ruby-bled

they twinkle in the sky. in a garland of smiles. and i ran up to them tonight. stretching my arms to the furthest i could. tell me what tomorrow says. and the day after. and the day after. this labor stole my waters.

i believe in belief. and the petals of hope. and the lyrics of prayer. of a free mind, and a free spirit. and a free soul.

dear god of pearls, where is the moon? i stole her flakes, like paper-boats on ash. and in the box by my lamp, i grow her nails. sprinkle with love from a canister of doves. freedom. and gold. widowed in this palette of brittle wood. wanton. flames. and flames. what did you burn? flesh. or sand. or crimson turpentine by the howling rivulets?

i pause. a moment. the clocks tick. dali is dead. and alive. and dead. and alive. and alive. and alive. a moment gone. pregnant with fumes from Nazi clay. where did wisdom hide that day? when man killed flesh. holding hands. the realism of imagery tonight is a carousel of fantasies. spinning like a top. on grass. and air. spinning. spin. whirring. whir.

your faith. and belief. and prayers. will be thanked one day. when you ring your knuckles in the sheen of platinum. raw and fierce like bleeding dandelions. one day, when the velvet folds to the anomaly of doorsteps. and your foot prints, i will measure. and smile with the moon. nights after nights. playing cancer gods. infectious? no. succumb. and fight. fight with your fists. make a clutter of rhyme on the dime of your shade. that vacancy of home. homeless with beggars and bangle-sellers, scurrying to the mountains. and to art. and paint. and pastel green. the wax and mush of your vulnerabilities. tangible to my spleen. oh love of loves. twinkle tonight. like diamonds on satin. or a corsage of sapphire. ruby-bled with wisdom.

for truth. what is truth?

oil

and the rain drops. they tickle on my palm. and i roll my sleeves. little inkblots on my shoulders. tingling. and chiming. in the wind from the coasts. far away from the land of tides.

tonight is the dance of moon gods and rain. and the clouds, they build. like chariots of talcum. soft and brittle. the secret tales of man and rain spill across the mezzanine love. the passion of skins. and the violent crochet of womb and ivory. and in the banquet of pearls, we remember the times. we walked and walked. through pebbles of joy. by the riverside. on a cold evening in june. wine on your fingertips. tingling and shaking. like an anesthetic. the pirouette of dreams.

and as i sat on the bar stool. the wood spoke to my toes. you massage my soul and give me warmth. for they chiseled me to perfection. to please. and please. in silent antipathy. they hacked my limbs. i have lost my saliva. the saliva with which i made love to the wind. and how she danced -the wanton wind. how she danced on my thighs, and caressed my skin. but she is a widow tonight. with a hand that slips the grip of charcoal wombs. the pain has scorched her soul.

for when you are one in this pool of man. without a finger to hold. or a ring to love. think of your paint. the oil of your skin and the race of your beats. one by one, they pave that road of love. the love of desire and the desire of love. and man, and moon and ribbons of rhyme will dissolve into your womb. you will bear fruit one day. for the palm of your tree, those bones of velvet, and the melody of lungs will rise. rise one day to the pinnacle of dreams. when your womb will ripen with poets and gods. and you will cry. with mercy. and rage. and violent lust. your cheeks like rose and hissing periwinkles. your poets will fold. and wind. and jingle. and scream. and screech. and hiss to man. you are the woman of worth.

i believe in your soul. let us hope...

untitled 1

i am by the bed. and the lights burn. they glow. on my skin. wet tonight. wet with water. from my eyes. heavy with flesh. heavy with thought. heavy with uncertainty. i am tired. burning sometimes. this make believe microcosm. of vaginas and pain. of cancer and love. of tragedy. and the rejects on the alleyway. lined up in the tapestry. of cardiac embroidery. of pumps. and gasps. of drowning fetuses. screaming through the tunnel. of darkness. of hope. i want to see your face. the caricature of your brows. and how they play on the crescent of the moon. jaundiced with turmeric from the night sky. burning. and glowing. in the blackout of the universe. the continuum of race. of racing men. and organic love. plastic on the brow. bending. and twisting. twirling and swirling in the stillness of mid-air. in the blue of chlorine. and the green of bile. smudged. smudged onto your chest. smudged with ten fingers of bones and curls. and pressure. i tremble tonight. and swirl with diamonds on my temple. diamonds of rust. brewing. and smoking. steaming. in the moonlight of a september evening. ribbons curling. and curling. and yelling monogamy. tonight i think of picasso. and degas. and the kiss. the kiss i kiss. on the silk of love. this aphrodisiac of passion. diffusing like vapor. stain. menstruation. and the blood of life. the blood of love. the blood of your womb. veiled in fear. i am coming out of your canal. i shiver tonight. that blood i want to taste. your taste of womanhood. your taste of adulthood. my brain sweats and freezes. embracing the past. this life i have lived. a child of billions. when i was born. when was i born? i do not remember. and i cry tonight. when you say you believe in me. why? why? why do you believe in this orchestra of fate? and watch my hands? as they curl and fold and crease and tremble...in this tapestry of life. i shiver tonight. at the moon. my eyes. are shot. they bleed. and bleed. and bleed. and beat. i feel my heart. it beats so coy. so shy. leaping on my hand as i place it on my chest. my drying tongue.

what happened tonight? this game of tears?