I love you the way snow falls

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I love you the way snow falls

softly, with a quiet murmur

suffused with a gentle rush

.

I love you the way rain mists

a cooling of the brow

a lightness of being in a

world removed from time

a universe only in our shared breath

 .

I love you the way rain falls

fierce and unrepentant

flooding in its intensity

delicate in its individuality

splashing playfully

 .

I love you like falling from the sky

where you kiss me to the clouds and back

and sighing through the atmosphere

we whirl down together in

half-cuddle half-dance

.

Falling in love with you

is as easy as letting go.

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I am a gumball machine

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I am a gumball machine.

Put an emotion, any emotion, there- in the slot.

Watch as the idea drops from the bulbous head,

whirls ‘round and ‘round and ‘round…

Here.

Open your hand.

This blue one is for you.

For the sadness of seeing me when I look into you.

It’s so shiny, isn’t it?

They all come out that way:

vibrant, with that magical candy sheen,

no matter the color.

Go ahead. Bite.

Now try this one, the yellow.

For the glow of sunshine in your hair.

See? No, huh.

Try this one, red,

for when we laid in bed,

had a conversation with no words said.

Ahh, now you see.

All of the ideas that tumble from me,

blue, yellow, red,

all shiny, all sweet,

why, they all taste exactly the same.

I give you the only thing I have abundance of.

I coat it with words,

make it shine and gleam,

but it all tastes the same.

They all spit it out in the end.

“Social” media

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Let me riddle you a conundrum

hum a rhyme down your eardrum

and wait while your cochlea confides

my puzzle to your mental insides.

 

Ready? Harken close my dear,

and answer me what you now hear:

Why are you so terribly alone

with half a thousand friends on your phone?

 

What loud void do you hear in the silence

when batteries die and thoughts will not rest?

How is it that we are so intertwined

yet our souls ever feel confined?

 

Please, if an answer you have

let me know.

For I have walked this digital realm

too long to let go.

Depth

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I have a tendency to dive head first.

Shallow friends make my head hurt.

But you,

when I dive into you

I have to stop and come up for air.

I can explore the depths of your iris for days.

Listen to the lilt and timber of your voice for fathoms.

Sometimes, my lungs cannot take the pressure,

the air pushes up my trachea, and tickles my vocal chords

into “I love you.”

There is a spider which builds bubbles with its silk.

Uses air and gossamer as a submersible.

I am laying down a thread behind me as we go,

you can see it along the Charles, winking in the setting sun.

One day, I’ll spin a bubble from it,

sink slowly into your eyes,

and find your depths.

The place where sunlight no longer dapples.

I’ll lay on that ocean bed…..

then pluck the thread.

Vibrate loose my bubble

collapse the submersible

and lovingly, willingly,

drown in you.

Petrichor: home, soil, and rain

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Free Association.”

Take my brain and mushroom cloud it

split neuronal atoms and watch them dance in spring sunbeams:


We lay on emerald and watched titans undulate the clouds

like they were winter rugs brought outside to air.

The trees, old matrons heavy with care,

swayed rushes of antiquated maternity.

Wintergreen contrasts of snow on spring growth,

a blooming violet glittering with droplets,

bending subtly under the life-giving weight

and all the more beautiful for its burden.

We took off our shoes

squelched in mud puddles and

recognized our oneness with the world.

I pointed to the tallest tree on campus,

remarked how lovers may have inscribed their names

and though bumps in a ring of rings are the only evidence,

it is just as true a moment as it ever was.

Salt and snow

Summer, 1990.  

Gold sets a river in North Carolina afire.

Writhing joyously in the flame,

a thousand ephemeral vapors transcend

rising rising

whispy tendrils reach, embrace, and dissipate.

But I, I found my way to the heavens

And that which is me

crystallized around my core

tenuously blossoming until

diamond bifurcations burst

into stunning symmetry.

I surrendered to the seraphim stratosphere

and reveled in gravity’s caress.

Falling is flying when you’ve never touched ground.

So it was clearly fate

when I suddenly stopped

and you were there.

Crystalline and kindred

rough and resplendent

you, you melted me.

I taste salt.

My thoughts on religion:

My thoughts on religion:
Interplaying neurons wiring and firing
Conspiring and desiring
To place meaning not so demeaning
Upon this interlude
As if deities on qualudes
Concluded that mood and manner
This rude candor should st-st-stammer
Be hammered, pummelled,
Drummed, thrummed, into
A hum-drum-ho-hum down-and-done
Manner of life!
But my thoughts careening,
Fearing and steering clear of that
Headlight deer we call death.
And no I’m not deaf I can hear
Those prayers, pastoral cares,
But don’t share your soul snare
Because they don’t care.
Gods, politics: corrupt
And I WILL erupt
I WILL NOT sip from your cup
Blood tastes like iron not wine
You are not divine
And what is mine is mine
Here in this body
This body
Ain’t nobody’s and it will be nobody
When this body is no more
Deep beneath the floor
Once I’ve settled score after score
Internal demons no more
I can’t fight any more
Let me rest when I’m done
Life is a battle to be won
And I am one with the Holy Son
Because all that is divine
Resides within the human mind.

My gravestone shall read: “If only he applied himself…”

My gravestone shall read: “If only he applied himself…”

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Delivering the eulogy, Father Time will say
“From incalculable chaos an infant was born,
and possessed was he of abilities so uncanny,
that, had he but tried, he could have sung
the oceans into a silent reverie.
The mountains too, upon listening to
his stirring rhetoric, would have risen up
in passionate response,
frothing magma in their wild exuberance.
I fashioned for him not merely days,
not even years, but whole decades with which
he could master the fragile elements
clinging to the reality he robed himself with.
Yet, in his infinite ineptitude, he considered the cowl
the extent of his world,
the robe HE donned was the limit of his mental mobility.
And thus, there he stood. A lifetime.
Transfixed and blinded by the reality he wrought for himself,
while sprites and imagination incarnate,
drawn to the spirit within,
danced a vernal jig about his hems,
until
at last,
falling to his knees,
bent by the waxing years of his bounded humanity,
he lifted his gaze,
and marveled, at the possibilities that had always been within his reach.

Balanced

I followed the black rivulets down my nail beds and into my chest,

scraped them into glistening oil and leaned my head back while it dripped

ground wine into my cerebellum

that’s what control’s balance

wire-tight I tread on Niagara

 below

 how soft it looks

You are a cat and I am a ball of string that keeps trying to wind itself up

look at my unraveling doesn’t it look so tidy

like tides pulling at geometric shores

profaned nature – that is what every human is

I am every human

their silent voices staring from lowered glances reverberating in my ensconced oil drum of a nutcase

encased in glass I wander

wondering at the splendor we have wrought

towers rising high to pierce the night

black dribbling down their antennae

drop by drop they balance perfectly tip-toe on the sidewalk

silent night updating status and glancing at the profane

cognizant and unknowing

I let them all drip into me

It keeps me balanced

pillowed touching noses

pillowed touching noses.

 soft stratosphere eyes, I tell her

“don’t ever Change”

flip calendars past Spain,

past numbered drunkenness,

past innumerable longings,

and look what life wrought us.

Change.

flip calendars past schisms,

past numbered guilt-laden sex,

past innumerable mind-fuckery,

and

suddenly

pillowed touching noses.

warm earthy eyes, I tell her

“Change. With me.”

She smiles.