Dream Interpretation #4 “Flying”

Photo by Bogdan Carmaciu on Unsplash

The ground falls away

and I am thrown into a world

where form and movement

are interchangeable.

I am born.

Made whole.

Disassembled and reformed

thousands of times a second.

No one ever speaks

of death in terms

of animation

but now you know

that death surges

with the same creative impulse

as life.

The wind cradles and cajoles

what once was my body

and what has become

in passing a mere impression.

In this place

which is neither here nor there

emotions are like birds

drifting over

the still, bloodless surfaces

of the mind.

Below, under the trespass of gravity,

emotions are like stitches,

crooked and intractable.

I can smell the clouds

like strips of canvas.

They are the suggestion of a kiss,

the humid breath,

a body held aloft

by a single heartbeat,

a touch that is

all presence and no pretense,

a touch so light

it passes from one body

to the other.

There is nothing for my hands to hold.

I am swimming and drowning

in a sea without traction or gravity.

I am a radiance,

a boat of folded newspaper,

a desiccated leaf turning circles mid-air.

I dance across a shapeless void

feeling deep and incomprehensible feelings.

My only thought bares repeating

I am free. I am free. I am free.


Wordle 233 and 234


Skeletons spill from your mouth,
from the sinister moon swelling
beneath your wire-threaded chest.
A gift that keeps my head spinning,
a heart stepping over impossibles
for the sake of change, for the sake
of justice though it has no such calling.

I shift to the present, to the fire spiraling
laterally up my incandescent thighs,
a dream fluctuating within a dream.
A revenant sighing in dismissal,
drops all claim to bustling streets.
A shaft of light inches thick roars up
from my upholstered window and you are there
suddenly and without warning.

One death tucked within another,
an engagement that claws its way
spectacularly to the surface though
it has long since passed.
I should have loved you better,
as a pilot loves the sky with
all her incredulous features.
A scrap of cloud held between
the teeth, aloft but in tethers.
Just one touch, the first and the last
sewn together.

I attempted to combine the two Wordles XD


Bonus Wordle #2

Bonus Wordle 2

  1. Gnarler (via Yves) A little dog that by his barking alerts his people that there is a burglar inside the house.
  2. Chirping Merry (via Yves) Exhilarated with liquor.
  3. Jabber (via Yves) To talk thick and fast, sometimes to speak in a foreign tongue
  4. Gregorian Tree (via Yves) The gallows.
  5. Honey-peeler (via Yves) A person who manipulates through seduction. Honey-peel is the act of manipulation through seduction
  6. Lentamente (via Bastet) Italian for slowly.
  7. Muore (via Bastet) Italian for dies.
  8. Makisig (via Ladylee) Filipino for powerful and strong.
  9. Malakas (via Ladylee) Filipino for handsome.
  10.  Lazulitopian (via J Lapis) “One who resides in a mental world of blue perfection; flourishing at optimal emotional, spiritual rest when surrounded, submerged in blue—all shades, all day and indigo night.”
  11.  Moje Dziecko (via Pat) Polish for “My Baby”
  12. Nudnik (via Cressida) Yiddish for a pestering, nagging, or irritating person; a bore.

Muore Lentamente

Helpless, as she muore lentamente,

I feel her smile roaring back

Like shutters freed in tempest.

She is a honey-peeler,

She is moje dzieko, a Lazulitopian

Spilling from pockets

Posthumously wrung.

I chase her blue eyes

As they swing from

The Gregorian Tree.

Chirping merry, my desire is makisig

And I haven’t the means to resist.

Listening to her jabber

I have reason to believe

That the seas are drowning,

That the sky is screaming

Free of vestment, free of nudniks

And gnarlers, free to gorge

Upon its infinite sorrows.

Without loss one cannot

Comprehend their errant sweetness.

If it were possible I would drift

Behind her breasts

Listening to the sound

Of her mad blood passing

Through the sluice of her heart.

I am red with envy, could she be?

But she isn’t mine and as she drags

Her final breath from the grave

For safe-keeping I know that she

Has never belonged to any man.

Though he be malakas or rich

He cannot calculate her worth.

I have been working on my CV today and it has thoroughly drained me. This wordle was tough and I am unsure if I used the words properly.

Drawing to a Close | OctPoWriMo Day 29

Your death took a long time

Too long, all things being relative.

Dying seems so Zen in the movies

But all that was ever borne

From your cracked lips was agony.

I’ve no idea where you went

When the moment finally came

Or even what you believed in

(if you’d ever considered such things).

