G R I M O I R E : T E R R I B L I S S

i woke to the sound of singing birds

not whistling bullets

sure as flowing currents and

comprehensive car insurance

i drove through towns with roads paved

by peoples paid a decent wage

not those enslaved by an empire

under tyrannical reign

where rain is a boon, and water a game

not scarcer than jewels that glimmer the same

we kiss in the shadows of constant spring

out of reach from the violence of misdeeds

it seems

almost as if we are criminals

to live in such peace

the glistening in her eyes

stars, stars, and stars

nebuli of my nucleus

the great ascension of all my axons

reminded again,

i am but a frail mortal

and she, a symphony of great bulbs

and flowering gaseous pixels above

in the opaque and clearly superior

canvas of the heavens

i have witnessed the miracles of the Heavens; her soft hands and the cradle of warmth - a smile to soothe, the healing of honey, of sweat and endurance and passion and ambrosia.

too, i have seen Hell and its ruined appalachia of a distant distopia; a future wrought of ash, forged from ceaseless and solipsistic selfishness intimate alone with sapien sentience where despair itself is ruinous in old matrices, where light is weak, traveling and refracted within broken and bent clusters.

i have seen Earth, which accomodates both, nurses both, and is impartial and unbothered by and to both.

Heaven and Hell neither, then, are habitations, only habits;

Heaven and Hell are choiced,

illusory biomes of conquest and consequences.

her spirit is sweet like that of a peach

were i a demon in this valley of souls,

i might to harvest something so pink, so pure

but, alack, i am not a demon, nor am i an angel

so i will sit here under the shade of her canopy,

primrose and sunset, and watch

watch as she grows, and grows, and grows

put your finger against a bulb

what do you see?

eons of life, summarized in and within

bone, tissue, blood, instinct

even in the millisecond of a millenia

we are born so fragile.

all our dreams and ambitions and intentions

in hellish contrast then

must be so dense, so pure,

that when even god's rays

shine through them

only blackness, a dense

reflection of our intention,

returns

this is a heaven

one of many iterations

i would know because i have

saved to my camera roll

thousands of her images and therefore

thousands of heavens

there are many infinite facets to this paradise

and i venture to to be witness to and testify

to their cumulative greatnesses

baroness of my soul

my liege, what taxes might you ask of me in this day,

at this wondrous hour? what portion of my heart

now is yours to devour?

all of it, and all of me, surely.

perhaps, might i suggest, a limb to stave off debt.

what debts? all that i owe,

all the happiness and light you bestow,

the weight of eternal servitude.

me, an atlas for your worldly visage

she blossoms violently

her many petals,

vibrant and engorged on my blood,

are sharp and thirst of primordial lust

that of life, that of dreams;

ambitions to sate mine.

and in her convulsions and outbursts,

winds to scatter pollen gold.

my landscape, my lands, my horizons, my vistas,

forever shaped in her image

her smile a shade of cobalt

her hair glowed green in the moon

and were she a frog in a forest

i might to lovingly step on her

and her lovely poisons would seep into me

and take me over

my mortal body her heavenly hostage

and in the dying and hot and white light

of her Death in my veins

in the beating of Life new

joy

she took to me like a hammer

and into the porous ground she rooted me

into a web, her thicket of thorns

and bade me to weep,

so, i wept,
tears of joyous pain

champions are born loved

and therefore easily love themselves

champions complain, though much less,

than the people who come before and after them,

and are champions the same.

and the people who destin themselves to be

champions, the children that knew no love,

at the role and title and fulfillment of,

don't complain at all.

they simply do not have the time because

their time has yet begun.

are you kind when the opportunity strikes?

when and only when it is in your path?

or do you create your own kind of kindness

kind of, or often kind

which are you?

happy dog,

happy pup. white body, black ears

whithering whiskers

bark. for me, at me, with me

together we can run these fields as if we own them

because we own them.

is this, after all, not our shared breath

in this shared air? is this, after all

not our shared time in this shared sky

this sky, in its infinity, above our heads

towers for us. to give us life and gift us this small moment

do not worry, i will always be here

please, do not shit on my designer shoes

and even if you do,

i will always be here

to run with you, happy dog

if i can develop, in this instance

the instinct of something broken

something to be mended, maybe then

and only then, might i to be joined

to something greater

she is the neon light to my soul

and so too is she the iridescent shadow

my soul is a fallible thing

it is made soft and amorphous at a single glance

or turned to glass from the touch of her hands

though never hard, never callous

and there is nothing to protect me from her ultra violence

i am purpled in her violet

let me to be translucent, malleable,

heated in her light

melting as i might

sure as you mix sugar in milk, they are one

sure as you mix you and me and us, and the air around us,

and the air around us within this

container of shared gravity, we are one

two eyes, hair, two ears, one nose, lips.

black, black, oft blushing, large, full.

