~~FlowingOm~~

symbolic imaginings appearing real

this is temporary

What is it that you want?

slipping between the trees at dusk
dressed in secrets
surrounded

the night sky's blood dresses you in lace
and I am lost

What is it that I want?

memories slipping between the horizon
with nary a wrinkle

the snagged thread that just keeps pulling
a magician's trick
an unblown tapestry
a finger wake

spirals into dogma's stolen handmaidens

Transcending nothing
is still transcendent

I say nothing
to say everything

encased in glass
sinking deep
into your eyes

a poem to no one

no audience
no glorious metaphor
to disguise emptiness
to betray fullness

no birth
that


amorphous string
of thoughts
beaded and glittering

a child's plastic toy in the rain
a poem to no one
wood chips between the dogs teeth

the cavern grows large, ripening
the fruits of denial
starving the finer points

dreaming of that perfect tomorrow
when

a small piece of me and not me at all
calls

secret selfishness
not so secret

Whose flower is this?

speak to me

blooming no where
dancing antiquated steps
ripping over stale tongues
with creaking joints

like the Korean ghost story
it takes only a hint
only one strand creeping midnight hair
only fingertips curling
to raise the follicles of lies

sleeping between the eyes of a scream
is not the way they promised it would be

So tell me

What I have told you?
What have you heard?

hands sear
I am inferno beneath frigid skin
this change


symbolic imaginings appearing real

that one apple
was a lie

it was only fruit
and worm eaten at that

used as an excuse
to justify
emptiness

no bending over backwards
no pheromone elixir
no deeper truth
no secret smiles
no silence
no alchemy

now shhhhhh I say
hush
listen
the molecules are dancing
with no need for a god

hush
and listen
to the hum of electricity
even on the mountain

as if silence where real
as if

all was as it is
and as it is
is what is was
but not before

Don't you know?

clinging to air will give you blisters

on your hands and knees

before me
hungry muse
digesting a lack of form

saying no thing
not one by one
but bloom by bloom

in the blinding heat of our ignorance
we outgrow our aging

silent trembling
unspoken
yet shining upwards
stretching mind
stretching mine

the random page
opened to a cherry orchard
blood red fingers
sweet on my skin
a fabled abundance

a qualified adornment
a forgotten talent
like the thunder we made

torrential
tomorrow
of dusty sighs

she walks between the trees singing

Will I always wonder who she will be?

August 2008