Did You See Them?

Like the Carmenere they grow... a cultivate of disquisition. Scornful of the tempest; a rising illuminati.

Inamorata, you have left a living draught, overlaying the grasses and the sweet plums… all the unfinished projects: An époque killing.

Appointing times for self-reflection, sublime, but my lungs have turned to callow... from kissing foibles, seducing sage advice… a Muslim prayer.

Eidolon eyes tantalize, relics murmur… alas, disagreement is not disloyalty, sweet child…

Genuflection. A stranger or an unresolved soul? Conceived in passion or lust?

A trumpeting to Metatron -- and to The Rest-- a heavenly mishmash of the Wakeful Ones…

Did you see them?

K.P.

Quadernaria Misura

In this lonely paradise I try not to think of two, for such an obsession was not meant for this realm (for it cheats The Father, who is Merciless.)

The mountains in my soul echo with thunder…oh, to live with the thunder and forsake the mountains.

Maker, why do you allow me to yearn? Give me sweet knowledge! I am filled with acid, for I have not the understanding to mature, nor the strength to withstand that which awakens me.

You, Maker, are a cruel barker…with your tests. Dare me to leave you so soon? Entice me, but just a piece more -- I challenge! Will my own denouement make moot your divine infliction of this pain? I will fight this hardening of my heart.

I have become sick of your beguilement, your colored nebula. I’ve become sick of myself. I am disappointed, let down by us.

And now I challenge You, My Angry God. Impart to me understanding; the reason to push beyond these obsessions.

I am yet a child! I can not conceive beyond what you have given to me. Unknowingly, I have tried to become my own God. Self-destruction. Temptation beyond what I can tolerate.

Pick me up and lay me back down in your world; make me to reacquaint with your order, for it is a language I have lost.

You make the ocean and the sky azure. As your child (I’m my own God now) I have chosen to make them crimson… for their blazing effects.

You…The Stranger who arranges my feelings…are you dangerous? You, who choose not to help this loner, can nothing feed you?

As of now, still... I remain a puppet to my own God.

K.P.

Old Man

Amoroso ,

My mind is open wide, as your mythos is all that I require…
You will never know how your mythos was all that I ever required (a torch) but now my mind is on fire.

I am held by the words of a liar, an unwilling disciple. Your ignorant dreams have hurt, made me deranged. You laugh when we are together; you laugh at what I have learned (the hard way) just like you…yet only I understand.

As I wait (for what?) I wonder, do you hear the choir?

On my part there is this misgiving. A misunderstanding? An intuit unanswered?

A yearning so cruel that both of my soles are burned, while solidly on the ground…while yours ran. It hurts.

Me run? To consider this, absurd. I am falling fast. Crashing, now struggling to hear why you struggle to forget. I am confused. Is the Maker playing a game, yet again?

I will soon lose you, while both of my feet remain planted in the ground. I am determined; such is with the carry angel. Release me and I will release you (I beg) for I am not of your world… (yet?)

Premature calls to the universes… remnants unsung. Why? My smile has turned to gypsum… because I flirt with these words. If I ask in some other tongue (your repartee) will you take meaning? Your language bewilders me, suspends my soul.

Your negatives ensure my life, your positives ensure my death: Reverse ecstasy, a cruel archetype. I wait for you no longer. You beckon to me from a river that would drown us both.

I am beautiful. You are a beautiful coward. My spirit abides nonesuch. I have lifted many stones. My lapses have become disasters; your lapses have given me cause to move further away (from the river in which you slowly drown.)

Release me, you withered hand! These tributaries are so strange. I have had enough. You cannot see me, so I must move on. I would beg another lifetime for us, but from whom? I wave to you (sorrow) as I watch the river take you down to the next refrain…

Your arrow is broken. If only we were not of the same tribe, then I could hate you.

I peer out from your eyes, Old Man, and feel the time running (like your river, like you). You shy away, for you have memories to spare, never considering the cost. I wonder why.

If I ever said I loved you, it should have been a lie, but it isn’t. I must prepare to say goodbye before I perpetuate the mistakes.

Alas, I am a lot like you, Father. Long may you run.

K.P.

*For those who cannot confess

Lucky

Lucky

You live in my mind, the way I prefer you.

Lucky you .

For here, you are perfect: Stronger than you were; taller than you are; more beautiful than humanly possible.

Lucky me.

These colorless negatives of you hide your black ace; lend more drama to your lackluster style.

Your insignificant lust song is enchantment to my memory; the call of a beautiful demon.

The Demon is sire to the rubies in my jaded memory of you .

My burning head confuses my heart. Your golden hair needles into my nerves. Skin burns into skin, skin that tried to meld.

My physical body had the antidote; your skin was set to fire.

We fit too closely together, one animal. Your skin now covers my mind. You have given to me your black ace. My mind needs my skin’s antidote.

Your exaltations surprise you? I am amused. You have taught me to erupt, every day, into my own face. Delicious.

