Utopia
the center of the world is an obvious
place when your love is
adjacent to your heart;
in space.
like a comet, or a star
like the moon from afar,
the sun will rise
when your lips depart,
from mine.
Seattle
if a homeless man offers you
a tangerine…
then take it not for the powers of a dream;
so he may rub its orange peeled skin
to the foliage of his face and limbs-
an everlasting love
glistens through the wind,
and stings.
a minuet in the golden hour
the frost glowed its vapor
as the sun surfaced from its
eternal shine-
ephemeral patterns of birds
flew in the distance among
the tallest tree lines;
as i journeyed toward the light,
my eyes were stupefied by its sight,
so i followed the birds
and found migration in my vaporous heart,
somewhere in its eternal center,
a chill within me felt no longer winter.
Life’s not a paragraph and death I think is no parenthesis
— e.e cummings
lost in the flowers
the garden grew on a mountainous curve
of an angle only found by the measure of his words,
the branches would extended throughout the palms of
his hands and his son would play under the bushes and plants;
they’d tangle in the wood and find themselves lost in the flowers-
everyday was spring; though, childhood, an hourglass.
alapocus touch
i’m going down stream if you’d like a lift
where the current is calm, nature’s gold sifts like
a windswept smile, kept us floating for a while
no wrinkles in our cheeks because age is docile
the air is a chill, so you can blanket my coat
(underneath a stream,
in the mud,
or in a boat)
i remember when i held you as youth bloomed its prime
your hands have always seemed much warmer than mine.
flos
remember the time
when we ate flower petals,
love is bittersweet.
attempting cursive
attempting cursive with a
broken hand, boat, and bridge-
crossing our hidden stream
of conscious, only
hoping you can mend these fingers as
we secretly swim.
the nature of you
wouldn’t it be nice to walk on the moon,
to gaze into stardust-weightless and blue.
to feel free from the complex nature of life:
is there such thing as answering this right?
for every nature of you, there’s a nature of me:
complexity, the design of living free.
i’d solely walk the moon, composing the sun-
only to see the nature of such a question, i’m wrong.
