Strong Hearted Hummingbird

Hummingbird,
Humming
bird,

only the palest
sharks should keep
with you now.
This time,
little tragedy,
you must not
forgo safe harbor.

It had been sung,
from woven perch’s
that
you were intended for
more than this
looming
sphere.

Yours
the trills
that fog
and stars
stood devoted
in
patterns
for.

leeeeettttle
lovvveeerrrrr
llleeelllyyyy
one.

Honey laced filaments,
gathered,
beating,
in
winged
agreement.


Fragrant stamens ache,
beholden.

What great resistance
it takes
not to pounce
to cradle,
to crush
a cheek
into this
alluring

talisman.

Please do-
resist,
that is.

For she has
escaped
the beaded,
portentous
fists
for this long...

and
even
strong
hearts
become
negligent
in
thorny weather.

James Joyce's Ulysses

Fed and feeding brains about me:under glowlamps,impaled,
with faintly beating feelers: and in
my mind's darkness a sloth of the underworld, reluctant,
shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds.
Thought is the thought of thought.
Tranquil brightness.
The soul is in a manner all that is:
the soul is the form of forms.
Tranquility sudden,
vast,
candescent:
form of forms.

-Ulysses

The Sovereign's of Broken Glass

The sovereign’s of broken glass…

have been libeled
and maligned.
Their names cast about
as
coquettish flies
in
hop infused air.

Strategies
based on hypothetical
wretchedness.
Disparaging glances
towards
ripe,
threadbare
wardrobes.

Steady on
mechanical quills!
Do your duty by
these
carping citizens.
Must not forget to drop a quarter.
Hear.
And…
“Sympathy”
from afar
lest
we have relations.


Por supuesto,
best interests in mind.
But of course.

Cemented in tonsils,
sovereign's,
your invisibility is
palpable.
And no one
can
eliminate
your steps.

Sacrosanct chimes
clang
before the sun rises.
Lapis lazuli,
indigo gold,
sapphire glints and
fluorescent scented metals.

One can’t pretend to know.

Perhaps it’s just an
idyllic moment
caught,
stilled.

Gathered
in friendly hives
along the riverbanks.
Hypnotic
shhhhhhhhhhhhhh
of the concrete plants
and passing
barges.
Sharing stories of the city,
into the ears of trees.
Laying,
slumped,
or taut
amongst sweet pea
vines,
sun
bleached grass
and geese crap.

Peeking
From on high.
Saluting!
Salutations!

Mighty
compañero’s.

No Need For Ceremony

After a memory is resurrected,
slow, slow...
Quick.
The breath is discordant and
morning’s eye is hostile.
Steps that trundle as
defeated trains
enter open aired markets.

DEFIANT!

Seemingly unsolicited
we burst
into our neighbors,
releasing the
acrimonious casings
of our closest
snakes.

Whether
disguised as a vulpine dove,
or concealed
by aching masks,
we are yoked in ire.
We are
sallow
with
luxurious
boredom.

See this ship,
It cannot bear
our landscape.

And so looking to smile,
and sit,
with day laborer's,
cooling swollen eyes
in
rainwater.
If looking
to learn,

but from the humble and rare exceptions,

may we take note.

Now
and
through this famine,
may
our foreheads
become
weathered and
calloused
from
obsequious bows,
on
unsentimental
ground.

with d

little,
she can't pronounce special yet.
so it's fossil..


my fossil one,

where is my fossil one?

Want To Share Times?

Humility’s song-
can be a night of certain execution.
The air is laden with voices,
numbly hysterical,
familiar,
indistinguishable from any era.
Sentences might have shifted slightly, to compliment
today’s gilded lies.
Yet the weight of this fine collection,
these found speeches of precious cutlery
cannot hold.

And as the burden of our language,
boils and festers under rational lenses,
we can no longer afford our
bloated artillery of monologues.

And so it may go,
that as a chandelier,
unhinged and impatient
implodes and dives
at a hostile foundation,
our fraudulent declarations,
disguised as chatoyant gems
scatter,
in shame.
Then,
a wild scurry to tuck away
and hide
and hold
and hide.

Are you here?
Yes.

Well alright,
let’s try this again.

Instead of being caught in
our steady version of barbed wire,
let’s try a fresh song,
one
of curious alyssums,
shared.
...
And let’s sway,
widely,
as the most amicable of willows,
in bemused silent fields.
With
nothing
in
mind.

Tomatillo

Dearest,
They have decided not to lay cover crops this year.
Sitting outside, leaning really
against haggard bricks and a chain linked fence,
a feeling arises,
becomes clear amongst the smoke tendrils,
something akin to reverie.
There are scatterings of transparent husks, arranged according to their falls.
They perch alive,
amongst the hay, boggy compost, and molded root systems.
Collected dew clings to gossamer skin.
Opal and peridot hues take their leave from winter light; settle in a breathless touch.
This match,
frailty and strength,
have aligned with obtuseness.

…And dearest, you are not needed here.
There are no wishes embedded in the sweat of guarded palms.
No calls tethered to hopeful wings, released.
Withered vocal chords, beseeching in a cacophony of desperate prayers.

No,
none of this dear.

No voice close by,
compelled to proselytize the infallible works of god.

Just this,

Silent tomatillo, little green tomato
may I be with you?