there is a blue bird vagabond
some say bad motherfucker
stepping strong
others have yet to hear
how he chirps to those songs
of old Lou Reed
soft spoken when he chews on the worm
self imposed exile
in the cage forged from fleeting truths
decoy soul within the vulture kettle
there is a blue bird wanderer
hopping from dream to dream
pecking at the hollow of his heart
in hopes of softening the cruel stare
of abandoned turtledoves
there is no peace
but just the
same i welcome such beautiful pain
beneath the twilight across the house where hope died
my essence lingers rootless derelict fool
my soul
the prints of silence tread the horizon where your muted light lives
from one thought to the next
if only i could take the ache away
snatch it from you
hide it from your face
if only i could soak up your tears
soothe the fear
that worlds collapse only in you
those monsters too akin to my mind
restless i wait knowing you’ll never arrive and still i look
strain the very nature of my sight
optimism passing like the fragile snow flake
you, hurt
you, hurt so succinctly
just hurt
anger your way of loving me
creviced are my wounds
silent they exist like a tomb
waiting patiently for messiah
scold me you a fury pummel me
with orders decide for me how to be
when i gift you my soul blood
with silk petal finger tips
yet
as my own hands turn to nurture me
paralysis afflicts them
they fall to my sides like fading ash
so i move on through the night alleys
my youth my age displayed on the shadows
where i grew and still the stains of uncertainty
taint my compass where now to?
i yearned for truth in my heart clear like
Buddha’s breath and still you were not the one
to encase me in loving arms
there is no reason
other than your skin
taught cold against me
your favorite words inaudible
we speak the silence
pink tongue yours me
unjust gray verbs making
me ache for you
stone sure smile again
fuzzy end of lollipop
empty glass comfort
Maestro im just another number at the DMV line of life im tired of crying im tired of laughing im tired of hurting im tired of wishing im tired of living im tired of dying surely truly this must be purgatory
time you have been my mother
a neutral righteous witness teacher priestess
self infliction my addictions there you stood
clocking the hemorrhaging of life
you not a crying virgin
me not a prodigal child
time your love is always tough
heavy handed in my thoughts
wasted in my inner voice
you continue to birth me
unto gray colored spectacle
time a savage fighter woman mother
slowly through your passing hands
do i learn to howl with pulsing throat
all of my passion all of my rage
you guide me through this valley
in front underneath above and behind
the shadow of man
where i sit betrothed
to another day of tumultuous blessing
some days were sad gray uneventful
most days were brutal confusing painful
rarely did we need or want to smile
the looks the words the anger the hate the ridicule the shame the blame the abandonment
marching on in my head time middle fingered me on my knees crawling on the tarmac of the road to hell paved with no intention
Mutter turned her head like a queen in agreement
i could not comprehend
where do i make sense
papai misguided man
leading dragging his daughter
slaughter wood chipper of life
but i’m grown now
your dice followed you to where you went
my words hushed heaven will never live here anymore Gehenna had bought the country
healing compassion empathy sympathy turning of the cheeks fasting sacrificing keeping score patronizing scarification complete spirit annihilation
i was never meant to be your Issac
how do i tell the Moon that her Venus is gone
far from everything we know high away past the Pleiades and the Milky Way but always in the vicinity of higher power
how do i tell the Moon that her Venus is gone way past forever yet eternally interwoven in star dust and holy silent breaths caressing her head after she’s wept too much
how do i tell the Moon that her Venus is of such love magnitude that we can’t see her as she holds us in her loving arms ebbing and flowing us warmly in her arms
words less spoken 