You, celestial lept
through prism patterns
In the eastern dawn
On being that angel,
With feathered words,
Carried me from
That simple frame
To be embraced under
For Francesca Woodman Photograph: Francesca Woodman Words: NaRa
my mind is a stage,
racing and sluggish
falling blades of droplets,
with fire in my belly.
I’m dancing with chimera.
Encapsulated, in the shambles of
a castle in the air.
Where the dark ate the moon.
There must be a way out of here?
I’ve lost the ground,
seeking a tone of verity.
Frahm, how do you stage it?
As the cobalt sky flowing through your veins, to your yenning fingertips,
with passion never diminishing.
Only unyielding instinctual energies, gracefully unfolding the composition,
of the soothing piano winter masterpiece.
“When you realize everything is staged, then nothing is staged.” Nils Frahm
Nils Frahm: Music Video:Baláz Simon Words:NaRa
A ghost gaffs in my pearly bones,
to plant a splitting cellular rumor,
You piece of junk.
Burnt out as a string of lights.
At the ledge of my heart,
I sought magnificence of green aventurine, glowing room.
Where a child walked through,
a forest to a beach of silver sands
and sunstone shells.
As that child, I sat gathering seashells.
Preparing to build a bridge to mother’s lunar craters; to be engulfed, in a child’s mind a solacing embrace.
But the dawn always broke with the numbing morning antagonizing,
You’re too late.
Nowadays, I’m aware of her nature,
as cold and distant. Only a mirror, to the warmth I desired, in my blacken nights.
But I know the spuns of iridescents are still within. And I can burrow in the empty chambers of the furled spiral.
Even if I tip on my side and sink into the depths of a cave in the ocean; my love will never runout, dear.
For some, like me, must contract the fragmented consciousness, to revive back into the ever spinning expansion.
82 lives, she told me.
I was told to go to therapy.
I sought a mystic instead.
Centuries of soul shape shifting,
I want to get off of this roller coaster,
With the rails rackety wack ruckus.
The thrills are gone.
A mother to too many,
now I’m empty as a paper shell.
When I finish unwinding my body,
I forget about myself and
heal for them
heal for them
Not for me
Survival now, I rather take to the streets.
I have many atoms of animal instincts.
How many veils and unveils before I disappear?
All thoses homes splattered on the ground, scraping at my souls.
Karin is right,
we are hungry before we are born.
Human gossamer threads of thoughts,
access forgotten to the obtainable unknown.
Well, I can no longer wait.
15, 16, stops at 17,
that icebox presence
came through the threshold,
in that corner room
Wednesday night, empty stomach,
was nothing new
at my feet that must of been you
hovering cold and vibrating
in tones of blues
I sobbed in my pillow, but had no excuse
as the blankets of snow, drifted outside,
in ambient whiteout
my heart grew empty,
abandoned it before,
I felt the wounds bloom
In June, my emotional circumference,
the regression rest at 15
in kitchen nightmares
the trash full of squirming opalescence
paint a peeling, chrome pegasus
I felt the specter, go in and out of my head
Urgently, trying to grasp at the middle, 16
my hands with silky knots,
smiling back at you,
with silver rings,
building an anchor for you
at the age of 22, in fact
Who were you? Who was I?
like flashes in the camera eye
use to drive all the way up top
of parking garages
to see how far gravity would reach me
Jason, your phantom steps,
move me down a spiral timeline
to the depths of one echoing point, and
bends back to what was aching
I’m just one little rock,
In your river-bed.
The crowd, a fizzle of flooded bubbles;
To wash you with compliments and cut you deep down in your stoney bed.
Without their fickleness you’d would have forgotten your essence, fashioned as hard and dense, but with soft edges.
For their loving nature, is a constant rushing; destined to remember after we’ve all gone away.
You are three, yellow rays,
forever in your golden rings of dreams.
Sagittarius winter queen, you’ll become.
But for now my spinning butterfly,
Auntie Mimi will crown your child-eyed imaginary friends and rainbow lands.
With starry glittering ribbons, to elevate your arrival and precious presence,
And celebrate your exuberant onward expansion of the dawning.
Then onto the bless’t violet dusk.
Where all the angels ring
their iridescent wings,
for sweet baby Ray,
of three to go to sleep.
For my sweet niece, Ray, on her third birthday 🎉