Eyedust

Desert of my dreams

a perfect flatness

on the horizon

where moon and sun

kiss into a midday twilight,

an ivory silk follows–

I remember seeing it

and holding its pattern

in my mind,

the dryness

an arctic bloom

filled with orange canyons,

and sand

white sand

the luscious sand we sleep on,

a resolute–

Where cacti rise

to the sun’s slumber

like red lanterns

with sketches of animals

on the outside,

they are filled

with flames

like strange myths

like ancient dragons–

And the isolated,

the fireflies

take over

the darkness

like darkness was never there

and never will be

again.

 

Feel Alive

There is a magnitude

a rushing water

where every heartbeat

is left unturned–

A flock of snowing flowers

find us there

quivering

in the cold shutters

of every hand

which was never desolate

to find rocks

reaching

upon every ground,

our ground,

the unsolid gaze

which never chanced

anyone–

To rob oneself

of daylight

is forbidden

and the mystery

knows it

for it never hid

its face from your walls–

And until every stone

a memory

a thought

a pointless hour

to waste,

until every last stone

falls

and remains,

you will never release

control.

I, Me, Alone

Let me tell you about the people

who lived here before

you

they did not suffer the way you did

their stories were not as interesting

they did not have dire circumstances

they never faced hardships

they had never lost

anyone they loved

they never weeped

they never married

they never loved

they never been loved

they never died

they never died alone

they never regretted anything

they have no lessons for you

for they were never human

like you

they never opened their eyes

they never rose up

to the morning light

lost and confused about who they were

and where they were going

in fact, no one in your current world

suffers the way you do

or experiences life the way you do–

you are the pinnacle of all pain

your story is by far sadder

by far happier

than any story on the planet

no, the universe

because the universe is really

that small

and maybe everyone is far more interesting

and you live a boring existence

staring into a window of dreams

in the palm of your hand

your beautiful hand

so intricately made with every line

with purpose, yet with vacancy–

empty are the hands of humanity

for they lift nothing

point to nothing

and lay bare by our sides–

you use that empty hand

in the quiet of the black-star night

to pick up a book

a journal or memoir of one’s past

a life fitting into a two hundred page binding

the same way your life

could be bound

to summarize “you” in two hundred pages,

and as you read the first sentences

you hear the muffling sounds

of arctic foxes

laughing and chasing each other,

perhaps you hear

some people parking their cars

and carrying groceries into their houses

and you realize

you may not be alone after all.

Eruption

Have you ever felt

like you were made

to make silver

rather than gold–

Out of depths of the earth

in a refinery eye

beholds all we want

all we do

all we see

“But is that it?”

We ask ourselves,

softly, in the ashes

“Am I just silver?”

“Am I only gold?”

We pour shiny liquid

into a box

and expect

the expected to happen

but what is it,

but the unexpected

“What then…?”

We whisper,

we question life

itself, flying

and soaring

like a gale of dust

with copper wings–

We are no longer birds

nor have we have ever been

human enough

to understand

how lava flows

into the sea

dissipating into smokeless

smoke,

as our hearts beat

uncontrollably–

It is a star mist

molded by black magma

of only death’s matter

with fire hotter

than fire itself,

And all the jewels,

diamonds, gold plates

and silver coins

melt away

into feeling.

 

Under Ice

On the edge of the earth

I feel that galaxy

rotating, turning

how it must really be,

while my hands press

up from under

the glass–

The ever splendor light

tries to melt us

our fingers

to pierce through darkness

once more–

I am cold

very cold

that I no longer shiver

but am waiting

waiting for a voice

to take me back

from my frozen slumber

a stillness

in a breathless dream

where inaudible sounds

of children and families

run and laugh, talking

in a far away place

on a silent hill

of green

and frosty desperation

where the dream-catcher

of earth

captures

every last piece of life

from a bountiful tulip

to a fallen red leaf

once from a maple tree

now, all coated

and covered

imprisoned and preserved

to hold life tranquil

and one day

pressing forward

it will crack.

Half the Water

In the black sky

was a black eye

that was white

as snow and death

pealing before me

like a boiled egg

unraveling

feathers and glimmering

star dust–

Quickly does a tear drop

with reflections of our faces

humanity, at last

at fate–the unquenchable

the unthinkable

speaking their last words

like a fallen star–

We forget the galaxies

for they knew us

We love ourselves

for we knew us–

As the silent limbo

of this grey life

takes us

deep

into cold air

of an endless night

breathing a final breath

ever so fresh.