deFragment(ation)

not late enough

to start now

the sky periwinks

lashes brush over

lids lay overwhelmed

in light shades

I am all melted 

matter that moves

and thinks not 

in solid states

no thing

could hold me here

for more

than one may take

away for another

day

un finished...

Painting by Wassily Kandinsky, Mouvement (1935) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Her voluptuous parabolas

All
who have seen her
swear they have never seen her
happier, lately
while she laughs, letting crickets go.

Her curves always know
how to smooth things out
and the way she walks begs forgiveness
as her karma rounds
every corner.

Softness was her style
to say it supply-

it could stem from her blooming chest,
crimson raw cheeks, her velvet bleeding lips
or lilac silvery strands


her glare goes right through any apparitions and by
body, somehow she knows the bright angles
to the long equations...

At night she paints
the smudged sky on her arms.
Before sunrise she weaves weak
words stained black. They don't smear-
she won't use them-in the light by day
she tends to others angles
in her smooth parabolic way.

It seems she just sashays away,
her every day face
acting as the fulcrum for all others
a round nowhere to stick
around.



Painting by Edgar Degas, After the Bath, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

You for ick & X-Stacy

Tantalize me, blind me
with only the very tip
of touch
by bare skin, finger-
tip and thirsting tongue
piquancy tastes of infusion
and shutterless delusions

Sip and savor
thick honeyed pleasure
open viscous and slow,
collecting each drop contains
seven heavens
in one sin

Shall we begin
by a scent
magnet eyes,
enrapt by craving
connection, in conductive curiosity
never killed the unseen energy
crackling its static ring
of five
alive
ones

And generosity
left to ecstasy
takes lying down
where I would
see
in twice meant
lurid along making life lines
by hand.



Drawing by By Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri de (Unknown) c. 1896 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

To Rise Above

To Rise Above

does not challenge

volume of voice;

Rather, 

to Rise

we must become

light-er.

Start by letting go

of what was never able

or willing to support your weight-

in words;

it may be all ready 

too late

to try to fly

on your own.

Up or down, to fall or float

dares us to face that timid demon;

in doing so, we learn 

a bit about freedom-

not of choice or right, 

as in 'Fight or Flight',

but to maintain and conserve

the quiet right 

to let go.

And move on,

to knowing

there is much more

than time

to exist and resist

changes 

of the heart.

Painting by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson (1802) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Pass the looking glass

Face your fears,
is always more than
a dare,
underlying there is
the resurgence and recurrence
brought back by time and tide

Heavy in the air
inoculable preoccupation
to reflect
the return
a long lost relative redness
in the cheeks,
the submarine crystal eyes,
tiny peeks in a clouded
mirror

and there stares
back the terror of truth,
thicker than mist
draining all the same
Vain
by surface shine
in a spectacle
she sees a blind slave
whose never seen herself
anything but brave.

Painting By Tarbell, Edmund Charles (1862 - 1938) – Artist (American) Details of artist on Google Art Project [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Second helpings

It would be asking too much
if someone said
wait one-thousand-milliseconds,
one hundred jiffy's,
a billion nanoseconds, or a Fermi
but really that sounds silly,
so seconds it is to please be quick-
witted, reactive to surfaces
as echoes and sound is also a wave
that warbles along at seven hundred
and sixty
miles per second,
superficially.

Just so you know, it is all calculable by
a minuscule measurement of  radiation
and reach, emitted by caesium (-133),
tiny things we cannot see nakedly
invaluable like love and currency.

Honestly, you should know also
that it takes 6 full grown alligator
seconds to gain any kinetic benefit,
by stretch or strain,
of any muscle-through release or gain.
And all should plan appropriately,
it takes twenty-one seconds to pee-
really
on average
you have been warned
seconds and faith
take quantum leaps.

In one unjust second, a bullet barrels by
two thousand five hundred feet
while a snail sidles over a puddle
cruising 1 chasmic centimeter
and in that same moment
we swallow, we make thoughts,
we blink, we take it in, more than oxygen-
we reminisce wanting more from before...

the world changes drastically for one
second, and
again,
firsts are never enough
for any one
Now.



Painting by Johannes Vermeer, (b/w 1655 and 1667) 'The Art of Painting' in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Hand me downs

I never claim to know is mine, 

                                                     alone.

Perhaps it is a preference of plagiarism,

a nose for improper prose,

an insatiable appetite for 

all ilks of altruistic anthema

I could not think 

of a better wheel design.

We have learned.

Where there is smoke was once

                                                    on fire.

Needs and devours

as borrowed without interest.

Solutions are simple echoes, 

                                                   echoes

what you said you heard

and comes back if it hits the right note

accord.

You know how others wrought words 

                                                    work

more harmonized than mine, 

in truth themselves together 

as wording that works

for real-ity-itty-bity life-like

                                             Projects

and Practice.

By stretch of imagination or by the life-

span of a metaphor

                                                    by suspension 

and leaps

abound archaic and built to last

for a time-as taut truth

entwined in tension.

Look 

out. 

Given eyes 

                                                    to see, 

Only art may remind us why

color is requisite to sight.

And why white space is free 

breath. 

To covet a glance, off the top 

take without change 

of rubberized opinion

or overcharge for overdrawn spirituality

                                                    from a paper One.

I imagine 

remembering clearly-

                            some scattered lines of poetry

in tangled threads, 

rags over-stiched spines, 

poets opine over each others

dead bodies doing it wrong

turning the soil, lying there

and re-cultivating the Garden of

                                                   I Will

re-Discover.

                                          Know only 

slowly may one go

to pull open space we need

vacancies never free, but insist

on appearance and flow from Others 

Currents

pulled into time by tide. 

                                           Drifters

we are all sifters, thieves 

of sureness,

presenters of possibilities,

tailors 

                                           of time-

space,

altering whose in whose

reality-one time, 

rerunning reminiscences

and savoring our own essence

familiar

in-decadence in fortitude

never mine in any time-frame

                                           alone.

Image By Charles Robinson (The Happy Prince and Other Tales) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.