love at end-of-may ...

abrasive as the bark of an oak

sharp & grasping

yet we desire to feel that rip of palm

the catch . .

the cut

helpless . .

helpless as any ethereal thought

a day-dream perhaps lingering there in the grey breeze

produced by some umpteen bizillion currents of light

colliding into a puffball of nothingness

empty-set

stasis

a boiling rumpled cosmic stasis

movement proves heavy & fragile

the residue of of passionate possibility lingers

yet

history repeats and repeats and repeats and repeats

suddenly there is a dance, a shimmy

a flicker of hope-darting

tasting of blue grass

pointing west out of the chaos of this day -

this pocket of complacency

hold on ....

tight

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crossing

I sit in saffron and hold a bowl of ancient tone
aged, cold & nodding to the hollow
deciding ...
warm currents lift me onto the backs of fine-boned fragility
golden-ribboned, heavy with mystery and smelling of pine
time lies in velvet slumbered hope
blue should have been my middle name
pausing . .
in cool rushing brilliance
pausing ....
patience is learned despite hour
high & dripping
amongst the willow & lilies
movement requires strength requires strip of ego
requires surrender requires presence
requires
plunging your hands into the earth and feeling the warmth of the day
in it's coolness
grasp &
hold it to your wound and breathe it in
press it in .... then
gently
rise up
and admit defeat at the hands of mediocrity & fear
yet a conquest of love flirts there along the seams
feels it's vibrato
speaking in the tongue of sparrows and stones
run then
run hard & swift
and
jump the west-bound-train & ride the tree-line to vulnerability & boulder creek
wear a cowboy bandana and sing to the quarter moon on a night clear & now
my middle name should have been blue . . .

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norma elaine

i have been waiting

a long time ...

it should have been easy for her

to visit this world, to make an appearance

it should have been child's play

to

stir the pot

dim the lights

touch my back

change the damn temperature

awaken the cat ....

visited by the ethereal & transparent all her life ....

she was sure.

i remember the tales of wraiths & the ceiling dwellers

of her girlhood bedroom

beige, white & golds dancing

talking with her, teasing

with promises of strange dark travels ....

wisping in & out thru those luxurious stucco walls ....

wrapping themselves in the rough, bark embraces

of those huge linden trees pillared alongside the house.

she could pick up on the most subtle & delicious of ghostly signs ...

to her there was nothing benign

why can't i ?

what am i missing ?

is she there and i'm just too disconnected to tell ?

damaged, not gifted ?

have i missed the signs

or does she dwell closer 

behind eyes aquamarine 

barefoot with a fairy's reflection 

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fortunes tell

lay their hands in a row
palm down to the fire
and
I will tell all their secrets
love's lines furrowed deep & mired
to have loved
because of hands narrative line
hesitation of strength's tender-land
the catch
the release
of the
grasp
and
demand
love's journey fine

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recogntion

colors shimmy
pulsing
waiting
re-arranging & quaking
with
expectation
tumbling with orchestral grace against the dark
held back by pensive indecision
waiting
never blending into champagne or alizarin crimson
unless you turn away
abstract waiting ,,,,,
held by hope
un-boxed
no sideshow line up here
shifting towards the azure mist ....
untamed by age
waiting inside for today

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suspend . . .

this bamboo-boned suspension bridge

spans the distance between ....

hovering amongst

constellations of heliotrope & fireflies

best visible after dusk resting timeless against the violet

it hurts to hold on tight

so with arms reaching wide, the fire of the heliotrope tickles my palm

i stand upon the weathered beams & breathe in

the crisp scent of you

to linger upon this bridge allows the sureness to pierce my skin

and wake the knowing that is my hearts cymbal-clapping monkey

it hurts to hold on this tight

but sometimes it's like that,

to risk the fall & allow the suspension of love

to light the way home ......

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chrysos anthos melting . .

i can hear the slight
electric-buzz-rumbling of blood pulsing steadily past the
the petrified tautness of whatever the hell that muscle is called ...
ears thrumming
thrumming
in this black quiet train-whistle-of-a-night
40% chance of something coming down ....
while
 i

stand          here

desiring

melt
an all-system-shut-down-melt
an isabella chrysanthemum melt
puddled there beneath these mock legs
petaling out towards light & rest
tendrils of something smelling of rain & destiny sweep past my focus
as
i
dream
of
melt
surrendered acceptance
if your arms encircled me now, would my body respond ?
is this calling weariness but a memory of you
riding the storm cusp
closing eyes ....
breathing slows and time wavers in lines of mint amethyst
pulse slows
and
i
require
melt ::

magic-fingers-motel-bed-melt cotton-mouthed-wet-orgasic-gasping-melt
holding your hand melt sunshine-melt blazing fire & jamieson melt
a moonlight-knowing-melt

yes
there is no such thing as mistake
there is no control here, only release & forgiveness
untie the bandage & open wide arms . .
melt into story ...
flowered blossom thunder
and
a 40% chance of something coming down

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