Death, Grief, Mine Na Poems

Down in the grotto of my heart

Down in the grotto of my heart

The swarm swells,
Into the anguish well
Where I wallow in my ancestors’ wounds
Mauve and violent, flame-scarred,
On the train tracks

The past and present entwining,
On raised birthmarks
Through German arms…
“Great-Grams, I would have held you back”

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Death, dreams

Burnt

Mapping the voids of a phosphorescent microscopic oasis
Touching the talisman of the chemist mind…
Interior soft blue
The unshattered chandelier before…
The carbon choke misery

In the end of the century,
bees will seek the flame
As lava once flowed out of lunar rage
Smothered terra and blacken ash…
Runes of the meaning of grace
The trees will broadcast our dreams,
Of sobs muffled by the blaze
As the dusty feet of bees,
Are retired whispers in the torrid breeze

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Color, Death, love, Relationship

I remember the rain

In the ashen light, venus’s hazel glow ring,
Peeks out tonight
Near the White Cliffs of Dover, boney traces of Wollastonite
Again on the edge,
I grasp a clump of what is tangible
Beneath my thoughts of decay,
A sweet visage still lingers
And keeps the Bardo at bay

For all those weeks of pixelated entertainment,
The last of those hypnotic hours
I pulled you deeper into the sedative darkness
On the back of your elbows, in agony you waited
Like water droplets dripping down the Windowpane
Imprinted forever, the pleasure I gave

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Death, Earthly voids & Spiritual quest, Mental Health

At the peak, prana down

The golden threads sunken under my rib cage
A make believe for me to feel less alone
But the truth is a rock face,
And I am climbing it alone
As I feel its colossal presence in my heart,
My yearning feels very small
At the summit,
My fiery phoenix never born
Only a thousand crystal shards
From my solar plexus fall into the icy abyss

Art: Jean Georges

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Death, love

Resting Endearment

 

Confluent in my mouth,
Tonight I taste the turmeric essence of
Everything you told

That endearing echo remains
The nickname that gave
Oh “little one, little one”
Eventually must age
And
The thread frays

Like an untouchable
Covered in ashes of the thousands
From the same fire of the pyre
An atlas, we all must toil

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Art by: Gregory Colbert

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