False Lines


    What is the point


    Of all these poems, these stories


    They''re not me


    I try to weave


    A spiders web


    To reflect my shape


    My silhouette


    But it''s grand


    And I''m not grand


    Or it''s offset


    And I''m not offset


    Or it''s majestic or beautiful


    Or compelling or fascinating


    Or off-putting or clunky


    Or awkwardly-phrased


    What it all is


    Is shades and signs


    It''s art


    And I''m not art


    I''m me


    Ode to a Horologium


    my wrist at all times just look a


    glance tells me five minutes fast


    more like five and a half now round my wrist


    at all times except sleeping and showering


    and when I write. It''s uncomfortable


    leaning against the laptop so I take it off


    lying facedown limbs up dead blink


    closed eye my fingers wriggle freely


    gargoyles over tomb or baby blanket


    passed away but only now I wrap it


    resurrection of blue plastic seeking sun


    round black iris lines when I


    white buckle hugs blue azure veins


    matches lifeblood snug breaths settle


    into my skin like lipstick mark


    Who’s There?Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Written with lines from CypressTheSacred and Macey


    The fireplace burns


    Pictures s m i l i n g on the mantle


    an old chair, an older dog


    sleeping in a bed of pillows.


    Gods are said to inhabit houses


    Lingering just above the rimey fire-smoke


    Pēctārēs, family eyes spirit through velvet fuzz air


    The comfort of a blanket, the coldness of a bronze plate.


    Violet tapestries fall from unwaked stone


    Ghosts can see gods but not each other


    Inhale the scent of home in the dark


    Nose twitches, head is raised to meet the eyes


    Of white pictures in the sky, the mantlepiece


    Holding up the world over two heads alone


    Red-heat bleeds from a half-open eye.


    Petrichor Lyre


    Clouds have always appeared like silky tressed waves rolling ‘cross the sky


    The Egyptians thought it was a sea stretching east to west


    Spit of artificial smear from across the bay. A paper factory.


    Cold water never smelled so good - morning is little different


    Brushing against the bushes, reach out my hand and flick the branches


    Trimmed back by janitor shears. Imagine the road overwhelmed.


    Back at home the air was fuller, slung its arm across your shoulders


    Trees are thicker, dropped a crystal in a puddle, turn it amber


    Call it suburbia like the green doesn’t own the place.


    I wish I could float away. Drift back on the


    clouds and


    sing softly to myself, drink the rain


    like crystal drops, a blanket


    for my wingéd feet


    Ascend the stars. Climb piece by piece, hand over hand


    Over the fence like a secret garden


    Of unknowable wonders


    Velvet, thick


    Not floating, dancing


    rock’s blood


    Ghosts of the pine night


    Never really was afraid


    Of its mystery


    Inhale stardust. Replace the air in my lungs with Celestial Fire.


    Flesh evaporates, shadow swirls, become a sylph             cyclone ~


    Take my bones, take my bones away


    My eyes are water and see gloria, gloria in excelsis


    miro ????????????????????????????θαυμ?ζω


    Drink deep water, and relief collapses over you like a cloak


    Drink light tea, and your tongue laughs without joke


    Early morning the aurora of the sunrise greets your eyes


    Lie on the heel of the windstorm, see the valleys above you sway


    Hum without noise, tilt your head, dig your heels in the grass


    Lost, lose yourself; metahumanize


    Dance when your bones start to stir; sing when your lungs fill with air


    Cry clear when you read your books, and your soul is stronger for it


    Only nothing is more important!


    Span


    I step into a shadow and


    Find myself awake


    I drop my burdens and


    Find my feet carry me away


    I wander in soft trills of silent beats


    Find the music of invisible air


    I drop like water onto a cave lake


    Find my breath will merge


    crackles and growls, what surrounds me?


    murk and solitude. i do not fear.


    Find my catch and


    I wind my fingers through the silk water


    Find a silence that speaks and


    I emerge from some deep-grasped cocoon


    Find the soft light and


    I know it’s just as profound as what I left


    Find not a story but a peace and


    I seek what is already within me