And I was a Kodak moment

standing in the cold rainbow

singin’ in the rain, feet on the grass

youth was massive, color was brand new

-

I drank tea, ‘cause it was in my blood

the black leaves in my greenhorn heart

my fingers relaxed, heart sat down

I fell in love with your starry hands.

-

But I was a Kodak moment 

gold songs tracing on my soft feet

days are avalanches now

into your open wheat field palms

-

I’m building a june armada 

of paper planes and paper clips

cross my blue ceiling fantasy

my joy, a true conquistador

-

there is gold in the hills I dont find.

but treasure like heirlooms I bought

are polished silverfish, I decay

to see my gift is in my grasp

-

hands meeting like swans to the lake

graceful, yet so damn fluttery

I wake with my fingers, landing

wet with down wings, resting. At home

-

My hearts feels like a lost dutchman

hidden safe, here in these soft  hills.

give back, this armada of joy

where your hands and mine meet conjoint. 

-

“I never want to act alone, my dear 

let me dig into the grey mines 

carve a whole in your chest and sleep

softly, like all the great owls do”

Today i wanna start
a revolution
wear my beret
get my old gun
and be gone away
-
but this old fight
is nothing but old
I fight with ancients
throwing flowers
in bad arrangement
-
I fight with warmth
my gun, my dead lies
I stand beeming
blowing shit up
in Christ redeeming

Im looking for myself

in this pile of rubble 

where I live cold footed

-

I can now feel myself

disintergrating

like the static above

-

The love that finds it way

across my schist and shore

will not be lost again

-

free me from the hairs that

stand end on end like needles

digging quietly deep

-

anguish should not be a

second language

but like speaking in tongues 

I want solely to feel
the bumps on your cold hands
like Neruda in Braille
so to touch worn beauty
-
talk with me, honestly
My mind lives on my ears
like an old barn house does
hearing the wind and owls
-
listen to me, I have
nothing but a stomach
full of fuzz moths flitting
around the light you put there
-
I want to taste the air
that floats like model ships
still stuck in their bottles
set it free from my lungs
-
smells like revolution
brewing like fine old wine
in my cellar soul here
I’ll collect my mind now

The city is ablaze

in cool jasmine light

while I wait, tongue checked 

in jade arrow sight

-

I count up the hours

lived within great height

my chest feels weaker

in this jaded night

-

The jasmine lays fogged

no fear or quick flight

as I sit breathing

cross chest gone alight 

-

Call my name, siren song

Call my name in night

I wish to face you now

here in this stopped fight. 

I will go by 

grape-vine and 

vinegar 

to the warm sea

bring back

the tranquil life 

for you

-

I must stand

silent

street lit and tired

waiting 

for the day’s bells

to ring

-

But this light

I find

Ringing with scold

It cant

give an answer

to you

- 

So I catch

the deer

in their fields

hoping 

their green slumber

lets you rest.

-

My arms here

are like

sanded down stones

stories

lingering in my

wet palms

-

Tell me again

the times

where you fell

and I 

will listen with ears

like shovels

-

Bury me here

with truth

and acidic wine

I will

take it.

again

and 

again. 

a swiss watch

fine and unmade

isn’t on me

but lives in me

-

When I look at it

I see great

opportunity 

 to loose the rifles,

and grow trees 

at our feet

-

When I look at it

I wanna climb

up the clouds

grab at the stars

and fall in love.

-

When I look at it

I break inside

cause I cant

ever be close enough

-

When I look at it

I wanna cut

out my lungs

and wash them

let them dry

in great breath

-

When I look at it

I know why

robins call out

the sea waves

and the trees creak

-

When I look at it

My questions die 

like the hands

on broken clocks

-

When I look at it

My hands stop

they wont work

‘cept the good thing is

My hand arent broke

time 

itself 

has

broken.

-

I rest now 

like a timepiece

with no need

for winding

Make sure that when the thunder hits, you can run. These times are like needles above our heads. Make sure that when the thunder hits, you can be far away.

The thunder is not of the sky, but of human hearts. They are mixing together, brewing a storm and creating the havoc we can only feel. My door is closed, I’m trying to avoid it. Things are breaking outside my room. I can’t be here anymore. 

These two people love each other so much, that they hate everything about each other. I can not understand anything they do. But while the things are breaking outside, I already feel broken inside.The salvos of reality have already hit me. No longer am I shell-shocked. Such is the way of the world, such will it always be.

I realize that this this thunder, these salvos, and the breaking are all in the war. A war I didn’t start, nor was I around for its beginning. The civil war in sin and death has and will always be.

May your heels be calloused for the run is far.The storm is everywhere, but our goal is clear.  

i make my home in the shell of building that i didn’t make. And in that hermit shell, i make my words. i whistle them, like the toothless man telling me his stories. But i whistle them here, in the tarnished-golden spiral of this mathematical home, with nobody to listen to them. My words fall. Lead-like.

Somedays i fear my words, how they sound. i can’t figure out if anyone knows what i mean when i say “I feel like purple tonight”. Words chill me as i feel them and their meaning wandering off. So i shorten my sentences, limit my palate, bifurcate my tongue. i want to capture their meaning, like glassbugs in lightning jars. Let their clarity crack open the light.

But words are like childhood, they escape you so lightly. And you look for them in the mundane places. But their meaning is so untranslatable, that describing your childhood to another when looking is useless. So i went searching to make another childhood, making moonbeams into liquids. Making “I“‘s into eyes. And making myself smaller. And i found it, the sound of word-solids melting into literature-lava in the corners of the earth. i loved the sound, solidifying yet still liquid definition. May it remain forever so. May words be little escaping wooden hummingbirds, flitting about on pages and tongues between. 

I feel sick and tired, the glass- cut hands

that make me tread fowards tell me:

I want to be loved by something.

-

Now I can’t tell you about the times

where I lost all my songbooks with the

nice little windchimes in them

cause I cant bring myself to

find them

-

I wanna break these cutglass hands 

and feel the beauty of your face.

Like Neruda in braille.

But these cutlass stands

where I keep my heart,

wont let me

-

Muddied thoughts and sleepsand

are what keep me from you

I tread through their strings

weaving my thoughts from strands

I will always be weaving

-

So break all of these, 

the swords, the glass

the bells , the demand

and tell me who you are

I never see on my own.