I like you in my mind. Thor -- so cruel…generous althewhile’. The libertine.

In my mind, I have become you, a beautiful tiger; on the inside, a black ace. Like you. Born in the wrong era or just the wrong body? Tiger or a King?

(Blessed moments of clarity)
I am awake now to what I did not know. And now I wonder, are you the carry angel? Can I possibly wait another lifetime?

Alta calls and I am a willing charlatan. I perceive my pulse in strange new places. I hear my nerves synapse as they devour. I understand now…

….that mountains were your womb. Born exotic, out of this time…lost? Were we meant now or a different bend in time? Complicate‘.

The small demons have matured: I am jealous of the garments that cover your skin; I am jealous of the oxygen that sustains you; I am jealous of the thunder in your ears; I am jealous of the lightening before your eyes; I am jealous of the words that leave your precious lips; I am jealous of the water that refreshes you; I am jealous of the sweat that leaves your body.

Our children have made me insane. They have grown into a fierce tiger, like their father. I will call them Rory.

And now I hate you in my mind.

K.P.

An Ironic Paradigm

Dancing in safe spaces….is dangerous.

Perhaps I am not real, hallucinatory; perhaps a calling angel. Perhaps you are not real, a pawn in the chess game that I am losing.

Last night we fought. Tonight I am cold. Tomorrow we are alone…barely existing.

I am a beautiful dreamer….mirrors of you endure in the walls of my heart…halls of my soul.

(Dusk…)

Sleeping with beautiful strangers…is dangerous. Falling in love with a mortal, a homogeneous fuck.

Once I wanted to be…the greatest. Falling asleep in Uncertain, waking in Europe…
and now I have left my body, energy gone …because I dance in small spaces.

My prodigious wisdom is illustrious, but not altogether virtuous. I will cease to abide comfortable shit.

I need a fast machine. I want to fly.

That’s “Miss Helen” to you, bitch.

A beautiful anima spawns a fool with no bounds.

I am the Ruy Lopez, goddamn: I am the cruelest of players you will ever meet. Shove my face in shit.

(Schism in the dogma; a glitch in the mold.)
Paraclete! Sew my memory shut, for I am a calf awaiting slaughter. (in situ) How I hate my thieving heart. Cipher, for I know not, Father.

I fly among angels…with my dirty wings.

K.P.

An Apologue to Inamorata...

An Apologue to Inamorata…

Searching the Land, she stands alone. Archetype accompanies the wind. Fear has discolored her longings. Abstract, the map of Eve’s heart.

A tender gathering; the hoarding of scarlet jewels. Mythos. Subnotes in a decorous repartee. A Southern Mother desecrated…Humankind deflowered.

She waits for Autumn rain… the Liqiu.

Jape winnows the slave from master (apprentice from the masterpiece.)

Wipe away the lacquer, for it conceals. Her mien is her bride; she comes away slowly from the duplicate.

Man’s fetish is subterfuge. Release the valor for a taste of a remedy, a quick
antidote: Anima, the certain augur.

Echomen…the ambient sounds are tears into a tide… snow upon a glacier

Transcendence…
A Pisces Circle. From the Yellow River comes a legend. From the dragon gate comes a

guardian (Sophia).

K.P.
* Dedication to Carl Jung

Prayer for an Angel

A Prayer for an Angel

I stand unwillingly in the shadow of the moon; I grieve. Make me an Angel, for I am a thief. Byzantine falterings.

Leaves blow across the face. Exposed. Plunder the burlesque heart -- cause it to break. Release!

Wild as the wind, sinister the spirit can be. Were the walls of my heart to assert, surely a whisper it would be.

Nadir, release the innuendo into the bottomless pit. Alas, abbreviated obscenity. No more.

Barren, stripped. Stains are left upon my robes. Peculiarity comes on slowly… a chimera.

Furore! Inspiration from a shameful conception. (A child to be dazzled, birdlimed by worldliness.)

Suppose? What if? Take the fetal grasp, make it into a fist. In its anechoic cage, declare it divine.
Be still.

As it takes the breath of fresh water… discordant in the sensorium, deprived… claret sounds surge through the garden paths. Rekindled.

Bewitch no more; the conniving of human underpinnings is emancipated. Your fantastic absolutions are anathema.

Wither in your attempts to measure sincerity, for in a golden day, this child smiles. Its love covers your heart. This child will fade into you…ask and it will.

Make me an Angel, sweet brother.

K.P.

King David

King David has learned to sing alone; tears soak his careless heart.

He is now a hostile apprentice. I am enlightened. His weakness fills me. My myrmidon…I am provoked. Feed my eyes, beguile my soul.

As I long to lie with him beneath the stars, I realize how small we are…I am meaningless.

Oh, King David, behind your crystalline eyes…how the time flies. An essence so large, it will kill. Your obelisk eyes…prendre la balle au.

Meteors…and then suddenly I am the mermaid…metamorphosis. Heedless, I spin. Carelessly rim and summit…render him moraine. Predetermined (but now superseded) Yahweh.

