The Woes of Cartography

Pangea breaks;
Infiltrating sleep,
Deferring dreams

Terminally taunting
Tomorrow’s reality.
Days dying sotto voce,
Eggshell-wading ‘round
Landmine heart

Southern coaxing
Pulls this equator apart.
Home’s a temptress
That’s perfected her art.

What hope could spurt
in this salted earth?

Sativa's Thorns

Bacchanalian inhale
the lush herbage revelatory.
Soaring sonar minds
pinging morse riddles;
clipped sensory speak
of neurons chattering.

Fumigating melancholia:
unburdening lush sorrows
stickily clinging,
hewing lashes as lesions,
orbs blistering in crimson appeal.

Celestial alabaster
encroaches peripherals;
a widening obscurity lense.
Brain-stall hypothermia,
asphyxiating Eden’s blood flow;
sentient while comatose.

Sextant's Demise

Aren’t we all lost,
burning the fuel of our dreams?

Fingers tickling skyscrapers,
blinded by zenith’s unattainability.
Affirming idealism to survive,
eluding Failure’s poignant bite.

Must illusion be so beautiful,
goading as it dissolves.

Bait relevance, reveal itself
and euthanize dying hope.
Bid farewell compass laws,
spinning heretical under Polaris.

Burning the fuel of our dreams,
aren’t we all lost?

Threnody

A lot of life is losing people.
Paralyzed in helplessness,
pleas muted in open-howled screams.
Watch to whither,
sharp pangs of surprise’s sting—
garbed in futility’s monochromia.

Condolences in barren earth
reclaiming its toll.
Watering drips nourish
memory’s eternal voyage;
ebbing through generations,
never to be soiled.

Farewell tattooed to lips,
rended open at reality’s whim;
a canto ends, a dirge begins—
live but to embrace it.

Sheet Music

Huddled form burrowing into ribs,
hair cascading incandescence,
sweat’s exotic drizzling sheen
melding skins.

Bow-tie lips blooming rapture,
run red the metronome,
blighting logic for passion—
coaxings of the true hearth.

Expel scarred heart tissue,
pulp flourishing anew,
beat purposeful, exultant;
synchronicity’s winsome game.

Kypos

There were days when all I did was wake up and descend into the garden. Kneeling into the loamy, lost amidst the verdure—feeling Gaea reclaiming me as my breathe pulsated true. Sinking hands into succulent soil, grasping at the coarse richness of the earth, I was content, blissfully unguarded in the disarming beauty. I felt the air surround me, watched life sprout triumphantly, I was the harvest awaiting my time. The sun scalding my back, blackening skin, sweat tasting exotic in its righteous sting; I remember smiling at the sundress girls laughing in there skipping gaits. There was a time when life was rollicking in the days, letting sunshine blur the time— numbers merely a coordination of lines in hindsight.

We traveled to the grocery store in the winding, perilous mountain roads. Olive trees bent squiggly cartoons, chasing horizon into the next secluded world. Every town a microcosm, we surrendered before the circus assault of life, littering amidst our plights, every beehive motion buzzing the thrush of purpose. You grasped my hand in that parched wrinkled glory, letting wisdom speak through it, assuring me in foreign tongues that the moment was all we had. We would bundle up and meander back, watching the roads swerve into to heavens. The strange greenery and livestock sounds creating the chorus as that chirping voice of mine pestered questions with no answers. You were solemn in your statue grace, astutely surveying in the casual authority of this place—you told me harvests were built out of the backs of men, toiling their life with the bartering earth.

We arrived back at the ramshackle simplicity of home; windows flung open to coax the breeze, sunlight filtering in through the porous windows leaking light— the damp feel of the shade in the secluded groves of the house. Nothing compared to the pebbly trail of broken squares, leading home into the earth’s womb. Traversing chicken-wire fencing, exulting into the neighboring windows, I burrowed back into the earth and begged her forgiveness for our easy sinning breathes.

Archer's Paradox

Sultry stain on the lips
of your interminable essence
lingering like terminal illness
that countless rebellions could
never quell—
this coupe is you,
entirely, irrevocably
claiming ordinance
Pull apart the seams
of this chapped skin,
adore it box o’ chocolates,
choosing delectable
the demise inevitable,
falling eternal in this
pothole road of bumpy
commitment
I’ll memorize those orbs,
miniature satellites of
the heart–-
circling piranha schools
devouring this
beating pageantry

Locomotive Gestations

Gnarled toothpick trees
jutting their garish garnish.

Write the doggerel ‘till it turns lyric

Sinuous curve
of the wires telephonic.
Houses protest their stucco monopoly—
all ghost towns and graveyards.

Let the sleepy haze of your eyes
wash over me–-
sweet ablutions of the heart

Allotted such small crusts
of hourglass earth....
dwindling down voracious sinkholes.

Let the subject manifest
& cater to our duress

Parking lots zig-zag into zipper sky.

The lanyard of your delectable soul
twines cores through DNA
—fusing “G’s”to “A’s”—
alphabet story that is our days

Skylines belching inky,
necrotizing azure’s fluttering divinity.

The halved coinage of our bodies
minted whole in convergence