the same as you, the same as any of us,

yet not

admired, treasured, objectified

the millimeters that linger between my features,

a space and feast for seekers,

the deign and dainty of beleaguered non-believers

the sequence and sequins of Fate,

the dreams and demons a face seems to sway,

the wars we're warned to wage for a love stol'd away.

the souls of many for the skin of one,

gods, what have we done, what have we done

we will show more love to a stranger's dog

than to the flowers in our own home

we will let to wilt their petals, we undo

the hues of all their mettle,

and when the time is right

we will grab them from the roots,

ruined, dried, unknowing of the fierce support

of rain or sun or sky

and ask them to fly.

i fly

oh beautiful honeybee

oh handsome lark, oh swift black bayonet of the golden sun,

to work, fly, be beautiful, tis no option

striped and collied, sweating of pollen

on primrose beds where want lies often

as god of this earth, those buds i'll soften

for you, for you. anything

for you

today, i am overcooked

but what better than to be born of,

and with,

fire

the way you wear that coat

it's as if

you yourself are a window into the heavens

and your jacket

in its luxury and finance

are curtains affixed and made solely for you

a falsness!

a straining of the world to impress

and divert my love! my allure! my charms!

alack!

my love is pure and stalwart,

you, the inconstant demon.

upon this eve i've eaten

crabs! and oyesters! and lobster! my love

is fresh and raw akin to the former! and cannot

and cannot be tainted when properly preserved.

this is prehistoric, this love embalmed, mummified

to pristineness by the earth and al lthe heavens

to be discovered at the advent and timing of fate!

alack! alack;

alack! -- alack in lacking, lacking in you.

let's not make this sad

goodnight, my wonderful pegasus

we had been to the cosmos and back

been depleted though never defeated.

it's been a wonderful pleasure,

and keen adventure,

my good friend.

take care, darling

i am porcine,

i am but a riblet.

untie me from this spit,

undouse me from these

flames of your desire.

i am but tender and ready,

flayed for your tongue

on my tongue

damn shawty

u culd lyft me up,

spin me round

trow me dwn

bruise me up a little

in places no one would see

in places everyone would see

whatever you like to see

it's all on me

literally

gimme the check, my tab

gimme the choke, i'll tap

or maybe i wont

and just pass out in your arms

life is a war, a battle

and as we cascade through

the tides of attacks and defenses,

our equipments both allied and favorable

become worn and tattered.

and though our bodies mend and

heal and strengthen themselves,

our trusty effects don't share the same

recuperative ability. with love,

they must be seen to and nursed and managed

for the toll of life and experience is but

heavy and expensive

utility and transformation are not cheap, and

time is the most expensive utility of all.

giantessence

the largesses and essence and unalienable

bounty of the soul - note: not in measurable

physical dimensions, but that of the

indescribable philosophically inclined

intradimensional embodiment of passion and

ones own ability to give, with the intent of

healing, from the heart

used in a sentence:

though she be small of frame, she is great in

giantessence

this word,

i made for her

i have found myself and stumbled upon and

about the embrace of the gods. what simple

heaven is this? whose gates are these that

contain and preview such delicate and dreamy

wonders? oh, undoubtedly, these polaroids of

forbidden excess and ecstacy are pastiches of

the greatest truth -- she is an angel

she is here to help.

these moments and seconds are delicate

delicate in their hopping and bounding and

gliding and impossible grace from one frame to

the next: each a new and ripe fruit, never

needing of any seasoning or preparation,

wonderful and perfect in its stark and simple nudity

cropping our images is akin to cutting deeply

into the face of a beautiful gem; many

different and difficult facets to diffuse and

distract all light into the etching and projecting of

soft bows of rain into the dark and dim and,

otherwise without these beautiful images,

quite nonlustrous dimension and human plane

i am one of those men

who carves sweetly into the distant

ethers of primordial beauty

unearthing vast and cavernous pots of honey

and giantessence. quickly, quickly

do my axes and picks and special tools

flay away at the stucco of an ordinary life,

unsheathing flavors and dense fats and

floral arrangements intoxicating the eyes,

marrying the olfacts,

tuning and harmonizing with the soul.

this is no easy flux,

it is the unbridled and untouched fossil of

the world's greatest treasure:

the smile of a woman who knows herself,

the tenure and tenderness of joy

that enjoys its own.

what a monstrous figure this has made me,

my tusklike words are all i have.

my ivory, a pale imitation of golden saffron,

all the more rich and new and endangered.

