[x]

you were the butterflyhe tiptoes like a ray of sun
rests quietly on your skin,
his lashes flutter - the wings of a butterfly
that tickle your cupped hands
so that your fingers can't help
but clamp down
on those notorious flapping flakes
so he runs, a thunderstorm,

his eyes, wild clouds, showering the desperate flowers
with no pollen from the butterfly
whose slimy blood gets under your nails,
like you crawl under a big branch of a tree
sheltered from his useless tears,
tickling the soil with your curling toes,

so he grabs the branch,
casts it down,
you are that butterfly,
flapping pathetically with your last breath.
you are that butterfly, that

Sapphire CastlesLavished in celestial streams of rich azure,
her voice weaves thru star-systems with song
Depthless eyes fabled in mystery furnish worlds,
as conquests of time fold into silence...
She is the mystique of the cosmos — 'elixir immortale,
embalming the wilderness of dreams
O'er a thousand skies captive in the fever of her ocean;
my breath anchors, where a life-time of souls drown
in brushed whispers of candle flame

Kingdoms of passion unveil in ethereal tides,
as the sun traces her finger tips over my skin
Burning in Pleiadian mythology — I reach into vistas
of indigo towards the lips of a Goddess
Unto sapphire castles I s

Birdshe holds a torch.

strokes it with a gentle brush,
silky fingers waltzing through

the coarse splinters,
clingy spurs, hungry for the soft palm that meets them with a smile.
(hello, hello) they say
shining teeth on the tips of the nails

(hello, hello), and the splinters stab, (you know)
like little ants digging their teeth
into giants that run away
at the thought of their tiny legs
skittering across their pores.

so she held the torch, brushing at its creases,
the dirt defining the curves in her fingertips,
(they looked like deserts, and if you were a cell,
those curves would be sand dunes, the dust would be
nine feet thick, and

Satin AshesPurple ashes of spindled satin
play with the porcelain gales -
plastered upon the
       painted picket boards.

Skipping through the trees
and smiling upon the valleys.
    She
        jumps
                      rope
by the canyons moaning throat.

But when the wind blows slow
she will drift away in a coffin boat
all the way to her far off -
Lighthouse Home.

The Sunbathers2.

A temple by the water
is soaked in faith.
They throw their painted idols
in a pond bathed in yellow chants,
tanned under a malaria sun.

Elephants sip clay through their trunks
and sling it on their backs
methodically as if in prayer.

3.

I remember young brown eyes
and red marks awake in darkness,
shining through retinas
of firefly light.

Children placed the sun in a jar
and wondered,
and wondered...
deserts have burst into Manhattan glass
by all that glow.

4.

I have heard the gnarled trunks of spiced men
mumble of 330,000,000 gods,
and the reincarnations of one that strikes through
the corkscrew of death in time.
Or

Eternity ComesEternity comes
Like a raindrop
Escaped essence
Of the ethereal
Condensed in a droplet
Falling

Touching
The earth
For a moment
Touching
The sea

Everything contained
In an instant
All movement
All stillness
In the ever-widening rings
Of its ripples

when a muse stands silentdo you know what a feather is?
a whimsical quill,
drooped at the top
like a willow tree's branches
hang their heads.
the ink at the tip,
a tear on the corner of an eye
smudging a porcelain face,
a writer wiping it away with his thumb,
the rest of his fingers
cupping a chin,
and he chokes out whispers that embrace
his broken muse.

cadaver she was born with arctic lips
and overcast skin.
her hair fell like fresh snow
and she was far too thin.
her bones in locked closets,
joints creaked and shrieked
like a rotten floorboard
under gossamer feet.

wake
trembling lips,
can't breathe, at least not steadily,
paint me turquoise
or be the forest to my fire,
actually I'd rather you were nothing, at least nothing to me,
now I can feel nightfall coming upon the manifestation of a July moon,
so let's let those clouds burst and rip wide open
just as though the clouds were my organs and
the rain were my blood.

now it's just dirt under my fingernails.Novak carried an umbrella with her everywhere for nine years. And when he asked her why, she told him, "Ever since my dad died, sometimes it feels like the sky is falling."

That was six months ago, and he still catches himself checking for cracks between the clouds when it rains.

-

vii.

He likes to remember her eyes. The left was blue and the right was brown, like two people in one, and faded, like old photographs.

But then he remembers that old photographs are the only things she exists in now, and his office will get so small that he needs to go outside to breathe.

-

vi.

