poem

deny me of my words
of body and bones
cold and empty hand,
why do you reach for missing shadows?
shadows that have become ghosts
white like lies
it began.
and it fed into the rage.
poisioned soul.
any my eyes became bold
losing you with every waken day of light
with every blink
like rain of fallen lahes.
i starred and you vanished.
white like lies,
it began.

Are the seasons falling behind today?
or are the trees growing in reverse?
rotations or cycles?
as we lay rested in our beds
our heads are a mess with dwindling thoughts and desires
like fresh off a rose we fall like petals to the ground
searching for water in desert like storms
angry birds flock to feed upon the ones left behind
so the summer now comes after fall
and spring comes after summer
and winter is like the universe set on repeat.

my dream

I swam through the leetches to reach the shore.

today's thought

Life is like this big gigantic pin wheel. Spinning and turning with the gust of the wind. Sometimes the wind is absent and the dry air holds the wheel from moving forward. no control is left and fustration enters into each cove like a rock holding back a wave back from playing with the shore. It desires to dance with the other waves. somtimes the wind is too fast and the wheel feels like it will be torn apart by the gusts leaving it crazed and high. all it sees is flashes of light but full of life. Embracing the rush because it is moving and spining on the ride of its life.
The wind is a torment, its never one pace, a big tease to the flow of the wheel and the air it was destind to move through.

threads of hair woven to your chin
like spiders upon old mantels of curry brick.
summer of hunters upon the trees reaching down to frown upon them
echos of silver shots to the back of our necks
tongue tied shatters the light
and the dark takes us like guests of the night

just writing.

There's a bottle with your name on it. A liquid fill of words to follow your mouth. The glass is scuplted to fit your hand like a delicate shawl to fancy you away. Away to where children play on merry go rounds; spinning and turning and nothing more then a blur of tornado vision and then a big twirl to the ground. You thump to the dirt and watch the sky turn into ten. Ten, the number of times you lost yourself with sips of love burning down to your lungs, heart, and finally your stomach. where it sits and boils turning your body into a pot of bubbling sweat. Your skin becomes damp and hollow like your chest that your trying to fill with buckets and buckets. Your eyes being to mimic of every thought waiting around in your head. A mind filled with robin hood and thieves or some sort of adventure like Huckleberry Finn.anything to take you away from here. from the stool you sit upon and the crowds of foes. One of them must be made of skin, a skinlike yours, Thick. Thick like a wall of stone. making it even harder to reach. who would make such a big wall with out something grand to protect?, you ask. grand as in rare and rare as is in like a 4 leaf clover.
a clover for luck with 4 sides of wishes waiting to be captured by the wims of your hopes, dreams even. dreams never dare to impress the minds of those with straws embeded in their heads.

My voice shattered like glass from the pane. Like sounds of chandeliers crackling down, shook by the earth that once was still like the cold statue on the wall. The statue was frozen in time like an hour glass that lost its grains of sand.

thought of the day

I want a jack in the box,
one that suddenly pops out of the box.
But only on the thousandth day after unsuccessful wounding.
Just when I think the box is broken.
I just want a big POP.

and the ground dances in disco whites,
the reflections of her soft face