Aloof, so cruelly kissed. Timbre of mindless busywork. Does my king ever have doubts?

Cri, like uncut ice; undeserving rote. Did you ever desire me? Amaranthine…for now I am yours, lost in my head. You are unwillingly mine; fate against will.

The Rubicon -
Myrmidon, leave me alone…unknown! I must fly, lest I succumb. Yahweh.

Dressed in green, a golden dream. Heedless, soulless. Idée‘ fixe! Mother of pearl in a spoon, delicious… illicit. Legions desire, while I parch in the sea of Eidolon.

A mighty King, fearing always a liberation of unknowns. You remain unborn. Relic in your eyes… You sing alone.

Missed opportunities, infinitesimal (illusory)…and now closing walls. Have you any doubt?

Do you long to asphyxiate? You are cosseted by a leviathan (in the Sea of Idolatry.)

Draw a castigating breath into the disease which exposes nakedness…and resurface. I look to you to see the truth. Yahweh.

As the fig clings to the vine, cling to The Father. A prayer of intervention, a denouement, for I believe that I will see you again…King David.

K.P.

Child (Mary's prayer)

(Subterfuge)

To strip away the consequences of retribution, the consequences of falling… oh, indefinable. Were I allowed one selfish day per year to contemplate…to nourish? Absurd.

Why are the blessed lonely, untilled? An inquest, biblical in proportion; a maker’s wretched, terrible attempt to beseech reckoning?

Wallowing, unexplainable yearning. An ancient heart -- hardened, misled?
A discovered pathway is an enigma. Kaleidoscopic trials. Peeled back, insinuation of a chess game, it seems.

Never meaning to hurt; never meaning to lie. This bodes surrender. Godspeed.
(Confinement. Duplicity.)

Porcelain are the babies. Innocents, unaware. Players in the lark.

Egos inspire; egos need; egos destroy; egos diminish; egos caress; egos withstand. Alas…egos perpetuate. (The mystery of life -- solved, at last)

In my dreams I am jealous; I’m going out of my mind. Deny the creator. The maker is jealous, merciless, relentless -- out of its mind? Delicious ego.

Runes of the old world sing to my heart… the heart stirs, is kindled. A contradiction, a cruel tease? I am pulling away…waking up…untamed. A celestial test?

Desire (desperation) does bewitch. A God infected with himself… grotesque, unconquerable. I am smiling without composition; this I cannot help …a gift from The Father.

I cannot recreate your face…I can, however, see your child. You yearn to be free. I know you. Take the hand that is inside of you; the poet of your heart.

Behold your reflection now. You see…nothing. Take what is inside of you. See our reflection now? Paraclete.

Come child, rescue me.

Continue forth into the shadows…denied, and your mind will sell you sweet, woebegone dreams. As an old man, your mind screams. Will you take the hand that is inside of you; someone to bestow your diamond eyes?

Relieve yourself. Mimeo. Alas, you have seen fanciful things; will you allow them to die?

Misguided by everything -- until you catch the dragon. What you perceive first is not. I know you. Believe.

You go forth into the shadows, only to add more obscurity to your twilight. Your horizon, black. Descry! Yearn to hold the hand that is inside of you. Grasp!

Come child, rescue me.

You are awake to these diamonds now, knowing. But still…so cold; a hand around your neck. To deny, you would be sniping galaxies from the sky.

An angel whose aura is pink. Untaught. Ask her and she will…tabula rasa.

A stranger’s heart, finally met. Words have slipped from the side of your tongue. Put your hands inside of your head. Your weakness has filled you; it is not too late.

Come child, rescue me.

K.P.

Pisces Circle

Pisces Circle

Intuit has pointed, inflicted a dream. Paraclete?

I have stumbled into paradise and met the dragon. I no longer know who I really am.

Strange, seductive memories sing and glide above my mind slowly, into my newborn awareness. I think of whales.

Apogee in my mind. Eyes have lit a certain night and looked right through me. I am dying the beautiful death.

A poetry man that does not speak. An Aladdin, to which my only request was to pleasure him.

An ocean tempest that circumscribed and dealt essence, merciless; the vague, seductive particulars I cannot absolve. I am drunk.

Fish swim in my dreams now. I am free. I long to travel west, unafraid. Amen, I am alive. An old spirit reminded.

I have refrained, but now I walk in someone else’s trance; a dream in which I wade… more alive than I have ever known.

I dream of the gray-green Pisces circle, swirling underneath skin that intoxicates me; upon the powerful shoulders of Atlas. I ache to have the proud, fighting fish penetrating my own skin. Alas, he and I are of the same tribe.

An old, restless spirit in young bodies. I am reminded. I am young again.

Layers of gray-green everywhere -- in rippling trees, as I walk underneath; in the dark shadows of my past; in my thoughts; behind my eyes.

I am alive.

K.P.

(Found wanting or unoccupied?)