Friday, December 9, 2011

lost translations of the fog speaking into the wind

όταν τα αστέρια πέφτουν από τα μάτια μου,
κρατήστε γρήγορα ...
Δεν κάνουν μια ευχή.
γιατί είναι ένα φεγγάρι πλήρες, χωρίς υπόσχεση.
ένα όνειρο από το αλμυρό της θάλασσας
εισέρχεται εύφορη γη σας ζεμάτισμα τους σπόρους
 του μεταμοσχευμένου ελπίδας
 σε ένα δάκρυ
 της μνήμης και της ελευθερίας.

when the stars fall from my eyes,
hold fast ... do not make a wish.
a full moon without promise.
a dream from the salty sea
entering your fertile land
scalding seed
transplanting hope
a tear of
memory and freedom.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

fuck the weird and give us a kiss.

sometimes stardust needs to be scattered.

don't fret,
you'll(only) miss my city saunter.
lawd knows how you love the sway
and the pollution and
the sweet sweat

i got out specially.
‘tits been so long-
so long darlin', that i had to cut my hair.


always waiting.


or around the way.
wait on waiting.
meditate on motion.
no number.
no next on line.

useless and useful are nothing more than a game of letters

a correspondence consisting
of nothing
wondering and wandering?
this past fossil of us
frozen in fuscia ink

As distant as a faded Polaroid.

If you'd ever
find the time to prowl around
i've got things to show an eager mind
wrapped in the civil intercourse of discourse
without discord.
turn left,
then right,
and left again,
until the garden beckons and the words come to life
and fall upon you like a brick,
and curves in the road at a right angle are still magical.

the despised coaster is rattling on its tracks;
I've been given fair notice by the ticket taker.
soon the "all aboard " announcement will sound.
my sense and stability have been packed in a carpet bag and preemptively stored.
i've no other option than to climb aboard;

love, to you.
now heard unspoken
like a groove without a needle
skipping the time in-between

a sunrise
is not the only thing that relies on vermillion armor;
our overture, a gang of sustained anxious strings
frayed, without breaking.

The sister of Time,
(I have been)
the glue that binds
(a destiny unfulfilled in a melody)
fractions upon fractions,

I am bound.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

navigating seasons and senses

On mists in idleness—to let fair things
Pass by unheeded (John Keats)

to the fingers tracing the topography of our bodies
each breath is an aftershock that alters the terrain.

this moment has edges.
unlike the punctuating pause

in between i love
and you.
where we fall.
exhaling  amidst the impossible

to sleep among the tremors.

(madness is a flame that our souls write upon)

the sound of moisture weighed down.
the taste of salt and woodsmoke upon your neck.
the sight of calm in a windswept leaf.
the touch of an embers resting embrace.
the scent is mourning.

(never is the place you'll find silence)

this illusion

the sight of an other's dark house is the same.
the taste of love is sweet, and crumbles.
the touch is wakeful under the cover of an early dusk.
the scent of a warm door closing.
the sound of a deafening wind that moans alone.

a reminder:
each breath is an aftershock
each aftershock an embrace
each embrace

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

the backlog, post writers block and fragments...or, ouch my brain just purged


to unsex time

like the slow eruption of lovers
knitted in space
                and tangledlimbs

in the morning sun.
with diamonds for blankets
in the grass.

(with the memory of)

the other night.
laying in bed, below the crook of your arm.
looking up.
   in that moment,
    between awake and asleep
      i cast practical mysticism aside.
    believing completely i've looked upon you
   in the moonlight
since learning to see.

the river that loses its name when it joins the sea-
the kiss that is the doorway resting  upon the threshold of truth;
opening to loves parlor and uncomfortable chairs.

soil in my eyes
watering transplants with tears.

thinning seedlings is playing god.

jostle jostle with a spoon
the sun on our backs and the moon on our faces.
i refuse to hold your hand as we sew
the seeds
amidst the fierce flames of spring.

when we lept like beasts
possessing the powers of a seas tempest
wearing a disguise of prettiness in the afternoon.

*seasons change before the calender exposes a new month*

is how long i have not loved you.

thank you
is the preserves sealed, unspoken upon the shelf.

the art of physical cartography

to the fingers learning the topography of a body
each breath
is a terrain altering
a f t e r s h o c k.

this is a moment
(tAkE hEeD)

this moment has edges.
unlike the sound of a pause
i love
falling into the space of an exhaling cushion
and the impossible dream;
daring to sleep among the waves.


  in the misty night, as the river rises i sit within a toes length of the tide.
  my lips-the sweet of a fig.
  tongue-the rancour of fernet.

  (bitter)sweet life
  and her toying juxtaposition
  that holds hands with self imposed examinations
  as autumn falls upon the horizon.