He wanted to be gentle, even if he couldn't think of a way how

compareeins.

you were

the smoke pouring out of her mouth,
(misty coils of a vague filth,
dancing to noir jazz, fading with each note)
smudged lipstick on the side of of her mouth,
and the little streak that crawled to her tooth
when she bit her lip in a supposed wonder,
and her eyes threw a faint film over themselves,
(like an elegant lady wraps a silk shawl around herself in a light breeze)

zwei.

you had

the light feet of a dancer
whose calluses were hidden under tight shoes,
whose toes would arch like Nut over her children,
(and she or you would spin with the earth, holding her frame as if-
as if earth was something of mass, as if

four cylinder iconoclastephemeral sun shower
August eve
light green
and the enjoyable rhythm-
clutchshiftreleasegas
clutchshiftreleasegas
until my economy wonder
rolls to the power band in
fourth-
a smooth suburban run
past mixed-use
commercial
shaded side roads to
familial developments whence associations rule

heat dust bathe off forgotten lanes
pathing to the no longer
railway stops of
past sugar cane turpentine towns
cattle still rule to my south
but this four cylinder iconoclast
would suffer to be lost on
their single long roads

bop bobble downshift turn
bookended by tall city tall shadows
I hope hop through yellows
scrumbledumble rumbling
brick streets of oth

slip-The memories of her come in portraits:
heavily scented with her cigarette scent,
dusty autumn coats on the faded ink.

--

"He dreamt of a woman who moved like the sea,
perpetually flooding the alcove of his mind,
bearing eyes as blue, with hints of green,

like water in cupped hands,
slippery-
slip-
slipping through thin fingers to pour
past the shoreline,
falling deeply in love with the ocean tide."

--

The memories of her come in poems:
brief as her kisses and
lonesome as the night.

astronomer's anatomyi.

seen, undoubtedly
so gracefully stepped;
exhalation of debt
owed to none

a miniature trek
of the tongue
laden with melodies
sung to the back
of the sun

there's a wonder in hearts,
a pull to the stars
from the oceans,
a flight
from the moorings

ii.

there's a wander to hearts
as sure as the stars
fill the oceans
with light
till the morning

iii.

all held breaths
do expire
and all heroes
turn liar
inevitably

can you tell
is the fire
worth the burn,
the dive
worth the struggle
to breathe

iv.

if you can
tell me

if you're able
trick the words
into stable forms

shapes ripped from wavers
torn straight out of

end life, end.when i was almost god,
and my fingers were honeycombs
woven into embroidered dreams,

is when my breath danced
in your hair,
(never to be tamed)
your lashes weighing down your eyelids,
joining fingers with the ones below.

a wish escapes from between your teeth
(a cavity in the brain,
it's acid, it's acid. it's acid.
pleasant thoughts poison the mind)
end, life. end.

(wade into the ocean,
salt fills your lungs that shrivel up
like slugs in the desert sun)

sleep.

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More from ~jaani-androphile

[broken] mirrorquarrels marinated in expired words
yourfault/i'msorry/wish/youwere/gone,

couches that cough up dust when you
throw your hand against the cushion,
lay your head back, and breathe,

air, a coiling snake in your lungs,
crawling back out as carbon dioxide,

a home marinated in expired words,
pillows thrown against reflections
of what its dwellers never wanted to become.

no"what's it like to be drunk?"

"the wind nips at your skin,
an eager puppy with razor teeth,
every edge is a blur, the world blends,
and you are whipped around in it,
a shaken martini, gulped down,
brains sending signals of
'thump thump thump'
as if your cells are knocking from under your skin
let me out, they cry out to you,
your nails picking at your skin,
making sure that your nerves have not fallen
in a drugged sleep."

"and when you talk, your voice floats away from you,
and you can't catch it,
your voice swims into nonexistence,
yet you speak,
words that you scoop up like dry sand in a fist,
slowly flowing out through t

TheHe,

he who held it in his hand,
and gently put it to his lips,
blowing it away,

and euphoria choked him,
and it stung his eyes,
and it spread and spread,
flickering and fogging up,
engulfing everything in its
firm grip.

And his eyes welled up with it,
and they were bulging,
and he breathed and
breathed,
and it pierced his heart
with a stainless steel

needle

fresh out of an autoclave,
and it pierced it

again
and
again,

and his lungs turned
a deep, deep red,
and it choked them
up, squeezing the air out.

And he felt good.

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[x]

either way

by ~jaani-androphile, Jun 18, 2012, 9:17:37 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

she dances like a raindrop,
collapses on the ground,
and all of her bones shatter,
made from thin, liquid glass,
her voice ripples on the surface
and it screams
the soft syllables pirouetting on your eardrums
her fingertips tapping
can you hear them?
they are cotton balls
being dropped on the asphalt
can you hear them?
(it's the wind carrying her feet across the air)
and she dances like a raindrop.
you can catch her
and she can shatter in your palms.