There’s a Willdness

The Living Things

There’s music in your body
Trapped, without instrument
Like a trombone begging to be played
Your mouth is putting me on
Like a flower,

That fits with petals of silver hung
Dimples peach to lavender
Your taught skin of crescent
Thrush with the power nature made in you
Lush like there is no tomorrow

Only youth, only today
I can’t be the power of her beauty
She’s by herself, trapped
A lure, a kite, a sound travelling
A body of moonesque dampness

Biology trapped in a poetic setting
With sentiment, of all of evolution
There’s music in your body
Flute, your breast heave another sigh
As if your entire heart

Is waiting to be reached
So beating hearts can lead to new beginnings.

Lucid about No Tomorrow

You Who were My Introduction to Spiritual states

There is no such thing
As light at the end of the tunnel
Only falling things that
Are on fire from their fall
That’s where you come in
That’s when, you
Came into my life

An observational study of love
Developed over time
Given to me only
When the timing was right
Surprise laws whose operations

Made sense only in retrospect
Built upon the loses of
An unordinarily sad fate
I found improvisation
Of feeling one of my

Chief saving graces
Like an dominant power
In a weak hand
In the gamification of life
I’m convinced

There is no such thing
As light, only fuel
The fault lies into our introduction
To material states, we think
This all lasts forever

But if reincarnation was a no-show
I’d give up all known strategy
For just one more minute with you.

A Capsized Life

Capsized with Lightning

I want to catch edible stars
The kind that spill rare
Emotions, like gratitude
Or buttered up moods like
Wonder, gracious young-wonder
That fill your mind with

Wild fragrances, associations
You haven’t felt in years
I want the currents to pull me
Beneath the moon
Where the nets break
And I’m a prey to intense amazement

Where the masks fall off
And the veils are torn
In the poverty that deepens us
And you think of me as strange
But suffering has been kind to me
I’ve actually grown more sensitive.

Featured photographer:

To one of my new favorite portrait photographers: http://m0thart.deviantart.com/

Friction of Pure Being

Aware of Moving Poems

We are moving poems
We don’t have to speak
To be acknowledged
Sometimes, we just sit

And watch the world
So much beauty, so little time
We don’t always realize
Each cell, each plant, each flower

Each star, touches other
Cells, planets, flowers, stars
Other human beings, that’s
How literature works,

That’s how the world is made
We are like moving poems
That do not need to create
For by existing, we are creative

We do without do
And influence without trying
By your very matter of being
You matter and radiate

The you-ness of your energy
It doesn’t take an effort
To live our one nature fully
But it comes out, in unspeakable ways

Surprising even the watcher
Time leads us to new poems.

Featured artist:

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Blue-sun-525756530

Repetition of Art

Plunder the Influence

We aren’t finishing lines here
We are writing about love
Whatever we write
It’s there like alchemy
Writing the history of art
Over again with each poem

There is no grasping for wisdom
It’s summarized by the synthesis
Of what came before
Like culture evolving
Like a more refined perception of beauty
To sit in the chair called “witness”

ii

Where wonder is endlessness
Born, again and again
We are writing about love
Because it’s what is in the oven
Our womb breathes it
We aren’t finishing lines here

We are just living, doing what we love
Mourning the loss not knowing sooner
It’s a state of wonder
Overtaken by light
Black windows facing the future
With drift, descent, speed

And the mutual influence
Of reciprocal silence
Communicating in subtle gesture
The incommunicable.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Traveler-525752443

Notes that Played on the Piano of Us

Notes that Played on the Piano of Us

We met on a day that does not exist
That is why I know you so well
At the Haiku
Where dawn meets sunset
You gave me
Wingbeat, songbeak, heartlift,
And I was an opening
To all that was pure again
In candlelight of a foreign house
Llike where we met
Some exotic place
Where Mozart, Bach, Strauss
Lingered longer than usual
In the speckled light
Where we feel young again
We are young together
Younger than we care to admit.