the citadel

Your mouth is a citadel
A place where I reside.
Your crooked teeth a serrated sky-line
with me safe inside,
a place that we could go for shelter
in Battletime.
Throw your guns up.

Your tongue… a colossus, a pillar
that the moon sets beneath. To the West.
And rises underneath, where its motion is toward;
Always to the East, 12 to 13 degrees
on the sky’s dome.

I see Styrofoam. Tides.
And my eyes, deep-set as they are,
shine.
A sublingual
jail, surrounded by sea water; into the gulf.
Into the mouth of the whale–
My soul left me and it cried out!
Into the pits of Hell when I died.
And my soul escaped.

In the Old Testament, Hell is a place
where men go to die. Their emotions
Foul, offensive. Arousing.
Aversion or disgust.

Your lips are syrupy and unfermented, a confection
something slowly gratifying.
The stronghold.

Inspiration anew

You have one foot in the water
And one foot on the land, today.
Kneeling by a small blue pool
that looks full, of sapphires,
in the sun.
Jewels that can’t be out-done, by any one
lone sapphire
wrapped in any silver wire.
Flashy labradorite can’t go up against
its shine,
nor any sparkling yellow goldmine.
The water here is crystalline so as to
transmit light; an energizing sight
to behold. Something likened to the metal,
in brightness, preciousness, superiority,
Gold.
It is a very positive omen
with the upright Star.

A silver jug in each arm,
Your right hand
pouring liquid in the water.
Such lush land is your daughter.
Something so green signifies it’s working,
nourishing the cycle of fertility.
I see that you have been looking for a little
piece of tranquility
Well, now is the time.
This day will have you reacting
like an enzyme.

With the container in your left hand,
pouring liquid on the land, in five rivulets.
Signifying the senses,
the best of which is touch, though I warn you,
Never clutch, to something you can’t
Eventually hold.
Today brings clarity,
and the scent of marigolds.
You are entering a peaceful and loving
phase in your life,
You will understand better yourself
and those around you.
You will find a sense of contentment,
and inspiration anew.

Magnesium and poppies

I’m a lynx cub, organic and bobtailed.
You are meant to be inhaled, like the vapos.
Full of heavy metals, you are dangerous.
You are arsenic and chromium.
A brittle star on opium.

A paroxysm of the cosmos, an explosion
Inside you are little bits of glitter, swirling around.
The nova comes down.
I count the limes and pinks within its hues.
You are Jackson Pollock when he spews. 
My thing for the seas is chronic.
The ones I’m talking about are pythonic.
Inconceivably vast. Energizing us like chloroplast,
Eating whole galaxies.
The hollow lumen of a needle empties..
Your veins fill up with saline. 
These oceans, they are vast and clean.

Lithium and tourmaline, I am shiny and
Tumbled, clear blue-green.
Find me sitting on the shoreline,
in solitude and crystalline.
A smiling specimen.. homemade wine,
a jar of clear fahr-water,
Cold Kentucky moonshine.
I am the
mountain’s daughter,
genuine and borderline.

I hope you’re well, and not too jittery.
I hope like Hell you don’t hate me.
When it makes you think of us,
you’ll sit beneath a tree. Rattling.
I’ll be Nina, I shall be your little girl for fun.
You’re a piece of agate, full of swirls, translucent
in the sun.

Magnesium and poppies, we are flowers and metal.
Silver leaves and red petals. 

Everlong

Where am I
But standing right here
Armed with capital letters
Wishing I had a beer
Or two
Or three

Nightmares last night still haven’t
left me
As I was the rain
And hum every note to Everlong
in my brain
Along with the phone

My only source of music
My only combative essence
Cause my hands
Can not kill such pain I feel

In my heart
A beat is steady
My eyes reel
I roll them to relax
And roll cigarettes to smile
Green and purple
Lucky to a Tauren
Like me

And I wonder when I
sing along with you
If anything could ever be
this real for real
Just don’t stop when I
say when
And that’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you

cow-eyed

Somewhere clear across the ocean,

you live in a sandy place.

Cooking up some kind of potion

Mind in aerospace, by now

Your eyes are derelict, mine are sunken.

Driftwood smells sweet

My eyes are pricked, and everything,

heart shrunken.

Genuinely, I cried. I’m starting

to doubt the evil stare. I know

you absence love. I know you lick

milk. I know the skin

gets pricked. Sin gets mistaken,

Succulent bleed in the desert.

That’s where you are, far from here.

And me, swallowed by coal. Tar. 

I fear,

Your love is an open wound,

and mine is a geode, hollow and crystal.

I rattle when you shake me.

Because you are a good place to rest my head,

I am sodden. Residing in a simple shed, 

I am a pink petal orchid. Refined,

sad about the way the trees pined.

I am mad about the way you miss 

the honeysuckle.

Are you in need of a morning glory?

There’s thousands here, of growing vines

You say.

You’re made of red clay and rocks.

You take a plunge and your head falls down, smack.

The sound that it makes.

Something is hopping you up on the ocean

while I’m down in the lakes.

My veins are here for you to pierce.

The southern way wears me down.

I want to feel the sea lapping on my feet.

I could drown, a routine deceit,

perpetually sweet.

I don’t wanna crawl to California,

I wanna bury myself in a hillside.

Tell the stars to warn the countryside.

Showing courage in the face of danger,

I am plucky.

I’ll tell the whole damn state of Kentucky,

bury me in the hillside

with the needles, heavy

and cow-eyed.

A steel-train for my lullaby.

Magus Bride

The automatic tinge of orange and purple
In the sunrise is a renewal each day
There is an aching in the morning light
It is a painful resurgence, the morning
It is a high sign, a tip off when the flowers open
The sky is a gauze, so thin as to transmit light.
Cerulean, a clear October sky.
And oxblood, a moderate, reddish brown.
These colours are compounded,
beginning to anesthetize me.
Putting me well to sleep. 

A siren alerts the forest and the shadows.
The sky rattles and the mountains quietly stir
The world has an enthusiasm, the world
Is almost fairy. An ocean engulfs its dwellers
It is a sign that we should leave.
I imagine a scorpionfish when I look at you;
One with a mighty visage, a scowl
One found in the Atlantic Ocean by himself.
And I imagine myself, a great horned owl.
Two tufts on my head;
coming from the tundra edges.

The potent fog saturates everything it can touch,
Producing a lack of colour under the orangey-purple sky.
Fertilizing the earth, its axis on a tilt,
I would give it to you.
Magus,
may I be your bride?