to the li...

The wind brings the water, Brings earth into soil. birthing life from the womb Love's a chore And life's a chore And a meditation on longing The wind brings the water, earth's transubstantiation of fruit reforming back to the body of god What are now many drops of rain Were once a unified cloud. Once a bottomless ocean. Even now, as I sleep in the deep currents, I remember the many drops of rain it took to get me here.

Some people have dream jobs, And Dream cars But I just want my dreams at night. Some people have crazy dreams, And some people have lovely dreams. Dreams of passion and dreams of getting out. I just day dream, and think of leaving. I Dream of having that one woman that completes me and the daughter that is created from us. Because my dream is passion, and my dreams are about the rains that fertilize the earth we walk on. My dreams are about the death of the individual. Their skin devoured by bugs and their bones petrifying under pressure. My dreams are silent like the lifted veil of a bride, whispering “I Do” My dreams still lay dormant and asleep. In my dreams I’m not quite awake. Some people dream of a house with a white picket fence. I Dream of the freedoms of the river current and longing.

It's not easy to live, Between the glitter and the grey, Between the quiet space of stars and sky, And to love as the waxing moon, with a heart half full. Lightning strikes from the soul. And a noise bellows forth from the horizon. Forged from an ancient silence. I've heard its song since I was a child. A declaration of love And a war on the qualities of mankind. From that majestic mountain ether I hear the voice of my mother. Not the one I was born from, But perhaps a previous incarnation, Another life. As I lift my gaze skyward Like the face of a blooming flower, I find this concept of eternity Engaging me in its light. We lock eyes like two lovers And yearn for one another, Connected as star-crossed companions Until the day I die. My body is but a fragment A spirit vessel, stagnant We are dreamt into this existence With loneliness at our side. To live is to build upon the dying and the dead Making their bones our homes And their blood our ...

Each Dream comes Like a whisper in the night, Arriving like a ghost creeping through my sleep, Becoming my body. Each Dream is more beautiful than the dream before My lovers come into my dreams and present their hearts. Each new heart is sewn upon my own, Stitched in sleep as we lie entangled. When I dream, I dream of love and my heart grows Like a tumor, endlessly emerging in silence. An unfolding blossom I drape it over my body I let it consume me, I let it cover me I let it keep me whole and sew it shut to sleep between the petals of the dream.

A body My body A body Mine To own And to feel To hurt and to heal To feed and to clothe To love and to loathe A body My body A body Mine To touch and to hold To grow till I'm old To dream in this life To sleep in the night A body My body Mine

'Do you believe in God?' she asked me. I don't believe in anything. but, I know what I've experianced. I've seen a spirit that moves through all things that connects us all. I've seen entities that some call angels, others call demons and even gods. Yet, I also have seen their limitations, they can only rule over you if you allow them too. I have seen the shackles and chains that we forage to bind us to these spirits. I have seen that we've worked them loose enough to escape their grasp any moment we wish. Ive seen the devotion that feeds them still more powerful. The spirit that moves through all, That binds us together, Does not bind us to itself, because we are all within it's precious embrace. It is within us all and this makes us free because it makes us whole. This Spirit is love and it generates from without and within.

There is such beauty in the darkness. Even dreams come at night, with eyes closed. The obscuring chiaroscuro shadows, like the depths of a well, ever fluid, Swimming in dark. The muses live in the crevices of our veins. Bringing to life the caverns of our hearts that are filled with raging leviathans, like fallen drops of obsidian. These metallic crystal tears, micro to macro, affixed to the blackness of space. Even stars come out of the bleakest sky. Even the sun shines out of the coldest part of the morning. Even snow can fall upon the burned remains of a fire licked forest. These are sovereign melodies, Low tones in the deepest of ocean blue. This is a black hole, Closing like a wilted flower in the moonlight. Every night has its end, and every star is overcome by a more brilliant sun. And always, light shines through the darkness in the opening of an eye.

I'm crying against the brick wall, by the aspen trees we used to sit between, within the spring time of our love. Cracked mortar scatters the floor and reflects crystalline pure. In the glow of refracted light, my tears hit and fall Pressing into kaleidoscopic mirrors. We have breached passed the summer and we watch our love fade like the colors of the leaves in the autumn air. I just can't breathe the way I used to. I would like to dig a hole and crawl in. sinking into this new womb digging into my skin. The dirt could find a temporary home in my pores. I would like to use that warmth to keep my cold heart beating. The home that I've dwelt, is cracked and torn the bed that I've slept, is tattered and worn It's a shell that I'll shed It is not my true form. I sit by the river where we used to stay. Now the worms have gone to sleep, and the ground is so cold. the silt has fallen to reveal the bottom of the bed. This is our bed now....

There is a hole in my brain That allows the spirits to seep through. I can walk through the houses that held the bodies in life, and know the spirits of the damned. I listen to their weeping, as I lay on the couch. I Hear them Cry as I wash the dishes. I walk the streets that held their houses, and watch them gasp for breath from non-existant lungs.

This static rings in through my ears. The cry of voices drenched in tears. We made it through the darkest nights. let's thank the stars that we are alive. It took so long for us To feel like we're alright. Embracing souls when both our hearts collide. Surviving through the damage our hearts cab heal this hemorrhage. We can heal wounds that still Bleed, with time. stabbed in the back too many times Victims of these lovers crimes These ghosts come to haunt instead A vacant sheet beside the bed. It took so long for us to find ourselves inside. this love within in me can heal this heart of mine Surviving through the damage our hearts cab heal this hemorrhage. We can heal wounds that still Bleed, with time.

The mountainside becomes both cradle and coffin in which I am delivered into the dirt. I fall asleep in the fields of braided grass to the songs of the grasshopper. The singing of strings sung from bowed legs and cello wings Causing romance to flourish as the sun settles to sleep. (Now the moon takes lead in the dance.) I am estranged from the concrete skin, of converged rubber and oil blood, of sugar cane and corn consciousness. Only bliss sleeps here, with butterfly lips. Placing pollen kisses on petals of jasmine and honeysuckle, (nectar stains appear upon the protrusion of sweet words) I can feel my wings unfurl as I step out further from the cityscape. This dripping black nightmare has washed away as I fly into the arms of the mother. These wings are not those of fowl friends, but the stained glass of locust limbs. I stretch these forth towards the sun, and the light shines through. The mountains are calling my name in synesthetic color and smell ...