Smudge lanolin for film transition
from the color of conversation to night
by streetlight,
by the unrest of the kicked up dust of the stars
about our bars,
our clothes and our baby lungs still pink
with the sunset for which we seethed.  Let every moment heal,
singe infection and congeal the menwomenchildren
so that tomorrow is not a requiem but a dance,
a stumble about the reservations of the monied; broken finance
A new social calendar diluting earth and sky
beyond such contrivances as fingers and eyes.  
Just flight.  
Try.

Gravity’s ills
The weather of the mind, seasons still
Wreck every scent with the cinder
Of the universe traversing devilish render

Their words are worthless
A shameful repent before kicking a dent
Into the roar of the planets’ evermore
The Autumn ruins of a family misspent

My brother and sister,
Heirs apparent to tinsel and grave
Clamour for the womb and its porcelain  
Childhood is all that they’ve saved

The rinsed stars shimmer with the love
Of a newborn beneath a tinsel crown
Molecules as cicadas in rivulets of dawn
Chatter a new birth language gravity downs

The fervor of a Kiss until it carves
Jupiter red pyro igneous Hieroglyphs
The butter whipped June peppermint seed
Brewing ale, casting poetry; restoring Myth

Plant your timber limbs of thistle atop the mantle
Ascend the feathered plane of interstellar nurseries
Wrest with the havoc of Euclidean measure
Conversations, constellations; and we all fall to infinity

Opulent ****, the crystal of
Poetry, the pings of piano keys
Pyroclastic hearts wrenching symphony
From between the shadows  
Trees cast as alive as cicadas
Entreating the streets
I mean to keep everything I see
Holidays and the sear of sunlit memory
Gathered as petals about my feet
Our love as scripture
Wrapped with palm leaves, Soaked in honey
Preserved for eternity

A framed memory
Of the red of the crackle of leaves
Of my feet, that’s me paused
I didn’t dare breathe
Other souls stammer about
The winter’s eaves
Their shoelaces whipped free
Sunlight ignites our hair
As long lost words we speak

In pictures we are fantasy

Childhood is a shelf
(And I just disqualified this poem)
What is a sunrise serves the self
(And you're wishing for a line to throw em)

My grandfather skirted summer on a skif
(Here's a captain/sea reference)
What childhood knows is gods and man
(Insert visions of blonde teens covered in sand)

Humanity is defined as persistence times grief
(See, stanzas are just the principles of belief)
I never became more than a child wanting the beach
(Emotion for me is just out of reach)

Cigarettes tease tales of bar scenes and new rooms where adults seethe with celebrity
The stupid of youth, so fluid in shapely steps unburdened with
Success
Regret
Forget
A pack of Camels, no
Marlboro Lights
And a lighter and
The swirl of amber unfiltered ghosts forming
Our nights