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honeymouth

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knight [Dec 22 2008 / 11:45am]
her heart is tribal
beating sad songs of violet nights
the paint on her fingers
glowing like madmen
afraid of their own shadows.
whispers softly echo
what the rattling of bones
dare not speak.
too courageous for their cowardice,
the lioness, the princess, the prowess
enraptured in her mind's eye.
tattoos of summer sun
the ink of the indian holiday
i can no longer tell them apart.
moods of my forgotten love,
lost in the waves of season
trapped beneath ice shields.
the frozen knight,
he is wasted in the frosted light.
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honeybee [Dec 22 2008 / 11:36am]
my scorpius constellation flatters me
the way veins creep through glass installations
painting intricate paths along pores.
the arrows on the maps of seaward treasure
confusion of her grace,
medusa curls
winding, intertwining, beneath sheets
of paper,
of egyptian encouragement.
everything is white today
a haze of skin that refuses to feel the honey touch
the pollen of her shadows
somehow glow upon the erosion of manatee hypnosis.
she dances with waves,
salting wounds of childhood,
of graves painted silver with jeweled rebellion.
nectar is sweet like summer
he pours it all over her skin
so that it glistens with her gem eyes.
goodnight, my love,
i am real again
scent secrets
secrete my many, many sins.
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heartbeat. [Dec 22 2008 / 11:32am]




I am grateful for real love,
the gifts he brings,
the way he feels.
Winter spoils me with its jewel snow.
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rio. [Oct 26 2007 / 10:58pm]

I know I`m not supposed to say I`m sorry.
I know you`ve had more loves than Mata Hari.
But you know you`re the star of my life story.
And I`m so sorry.



Let the poets struggle to describe your heart.
Your art of love and your love of art.
Well, if you ever loved me
Tell me so,
As you turn to go.
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Lea francais. [Feb 28 2007 / 3:58pm]
Pour my life into a paper cup.
The ashtray’s full and I’m spillin’ my guts.
She wants to know- am I still a slut?
I’ve got to take it on the otherside.

Scarlet starlet and she’s in my bed.
A candidate for my soul mate bled.
Push the trigger and pull the thread.
I’ve got to take it on the otherside.
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Always Well Hidden. [Dec 19 2006 / 3:22pm]
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony.
I met a white man who walked a black dog.
I met a young woman whose body was burning.
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow.
I met one man who was wounded in love.
I met another man who was wounded with hatred.

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