she is not orange
the way you might think
one of her many wonderful plans
involves the madness and solidarity
of this hue
the absolute necessity of tearing down the walls
ripping to shreds anything you’ve ever written
she has no “words” of wisdom per say
rather, one of her immensely deep dictionary like bands of color
just happened to land here
her eyes
are magnets
that make you grow or shrink
according to your reaction
i’ve rested in the places she likes best
i’ve tasted the flavors that make her who she is
i know how high her gong spire climbs
and just enough of me knows it’s most important to give her gifts
in the way she would want them given
otherwise the terror she strikes in the eyes of men would leave them bleeding
otherwise i myself would crumble and be incapable of any action
other wise
in other, seemingly wise words i know her tentacles are tempting
revealing the leaks in my vessel
i bite down hard on my own reactions
my forward momentum paused by a deep longing to capture
this ineffable creature
but her shape is shifting
she’s growing legs before my eyes
4 more to be precise
making her suspiciously spider like,
these new legs are black and sticky with thick luscious hair to sensitize her to her surroundings
making her even more powerful
worshipping her like a queen
my light wobbles
my own gong spire reels.
their whispering voices
reveal the injured
the parasitic reactionary delusionists
the reclusive agents jump from the shadows
and try to swallow me
but laser beams shoot from her eyes
instantly incinerating those that would
see my flesh seared and my body crumbled in a pile of death on the floor
they run but cannot escape her blazing glare
she smiles calmly her heart a growing star growing brighter and brighter
my queen
i long for her to taste and regurgitate my tall tales.
to lay a path for my rolling castle.
to weave a web that catches me when i fall
and in this interest
our primary purpose best serves
all creative creatures,
this means you.
i see your gong spires dancing from your bodies
like ripples from a pond
growing larger and larger
i realize her dream
is my dream
is your dream
and the delights of our trance has just begun
we look strangely and wondrously into each others eyes
like children, who see beyond the wickedness of becoming an adult
we dance in circles that exclude no one
the beams that begin to shoot from our eyes
make us expand
those who can handle this power grow
igniting insides this hypnotic gaze
we gravitate to places that hold and feed us
light bodies paint inter-dimensional canvases beyond the so called ordinary senses.
and choosing this gift of innocence,
the kiss of mothers spaciousness
our minds twist around the magic of a script
we can barely see and your fingers touch
the insides of my mind and allow me to
shift, just a bit, to the right, to the left, so i can see you
and what better
gift than we
for the sake of we.
we for the sake of an unmistakably
powerful queen
each expanding exponentially
our poetry into the ear of she we
our essence
listening to souls questions
in the praise
that paves a path of light
to guide our endless days.

30 foot tall paper doll

she is red
30 feet tall
a paper doll
my paper doll
i call her brenda
but everybody else calls her chopstick.
she’s better than any steak
you could eat.
in fact
not one ounce of her content is flesh,
she was pulpy
and wet
now she’s just stiff
and easily crinkled
bordering frail
not a bad deal though
if your planning on eating her
and rolling her into little
to throw at your friends
restricted by alien beings
which i ingest
the ends becoming the means
the first spark
igniting your long forgotten
fire friends
some call them beasts
a label i’ve come to love.
a table
set for two,
so we sit,
and read poetry
our skills
honed so delicately
we give
and take
listening while telling
telling while listening
your words
ignite my own
and my own become instant feedback
retreat, attack, retreat, attack
drops away like happily falling rain
as unbraziered breasts
tasting the breath
as you slowly inhale
before the next
which inevitably comes
draped over the
uncalculating day
ink stained sheets
eyes meeting again,
“this is the best”
you relate as i
absorb sugar coated
delivery callibrated
in millions of colors
drool drips daintily
from bottom lip
you lunge to catch
and sip
teasing pool swirls on tongue
creatures, every last one
from start to finish we open their
cold adult eyes like dennis the menace.
this one
true love
is a festival of the senses
one that never ends with the corporealy
clouded chaos of a
complete sentence
take these pills, and don’t call me in the morning
stay up all night
and write nonsense until you pen hand is bleeding
ever injecting mind boggeling mystery called air
can you stand?
30 feet tall
and hold your antane like arms to the heavenly abyss?
tricked like gilligain
regress into nothingess.
regress, then slink
like worm
inch by inch
to the place where sanity supposedly sits
but the closer you get
the less sane she seems
shooting appropriatley proportioned poisened arrows
into your constantly opening heart.
a good place to start
it seems, so you begin
this time it is you who falls
from rain cloud
absorbing into chocolatey soil
giving roots the mystery called water
blank blank strut stride emit noise glitch
go ahead trick me pwease
if it eases tired legs
so demanding
yet rewarding- you fall to the floor
and beg- eyes ignite words become
dancing blurs
that evaporate from human site
tall tale teller
tempting, but, lasting forever?
then violin woman steps to stage
quelling urges
4 feet tall in platformed heels
too slowly
blossoming into dr. suess statue
i worship this
empty ego
empty memories
sit on stage
set up stand
fragrant flowers explode
in untainted nose.

he thought the poem was very beautiful

he thought the poem was very beautiful,
but I sensed something below.
something hidden.
without discretion
and let it go
so the spot between your blades will release-
so the yearning desire in your lamenting loins will cease.
without the yearning
where is the point of re-entry?
problem solvers know
the perfection of any solution lies in the pieces
of the problem
a perfectly painted picture
shows the crack
and exit to the confines of any given
release from the casket filled with stones
Whose eyes dance wildly from the seas of their homes
this pond of perfect misery
which drives me to drink
your beauty
I call myself guilty
but find there is no One
accusing me.
Whose voice speaks to me?
“it is I your dear friend Mr. No-Body
let me tell you a story dot, dot , dot”
her dream was divided into 3 easy pieces-
he pulled the puzzle together
by guessing and granting
himself wishes
like a genie
he rubbed his own lamp and
appeared before himself
then after his first wish was granted,
he decided that wishing was not for him
no dreams to fulfill
no gain
no loss
sitting in the middle
a vessel
the rain came and filled him up
the rain left the sun then
filled him with dry warmth.
a skeleton key called desire dangled
before his one opened eye,
“if I catch”
he thought to himself
I can open doors
but do I want to
and how to get back to center
after golden gates are entered
the head might explode
such feedback
she’ll fly frequently
dancing from table top
to table top
kicking over happily
filled glasses
receives her payment then leaves
she cares
deep down
that’s why
she must embody the iconoclast
she must shoot through all
including her own
drown out the comfortable stagnation
of her own cozy home
remember these eyes
fall in love
with their strength
this is all that remains
tell a tale of renewal
as you scrub your own stains
take one kiss from your beloved’s lips
and kiss a million more
with the same grace
that you perpetually taste.
your eyes
give you away
so stop trying to keep yourself,
dance wildly with those whom you dance
give the gift of your essence
beyond circumstance
take chance, after chance,
after chance, after chance after chance, after chance, after chance, after chance…