This Sickness

Sickness comes at interludes, when
light burns brighter than
sun stars, when Anger dashes in
to catch the aftermath.

We battle for the scenery.
Touching base, both reaching for
the flag, for proclamation.

It is mine. This sickness is mine
to water or see to wilt.
I find no fault in either,
both are stars of polar regions,

imploding a billion light years away
from me. I will awake with sweaty palms,
the enemy dripping down my back.

I sit in the night, like a sauna,
saluting the grace of the Gods
for keeping what is meant for the skies
quietly away from these hands.

My medicine will come clockwise, sneaking up
on me, on little twinkling toes.
I never miss this time because there is no
better place to live or to die.

The Ones Not Knowing Destruction

Circling eternity and afterlife.
Look North!
Kochab and Mizar!
This is the undead; the perfect destination.

The Sky Goddess swells at Gemini then births the Sun God in the MilkyWay.

Spring devours him

at Winter he is reborn.

We will join the Northern Sky
when it is our time.
The Ghost Kings will consume
our bodies, our divine
will leave to await the sweet smell of Winter.

We will circle eternity;
the perfect destination.

September In The Desert

Be still,
or churn,
like butterfly milk,
like curdled cream.
I dreamed that we cannot dream past September.

Maybe God will explode then,
and all the stars
and all the planets
and all the moons
and all the science
and all the religion
will mix together in a giant tornado

and the desert will no longer be
and then,
I will no longer be.

The Under Water

Dreams are being dreamed
in the fog, tonight
I am a wanderer. Lost
with Fish Ghost’s, sleeping
under the sea.

I have forgotten how to breathe,
not quite forgotten –
It is destiny that calls me.

Wake me up from this walking dream!
Windows here are lucid paintings, in my head
I step into acrylic gardens, abstract
daylight, fading from realism,
a genuine art.

I am not free.
The glass captures me;
a rock spirit holds me in, forced air
thick like the sea, I cannot breathe!

And dreams are being dreamed
while the fog rolls in, white cotton torment
filling my lungs, I choke on
the Ghosts of Love, Envy, and Trust
while the dreamers
sleep with safety locks on their throats.

Where do they sail off to in
their midnight ships?
To the high deserts of the moon?
To the warm geysers of the North Star?

I want to close my eyes and follow
their pretty foot prints through
Sand Man’s castle and out to rest high
on constellations.
I want to be cradled in a comfortable Mother.
I want to swallow the Milky Way
without choking on Universal Decay.

I want to dream what the sweet dreamer’s dream,
instead of sinking deep
and deeper
into the black cold of the under water.