Ghost Plant

One story
up, under a roof,
under a perfect yellow moon,
I wait.
I watch oxygen expand
into greatness.

Midnight sleeps an ear ache away
from me snoring.
Oxygen starts its engine, then
shuts off again.

God grows in a cradle like a
ghost plant, a living reminder
of what is yet to be dead.

One story
below me, kids are
throwing stones.
An eye for an eye,
till war takes them both.

When tonight catches up, it will
pluck spots from the day until
we sing the song of
the crickets.
I will wait for God to grow
out of his cradle, strike a match
against conscience and finally,
rename me.

Shipwrecked

When it is day, I do not recognize
this land. We live on
moonlit love and hard water
soaked in oak barrels.

When sunlight takes over
this land, I do not recognize
his hands that
lay me to rest with Strigiformes
and kiss my skin to death

his voice blurs my vision
when it is day, he is
not him
he is a reflection of a
fermented sea I drown in

every night,
when I swim away from this
foreign land I live on.

Away With The Night

You who are with me,
who ache with me, please,
lay still, hold your breathing –
we are sinking
we sink,

beneath wings of bad mothers,
through sad voices of home
our dead limbs fall off,
our bones sleep on their own.

You who are with me,
who are silent at night,
who separate stars, who burn with out light

hold on
hold on
to the hands of these words
we are sinking
we sink

through this very dry Earth.
God isn’t softening,
we are starved by disease,
by darkness, by deepness
of the valley’s between us.

You who are with me,
who ache life away, lay still,
hold your breathing,
hold on to your life,
we are sinking
we sink

away with the night!

I Am Part Of The Night

It is always the moon whispering
with foul breath to me,
while stars drip like bad oil
paint, chips in a perfect, black sky.

The sun doesn’t say anything. It just sits
in its place, waiting for the day
it can finally rest.
I let the sun go, on its own,
but I try to join the night.
I try to wrap my body, like silk,  around
time that sleeps,
that nods with my conversation
and smiles
in agreement.

We speak a language together, of
the deep ocean’s waves of regret
that cry into the dry sand of nostalgia,
creating mud of desire,
longing for its peaceful aquatic home
below the drama of tides;
of every shadow that
slices through jealous silence,
lonely crickets,
hollow frogs,
desperate bats free of their caves;

I will never be involved with a burning star –
I am part of the night.
I am a dead reflection of light
watching the world sleep.

I Do A Lot Of Wishing These Days

He stands,
as bright as the streetlight,
just as tall
outside, on another street
that I’d like to know

his hand is empty
his heart put out in the concrete
under cigarette ash

my blood is a drum roll
I am timed by his steps,
paralyzed

but this does not exist
this night is a blanket hanging
over the sun
and we will fade

just like before
when, at first, we planted
seeds in the beautiful dark
then fed them vegetable oil
by mistake

I wish you were real

Midnight Hollow

I feel him rummage through my midnight hollow
fingering my heart,yet he will not follow.

His calloused hand move like hours
I blossom and bloom, but wilt like flowers.

I yearn for his stem, his waves, his oil,
then a part of his lips leads me to recoil.

I ache for touch, but my swells still clench,
I turn toward him, the reward of his wrench.

How is skin so familiar? Fingertips so strong?
This is what happens, when time turns for too long.

My pillowcase creases with the gnaw of my fist,
daylight is easy, but night can’t resist.

He is planted so deep, so deep in my dreams,
my body is taken by the past that screams.

His hands tick, with the minutes, away,
with the rise of the sun, my light starts to fade.

Deep in my screams, I run till I wallow
into the dark, my midnight hollow.

Swamp Music

Note keys float out
swamp leaves, slit open,
hang out by green string.

Black notes,
A, B, C, float dark nightly,
lightly
through a
new moon’s ear piece.

A mad need, I am
bad seeds
planting roots
in last years’ moon beams.

Spread eagle.
Tongue tied,
sublimely.

The serene swamp sings.
Wants me
buzzing,
dripping golden honey
with springs yellow bees.

I asked the love beat
to swim,
stark,
bare feet

jealous oak trees watching
each move
melodically down stream

whipped cream
skin
dipped in a breeze.

A wet dream
for an
old, dry oak tree.