...Here a man stands accused--the pellucid jury
of his peers come to themselves in their life's arms
through him.
He wails upright...a shadow continent wedging
The Flood.
Timekeeping horseflies besmirch his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consume
time till the singular advocacy of he withstood.
The imperturbable essence captured itself, as so
at the height of its powers there's interplay.
Ease culled from tribulation...countenance slackened
by degrees...overwhelmed by awareness.
Kingdom come Kingdom--shoring space of grace
that is freedom.
As if Everything centering of itself, fawning over itself...
polar opposites in conjugal bliss.
Here a man stands accused...of being--fit for steely
juxtaposition...the murderous implement of will, or
salvation.
Envision him post-Flood, waist-deep, the living Face
of the Deep...look upon him!
Timekeeping horseflies besmirching his chest cavity
with due kisses...par for par movements consuming
time till the Singular advocacy of thee...look upon
him!
An encounter of pitless ramification: fear or love...be
it the last man upon the earth.
Look upon him--O jury of his peers boasting billions...
pellucid unto one another...look...The Hour is radiant!
Won't thee come to thine life's arms through him?
For he is Everyman.

there's a math

yea big, can you

account for that

height?

akin to a small

one too big

for drawing pencil

lines.

making linearity redundant.

or one too small to

hold a pencil,

which may be equally

true of the big one.

without equalling.

measuring up

to a bedroom wall.

the grandest cross

that never lettered a

number, that never

numbered a letter.

Without a perceptual safety,

reality would

strip naked, as infinite

lovers wearing

each other's

eyes.

peripheral vision's

wraparound discharges

a lightning bolt--that

snows within.

as if the learning curve

of a dying angel.

Persephone sits under a leafless

tree, sprouting infantile green.

her back against the trunk, her

knees square against her *******.

her dress adjusts like an eye, to fading

hues seen after change.

she's surgically bisected a pomegranate--

with the intimate caress of her right

pointer finger.

counting the gory plumps of its seeds.

her legs start to rattle as if in ******--

she crushes the pomegranate between

the palms of her hands.

having tallied those freshly admitted below.

Persian calligraphy of scent--

leaves the gate to its garden

open.

air's sweetest tooth assuring

the bewitching hour, on the

hour.

freshly cut holes to the flute

of Rumi's song.

as its caretaker strolls in with

footfalls unique enough to be

exempt from trespass.

Things to draw from,

as bare as everywhere--

so minds and memories

take away from minds

and memories what they will...

akin to ghosts unable

to renounce possessions.

one leaf has

to fall first,

atop a flower

like a petrified

fist.

performing an

austerity in

Mother India.

a damaru in Shiva's

hand.

when you're a glutton

for Truth people withdraw,

and only dogs bark sensing

your plight.

word: Life.

pet this flow, but

don't adopt it.

the phalanx

of The 300

understand

a spearhead

as it rattles

between their

ears.

hitting their

ground.

permanently.

having drawn

range.

~The  way  things  change
imperceptibly...
may  not  be  distinct
from  a  phenomenal  rate
of  change...
the  same  river  is
running  toward  the  Ocean,
yet  has  reached  it.
This  is  why  nothing  can
truly  be  Known  but
Love~

Peace was said/unsaid
to the degree a phoenix
made a bee-line to the
sun before it rose...just
to: make face.
What a beautifully realized
ambush from all sides...
Happy New Year, Ye
Holy Combatants...may peace
by peace become Peace!!!

an annual

of pianos,

haul themselves.

up the staircase

of a skyscraper.

resounding their

pinned up torsos...

hungering after a

pianist's swipe.

before their notes

are played.

there are

so many people

dying to be found

out.

while avoiding behavior.

picking for skin.

i come from that

place.

i'm sorry, a smile

bared my teeth.

soley wanting to scrub

the tabulations of pearl.

The
body
is
consciousness
pierced
outward,
thread
pulled
through
Clo­th.

the spine

is the

sword of

discrimination.

piercing the

dome of the

kingdom.

Necro night, obsessive polish...
smooth as a piano's torso.
A man profanes the vested
interests of his body with starry
eyeshot.
Stuffing the pig of non being
with a star's nonlinear light.
The rapid fire vexations of a
king invade him, unspecified
bidding must be carried out.
He sees the world scurry,
sevitude's hand and foot--the
glutted pig of his non being
belches tremulously.
The horror of full emptiness
drives him from star to star, his
subjects multiply to appease
the royal malcontent.
He tears into curses cast at God,
the king blacks out.
The night sits encased in a man's
room, ants of darkness crawl on
him...he lets out a sigh...then begs
sleep.

Shiva's pillar

of fire upholds--

what cannot fly

upward, fall

downward to

exhaust it.

nor can it be

gone around.

her haunts still rain the pindrop

turnings of their recesses--

where no wind could wrest her

words to solitude.

her throat raising sounds rapt in

the beginnings of song--the flight

patterns of birds upon a sky's

private screening.

she softly traded hands upon her

throat, her fingertips tickled by

the meaning of everywhere at once.

with everywhere in mind, she took

her time with every little thing, carrying

its note.

now her song is building to the point--

ears may be struck deaf by a silence

that was indeed golden.

watching Kurt's acoustic

rendition of Leadbelly's:

"Where Did You Sleep Last Night".

i kept waking up from a resting

place among pines, wind on both

my cheeks.

finally able to shake off the forest,

with absolutely nothing but love.

unable to convolute green.

A stream parts its
watery hair over
stones, as time
renews too often
to tell...akin to
blood figuring in
gently.
A plainly hidden
crossing, where
only private
worlds lie in wait.

A razor's
edge is what
smiles...and
all the blood
that must
play catch up.
The irregular tap
of passion.

please overstand,

that your aftershocks

will take a Heart.

combing over your

coldest grooves.

long after they've

been pronounced

by her music.

two wet tufts

roll rondure

in duplicitous

form.

off the wings

of an albino

pigeon.

her eyes are

outlined in a

bare pink.

so her eyes

can assume

a

plectorum of

green.