i am made small, nearly extinct,

in the scope of her godly existence

in the comet of her love, and judgement

the gods are at play with all your

anxieties and worries and fears and excesses

this is when they win, this is when they triumph

they revel and bask and take great joy in the

cinema of your distresses

i will sit and sate myself in the eves,

within the safety of the bush and shadow,

and plunge headlong and sureform into the vervency

into the hot rage and elixir of love,

drowning myself in the resplendent crimson hue

a mirage of the heavens, a pastiche of a timeless truth,

that love, a true and trident and striking,

the woeful infection of song and serenity,

this nature, above all, is the closest to the gods

we ever ascend. Virgil, wait for me

Athena, i am coming, on this moonbow bridge,

in this density of darkness,

i am arrived

were she a cat i would learn to meow

were she a chalise would that i were a king

that i might to drink songs from her lips

were she the moon, a scientist i would make of me

to look at her through great rosen-hued lenses

were she a human, well, i am a human as well,

and thus i love her so

a list of things i am not

combined and mixed

with a list of things i love:

slut

my pain tolerance is pretty good

i am a fighter

not only am i a fighter,

i am a winner

not only am i a winner,

i am very aroused

my breasts are supple and full

i am foaming at the mouth

a sweet and honeyed elixir

let me to climb these trees

these trees of hesperidian make

golden vistas, apples and eyes and eves and leaves

shade me, show me, choke me

tangle me in the thick and sprawling webs and branches

and root me in the seat and trunk of an ancient love

churn my soul to nectar, pollenate my sight with your

heavenly visions

if i am to be flayed

let it be by her nails, her intention, her divinity

offer me as an alms at her portal and altar

take my organs and all my intentions and dreams and purpose,

transmute my spirit into her golden chalice

let me to be divined, strained through her worship,

made sacrifice at her discretion

nothing is free, therefore everything is expensive

nothing is an obligation, therefore everything is beautiful

nothing is free or an obligation, therefore everything is a gift

gifts exist to be given, and given, and given back

in foraging the wilderness of life

berries of passion sprouting from the roots of

all my futures, reclaiming the scorched earth

of an infinitely recusive and repulsive past

hope that i might to ferment fervent and verdant

reverberances and harmonizing treasures

all new, all new

the sweet and sweeter plum and plumes of life

incubated, warmed thoroughly,

through the troughs and troves of hot breaths

the air of giants, the heir to a giant will

pajamas? might we to sleep in, darling, and find outselves in the warm breath of a cold dream? to find another yet again? that sweeping journey, that dusty tale, long off but not oft forgotten

those days, those horrible frozen days, spent apart. alack of another, alack of knowledge and substance of healing words and splintering looks. might your eyes to pierce me anon, and on your tongue, tie me against the poisonous barbs of your dagger-teeth and ivy'd melodies

those lost visions, those hieroglyphs of a stonied era, reborn in the musings of sleepy and wanton wants. we sleep to awake again to a new romance, to build upon a city of love. larger and grander still than that of any other

search with me, sweetness, for oils more sundry, for riches and treasures not easily obtained

we will sleep, until then on this bedrock of new lands. on sands, so fine, so brittle, that might to take us down. and down, and down, and down

to chance, to sleep, to dream again

would it be uncouth to ask in sleuthing of your mind

in truth, a prize, to win is my design

your mettle, the gold, the silver of your eyes

like that which the stars learned to stay alive

shawty, what that thang do

one in shawtness, two in matrimony

damn, bbygurl werr u came from

damn, honey, wher't u gon?

can i ride shotgun?

while quiet is here with me

i will enjoy its company

and when it leaves

i too will enjoy the noise, the bustle

the proof and definitive action

of life, another life, and more life

it is not quiet

but it feels quiet

there is noise, but not within me

i am still, i am steady

like a stone, like a monument

watch me grow, though, like a seed

through the cracks, the cracks

that echo in time, the small moments of

large men who make a very small part of history

i become me. in spite of, against all that

might to be, me

if you ever need to escape the police,

enter a crowd, look human

keep your head up, mumble to yourself

as you

untangle a pair of earphones

the same way cows set to graze

on a maze of earth,

so too do sapiens spend approximately

five thousand hours of their lives

(a rough and inaccurate estimate)

and have evolved dextrous hands

and thumbs and tongues

and the ability to stand upright

only to slouch and shout at the

untangling of thin and fragile wires

no single sapien is wild

in the meaning of needing to be tamed

to tame:

to commoditize our eccentricities

to capitulate any fevered or great irreverence

in favor of social graces

we are all wild

all i am is old to me

and new to everyone else

if i could be anything in this world

a saint, a singer, a star, a pornstar, a porngalaxy

a hero, defeated, victorious, slain

a vampire, a garlic tree, silver, gold, honey

a thong on the cusp of the lip of a beautiful woman's buttox

anything smaller and larger still,

i would choose to be me.

who am i? whose it me?

am don't know but hims am me to finds whom

before you, before me:

these things did not exist

nor would they ever have

not in this guise

my architecure.

that is reason enough

to take from, and create

with love, incubate and ferment your dreams and desires

when they are ready, they will hatch all their own

and soon, too, they will have feathers, beautiful plumes

of all the hues of the rainbow, or just blue, or just pink

whatever you prefer

and then, you two will fly.