Filed under Bad Poetry, Writing on January 19th, 1991 No Comments »
electric woman
Do you exist?
Pulsations of
your image
shrouded by your
hesitations
Vivid painting of a white withered angel
giving to a sea of fragrance
Beautiful Angel,
finite
it is you that is the stroker of hearts
the devoid
you are my fingertips
It is you Dancer,
it is you
Include me in your song
lead me past the silence into the
melee of your whispers
it is You.
electric
inviting
It has always been you.
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Filed under Bad Poetry, Writing on January 13th, 1991 No Comments »
Silhouette, radiance
She descends from
a prism of beauty
down
to touch me
with airs of twilight
Cool bells of fantasy
that tumble from her lips
I bathe in the fluid of her voice
Drink Drown Die
Suicide, most beautiful
I can not
touch her
She is gone.
Silhouette, retreating
ascending into the divine
Flourescent flame of absorption
Burning me until I am spent
and she does not return.
The sunlight she brings is gone, left
with her
Overwhelmed by the night,
I return home.
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Filed under Bad Poetry, Writing on January 8th, 1991 No Comments »
Alone
in his eye
She sings.
Spoken ripples of earth
cascade from her breath
and fall
Potent magic, sacred rain
siezing his hand
Drawing blood from his fingers
capsize his world
withdrawing him
into the pyramid of dying sky.
The ghost and the girl.
She sings
unwillingly
and he dies in her arms;
Choked by her beauty,
fleeting images snared behind his eyes
unreachable touch lodged in his throat
suffocated by rapture
entombed in desire,
His spirit rises into the heavens
of her sweet song.
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Filed under Bad Poetry, Writing on January 5th, 1991 No Comments »
The pale touch of heat with resonance
with Eyes that cannot be seen
Deaf to the voice of
me.
Wait.
Lost in a query
She is a magician
Dressed in the past
All arrayed.
A jeweled moon
Sea
Drawing from me
that pale touch of heat with resonance
Anger unannounced brought by the light
a solemn sigh of pretentious awakening
Intensity, that of
fine tuning
hightened perception
The world served up to me under glass.
And that simple gift she gives to me
unaware
Remote complexities of a sanctuary
and that familiar pale touch
of heat
with resonance.
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