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wordlings
borne of the mother tongue these wordlings sing her praises, from her lips they fall shrieking What joy! Stone, feather, purple and flower! I am a word that came so, meld it all, your colors and mine and his multiplicity is how she speaks her forked tongue, tastes, tastes, strike what ecstasy!
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like trinkets in jars
I spend my days excavating, extricating stars from books, bird beaks, veined leaf, and spider feet I smudge all the ink trappings and set them back, and finally, remember, the wordless wonder that compelled these hands to cup fireflies like trinkets in jars.
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untitled
You are beautiful. I feel naked I feel nakedthe lid’s been taken off the worms and maggots are out…and so I destroy you
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and clouds streak!
The birds sing incessantly Now, now, now! and every stream of light sharpens, and the rabbit’s foot quickens—leaves tremble and clouds streak across blue—all shrieking—Now! But still your steps hesitate.
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Dare I name
freed by the trappings of my teeth and tongue rolling crisp kicks and flushed skin I say, apple and sweetness revolts.
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If an answer
If an answer is always ensured and a prayer is a promise kept, Would I then be sure-footed in my blindness and let voice rise? Would I then allow futility to consume no more?
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Waking
Where numinous stirrings vacate and sanity waking pins these sheer sheets into patterns and colour defined that weigh heavy upon the dreaming face.
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No poetry
If no poetry rises from these lips, from the feathered breeze that drowsily dance between skin and cotton Then know my troubles have momentarily forsaken me and ecstasy is a taste forgotten.
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Falling is flying
Falling is flying If all direction is relative and all there is, is Infinite Falling is flying
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Words will forever
Words will forever be the clunky steps in the eloquence of silence
MindWraith 