I wasn’t even there when it happened

But I know it wasn’t beautiful

A man’s suffering never is and a man’s tears

Are always heart-breaking for they are never

Spilled carelessly but come from a well

So deep as to be seldom retrievable.

It was my mother who decided,

Who stole the umbilicus from

Your surrendering frame.

There’s no shame in asking to die

For you were so riddled with disease,

With sufferings inconceivable in nature.

Our hospitals are filled with corpses,

Empty folds of flesh and bones

Like barbed-wire fences, wrapped

Ferociously around an invisible tenet.

It ought to be considered murder

To stitch the soul into an empty sack

And leave it trapped there

Beyond any justifiable definition of mercy.


This was written about a step uncle who died of multiple types of cancer. My mom took care of him in her home until he needed to go into hospital. She told me the pain never stopped, he just screamed and screamed.

Photo Challenge# 80 and Wordle #218

Ade Santora

– art-spire.com

They spin overhead,

Their black feathers

In Reaper’s shroud dressed.

My heart kicks its cage

A terrible music revisited.

This system swallows

All who would validate it.

Remember the coven,

The moon level but intermittent

In a trump of indignant clouds?

Remember the busts

Of the girls we promised to marry?

Remember the dreams which

Proved too solvent to endure

Our myriad distractions?

I am not the same man,

Now it exists a blessing to wait,

To shelter the impatient sighs

Of children who depend

Upon my unconditional resolve.

I was young once, inconsiderate

Happy for my ignorance.

Now I know but not nearly enough.


And on a random note

A- Age: 34
B- Biggest Fear: Myself I guess I have a really hard time opening up
C- Current Time: 14:19
D- Drink you last had: Tap Water
E- Easiest Person To Talk to: Husband
F- Favorite Song: I am not sure it depends on my mood the last song I listened too was Sister Awake by The Tea Party and it suited my mood nicely.
G- Ghosts, are they real?: Yes I ought to know I have been mistaken for one 😛
H- Hometown: Somewhere in outer space. Have you seen the new photos of Pluto!
I- I can’t: Breakdance <——- totally true
J- Jealous Of: At the moment people who don’t suffer with back pain.
K- Killed Someone?: Never
L- Last time you cried?: A few days ago I think
M- Middle Name: Alishia
N- Number of Siblings: 0
O- One Wish: That I had more (any) confidence in myself
P- Person who you last called: Husband
Q- Question you’re always asked: How do I get to blah blah. People are always asking me for directions. I have a very poor sense of direction.
R- Reason to smile: Husband, daughter, adorable animals
S- Song last sang: I am not sure probably something on the car radio
T- Time you woke up: 6:00 am about
U- Underwear Color: Purple
V- Vacation Destination: Nothing booked in the foreseeable future
W- Worst Habit: Self-denigration
X- X-Rays you’ve had: spine, chest, mouth
Y- Your favorite food: Onigiri
Z- Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Wordle #80

Week 80

In a copse her body rises

Four-cornered and atavistic.

An infection menaced

With sprigs of pastel moonlight

And lust-less oversights.

Behind a nebulous door,

A figure pared to shadow

Extends a bony exhale.

What a fine costume

Death conceives when

On loneliness he preys.

The God’s write themselves

With cranberry and ichor

Into the portraits of mortals

But who is inclined to believe

In what they cannot see

When what stands before them

Reaps little more than a twitch.

Photo Challenge #73, Crowned, August 11, 2015

Crown Nataliadrepina

– Natalia Drepina

She was in love with dying,

With dark men and hearts

Paper fine and sharp with

Designations of murder.

She courted assassins

With hinged, irreverent smiles

And tragic histories

Impassibly deep.

Her filthy hands prickled

With malignancies self-induced.

A bramble of twigs

Sewn into an unassuming chignon.

She played the widow,

She played the cello,

She rode the devil

Strait to hell.

No one was surprised

When her tombstone

Sprang up suddenly

In a bed of hyphenated roses

But they all grieved

Sensing within themselves

Similar vacancies.

One day their names would

Also be mounted in stone

Bits of snakeskin stuck

Between their meatless teeth.



Wordle #148


Your virus supports

The frame on which it preys.

I have a heart full of tricks,

Of safes that open at the nudge

Of your hard-pressed ear.

I receive no wages for enduring you

Though every now and then my mind

Goes up in flames braving

Your funereal breath and the refuse

Of its own failings.

When you die I’ll throw a party

Like none hitherto witnessed.

Your portrait a chameleon,

A constellation of pitiless courts

Dead center like a sulking deity.

Later I’ll weep, the pus

Of these troubled wounds

Leaking riotously over your effigy.

The moment your eyes close

Mine will again open

Full as they might be.