Demon wings

the remains of the rain
reflect the somber eve
after a day of gray
my face ebbs in ripples
as filtered light ponders
the expression on my face
I am only halfway here
I am merely halfway there
as liquid draws the line
and darkness draws the soul
I've hungered for the light
to lead me off into the night
but it keeps me lingering
in the shallow dull twilight
the dark can take my soul
into the depths of its cave
but it feeds me just enough
to save me from the grave
the puddles mimic pain
a numbing bitter pill
the loss of demon wings
no halo beyond the veil

Return ticket

it was something booked
long ago
probably with the first breath
in his lungs
which is why it's difficult now
to let go
because it was forgotten about
after all this time
but reminders come back up
to flag us down
and let us know when
it's time to let go
when breaths become less
and hearts grow too big
and bones are too full of life
and looks are now somber
when they weren't
only a week or two ago
during that time
when we had forgotten
when we didn't know
that life is booked with
a return ticket
and departure can be
so much sooner
than we know

Affliction

these halls stall me
it's difficult to pass
as my words should be
my steps
but the words
are pigeons
flying away
from this pedestrian
and I see them
settle and coo
further down the corridor
but if I approach them
I lose them
as they take flight
once again

Melting suns

on the aching
worn branches
where gold finches still dance
to pluck a seed or two
and monarchs sail pass
swallowtails filling their coffers
with rich nectar drink
melts faces of the sun
in all their dripping glory
whether they are worn wax
receding from the flame
so ravenous for a wick
or better the oils slathered
on clowns that have had their day
the colors do run as Hades
pulls the fair colors of Persephone
down into his dark empty pits

Word

the writer becomes
the words written
the page the writer's flesh
the ink the writer's blood
the quill the writer's life
that pierces the flesh
and draws the blood
across the blank plain
of the writer's existence
the narrative the writer's mind
exposed from the depths
each novel a mere chapter
each poetic verse a mere breath
exposed from the depths
that long for light
that beg for the writer to write

Ashen words

incinerated words
fell upon the grass blades
as hopeless Roman soldiers
falling upon their swords
the refuse of speech
was the color of the sky
in the cold morning dew
the curtains still pulled
the veil still thick
for any parting rays of dawn
it was still the crickets
to serenade the ticking clock
as cicadas yet slumbered
the written word bellowed
forth from the belly of flame
the heat licked and savored
each and every letter and line
and the release blanketed
the grass swimming in dew
fragile fragments laid
unwavering in the stillness
of the growing light
remnants of lovely lips
kissed farewell the night

Datura candelabras

faded petal hue
drips in the gloaming
as datura lights
its white candelabra
for sweet serenade
in lunar basking
sweet nectar sipping
the humble moth's tasking
a laudanum laden cup
offered freely
to ready prisoners
of nocturnal sight
briskly through chilling eve
into the dark eternal night
lacy wings from silky skirts
ravenous fiends from
devilish desserts
pulses skip under
moon laced dreams
who knocks upon the chest
in this tormenting rest
what pours from the cup
the moth savors and beholds
the blood of an ancient god
is what the moth unfolds
in whispers and breaths and awes
the dark softly sings
from datura candelabras

Pacifica

his ashes are upon the sand
where waves lap
and leave behind
bodies from the deep
these summoned offerings
the waves lay at my feet
as the musty salty sweet
rises in the air
from currents crashing
on water worn stones
the soft sand under my feet
a gentle place for us to sleep
where ends are met
to both ocean and to land
where broken bodies
break upon the standing stones
and souls stir in the constant
current of ebbing eternity
and ashes drift out to sea

Jellyfish reflections

float in his eyes

as we lay mangled

in each others arms

our hearts are horses

that have passed 

the finish line

and their hooves

have slowed

our skin the grass

in morning sun

wet and warm

and drying

our breath is incense

offered to the god

we briefly met

just moments before

this moment

I watch jellyfish reflections 

float in his eyes

Lily melody

the lilies lift aloft
in the morning light
an offering of their incense
to the almighty sky
the unfurling of their petals
are the opening of temple doors
as honey flows in rivers
in the slight breeze of the morn
and messengers of the gods
race to temple doors
to restore the divinity of the day
and take with them the offering
the lilies gladly give away
the golden dust heaped full
in their velvet satchel purse
and sweet libation drops
to satisfy the buzzing thirst
the petals pour into the air
a cloud of divine awakening
where lost are the poet's words
and the bard holds muted praise
lifted is the lily melody
in silent scented summer days