Poem
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Graft and kneel yourself, With attachment for your submission, As I hold down what little is left For you to overcome Of your side, Of all sides That want a feeling to radiate. Yours will burn, Yours will churn, Yours will twist about In the heat, in the race Of two sins colliding For the
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How many tears Have escaped our eyes To be on that plate? How many years Have been lost in the cries, Denied to our fate? Beauty ripped free itself from love, Like the child who rebelled From its home. Love suffered in loneliness, With nowhere to be, Of ourselves in the sea. Frigid and timeless,
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Count your eyes Far from the deep blue Of this hazy evening. You have fault upon your own stars When you send the messages Through the wind. I can breathe what could be slept with, To be drunk off your stare. The little maid You once were, With eyes that darted towards horizons Where flame
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Long lashing locks, Run with the fertile winds, As your ivory back Has a path for me to track Myself, to your neck. Where I plant a kiss Upon your velvet flesh Has me speaking a prayer To the energies of Christ That I might take myself high With you, upon the gusting sigh. You
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I neither wish To taste the darkness Of a stilled moment, Captured in everlasting blue. I see you Beneath the eyes of the night, Spread about upon your lips With new words Of red upon red. Your blood Remembers me In all its flowing beats, Against the hollowness Of me. I neither wish To remember
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Your step, Gentle and light. Your whisper, Reversing the blight I seem to hold in abstraction To my mind, Siphoned out in distortion, To your heart. I love With a flame, inextinguishable. Please dance Past the meadows Where crying children Accompany thee Through the murky waters Of a pond, to find me. I am one
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Allow me to dig deep Past the shield you have raised To keep, Me, from thee. Your eyes, A sentiment, to my disguise. For I’ve come to you, as the Devil allowed it. He waved his hand, As I came wandering To your glowing arms Beneath the sun, Among all pale hues. Your face Gives
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Call us up In poorest sentiment, For we are mere innocents With our chandeliers high above Our burrowed brow. We glow as it, Startled in newness, Lifelike in our short temptations, For infanthood is a pleasantness To our weakness. You are God, With His face a set of thorns, To His son. Two eyes, drops
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She rippled Across her whitened skin To his verse. She blew A kiss to his favored direction, To a mouth that knew not how to smile. She was his memory, For a man who knows what is lost Remains. “I am defeated, Before her,” Says the old man With tears in his eyes. Before the
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Fall Through broken arms Reaching the blood My eyes had carried. In your hair, The strands weave me to your fortune, As I surprise myself To the emptiness of all. Your face, A stream of petals. My arms Drop the leaves, shed from distance. Are you the spring to take me Apart from what I
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I: “The Man of Realization” He collects his tears, Captures his fears In the mirror where shows his trembling Unable to cease Of the crease To his complexion, In the design To his kind. He could not love What is not to him Belonging above In the wilderness Called paradise. What a love He denies
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For as you bleed Asymmetry To the fragile moon’s face, I wish to trace What tears you have shorn From a flesh that has been bled and born Within the womb of love. I dream of you, Dear one, In my nights of no sleep, As I imagine the day with stars. You are in
Modern Romanticism 