shattered segments

of a mind that wriggles like a worm

are scattered across

this desolate pavement

like the crimson toys

of children

like the revolting guts

of a carnivore’s fresh kill

like the haunting eyes

of a dying soldier

whose essence gently smears

across the curved blade of the horizon

like a tremulous island of wildflowers

drifting upon a sea of blood

I.

Delightful and delicate whispers rain down

as gorgeous contours and vibrant colors

slowly fade into a fluttering eruption of motion.

II.

This momentary passenger held tightly to your skin for moments,

then flew away on wings lined with a kaleidoscopic winking eye;

as it sky-stumbled into the distant nothingness of the horizon,

the blur of memory was the only goodbye that remained.

I.

Yellow streaks tell my body it is not dead,

but your delicate hands have fallen to the casket’s embrace.

I sense your presence whenever emotions strangle my voice;

as I float these balloons of levity and strife,

I know they will inevitably burst whenever I revel

in the sudden sharpness of your gaze.

The chilling hands of apathy

reconfigure my heart into a frozen wasteland;

like a balloon animal I am twisted into the shape

of a frenzied creature named Death.

II.

Oh Deathbringer,

there is a glimmer in my eye that could destroy you:

as I recoil into the flames of false-hope,

I sharpen my blade with the dullness of dead stars;

though their viciousness is spent,

they will burn out your eyes with endings.

I will blind you,

I will bind you,

to the supermassive gravity

of every first kiss in the universe.

You will become inert;

as every star-child resuscitates the lungs of lost love

with the fiery breath of eternity,

time’s frozen river will thaw

and begin to flow again.

All moments will exist at once,

just as in the beginning,

when my lips pressed deliriously against

the exquisite flickering of her world-weary eyes.

As my final whispers dissipate into the unused pillows of our bed,

your voice calls out to me from a place of numb darkness.

Though your body still shivers with past delirium,

my scent stretches into nothingness like licorice on the wind.

1.

I am the Dysfunctional Messiah,

whose blood-chambers are streaked

with the red-black rays of sentience,

whose sputterings of love and despair

are inexplicably bound to this obliterating

wormhole of thought.

Hands that once caressed now ache

with the savage stains of deception.

I scrape the eyes of the sun

with my piercing screams!

Time-lag, 10 years;

galactic dust in my eyes.

I strip-mine the clouds of Venus

to fill my rusty metal dreams!

Star-date, broken heart;

galactic dust in my eyes.

With arms as wide as galactic spirals,

I puncture the walls of space-time,

to let in the light,

to let in the light!

2.

We were boldly intertwined,

a twisted carving of driftwood

hurled angrily into the lapping blue sea.

We were binary stars,

destined to combine.

Your atoms became mine;

I pulled them apart and watched

as they slowly faded away.

We were binary stars,

destined to combine.

Our bodies and hearts dreamed

in the same frequency;

that was manifest.

Though your eyes stuck to my fingers like syrup,

your mouth tasted like a sunset kiss after a day of misty rain.

3.

When we listen with the ears of a Dreamweaver,

we tumble like asteroids towards a hungry singularity.

Despite the deafness of these ancient skies

there is something powerful in you that survives;

your heart elegantly stretches out across the event horizon

like a nubile beauty cliff-diving into a raging sea.

Remember when we burrowed into the spilling shadows,

illuminated only by the sparse bonfire of our tender night-skin?

4.

But the pockmarked face

of vulgar fate intervened.

Time-lag, 10 years;

galactic dust in my eyes.

Hands that once caressed now ache

with the savage stains of deception.

Star-date, broken heart;

galactic dust in my eyes.

*This new poem will be in my next book.  Learn more about my 1st poetry collection here.

I.

My mind is a juggernaut

of dirt and steel.

My hands on your body,

the arbiter of all that is real.

With tears that fall

like the spider crawls,

I sing these syllables

of voracious yearning:

how I want you,

how I need you,

to slide open these closed curtains of Self

with the silky drawstring of your trembling lower lip.

II.

Welcoming the sun-stream that kissed across his face,

the boy with the nervous fingers sat in the dusty tranquility

of delicate possibilities.

He recalled the way her streamlined caresses made him heavier;

like a burgeoning white dwarf star,

his heart hurtled towards the Chandrasekhar limit.

As they built the skyline of ideas higher and higher

with the love-painted bricks of body and breath,

a wall of shattered blue sky began to appear

in gorgeous streaks of orgasmic annihilation.

He reminisced how the rainbow of bliss

seemed to emanate from the softness of her skin;

as they encircled each other like planetary rings,

they dove in, they dove in.

Imprisoned in the throes of a glorious epiphany,

the birthplace of every element besides hydrogen and helium

became the volatile-but-fertile kindling of her seductive smile.

III.

My mind is a juggernaut

of dirt and steel.

My hands on your body,

the arbiter of all that is real.

With tears that fall

like the spider crawls,

I sing these syllables

of voracious yearning:

how I want you,

how I need you,

to slide open these closed curtains of Self

with the silky drawstring of your trembling lower lip.

This explosion of matter will be in my next book.  Learn more about my 1st book here.

1.

As I explore the center of this neutron-star of awareness,

the tip of my tongue tastes like murder,

for our lives flicker for an instant like an old lamp,

elucidating the dusty corners of a derelict house.

See how I swallow this cyanide-splashed tomb of words

as time churns its universal clock to a halt?

2.

I see her eyes and I want to bathe

in their cleansing waterfall of resurrection.

Uproot the past and a rainbow of glass shards

rises like spring flowers.

Yet still I sprint barefooted

toward tender cliffs of isolation.

For she was once my sky;

I shuddered as her fingertips slipped their lies of permanence

into the cracks of my flawed foundation.

And I believed,

oh how I believed!

For loneliness had died under a yellow sun-stream,

near orchard and pavement, near cacti and sea.

3.

Yet still I sprint barefooted

toward tender cliffs of isolation.

For loneliness had died under a yellow sun-stream,

near orchard and pavement, near cacti and sea.

And now,

only sunspots remain,

only sunspots remain.

 www.bruisedroseblossoms.com

I.

When this tomb of living is awakened

by the desperate rattle of my unfurling humanity,

the venom slithers up the length of my body

to nest in my eyes, and all I see is a great flood

of converging and dispersing matter,

where small, ape-like limbs flail away

at the cavernous mists of time.

I frame your silhouette over Jupiter’s wicked eye,

just to see you grind and twist with savage gravity.

I disperse the atoms in your eyes into the Oort cloud,

just to feel the trickle of your footsteps

as they ascend the staircase of my mind.

I crush the Electromagnetic swirl of matter’s implacable dance;

I crumple this astounding halo of Dark Matter into origami,

a black swan whose velvet wings accelerate

with the blind ferocity of Dark Energy.

I blow the dust of a quadrillion shattered planets

into the cosmic eye of the universal puppeteer,

whose nimble fingers force this facade of consciousness

to tap-dance over the innumerable graves of forgotten ancestors.

II.

Yes, these hands of yearning

are filled with lines of tender devastation.

Yet when my lips part like daggers across your tempting throat,

your stomach-dropping visage becomes the kerosine I soak myself in,

and your eyes; oh how they ignite this explosion of self

with the tender match of recognition!

III.

I’ve already been dead a trillion years,

yet I was born this nanosecond.

I wield the waves of space-time like a razor,

tattooing these arms of sentience

with the the crest of a Quantum Warrior,

a coat of arms blacker than space.

For I was forged in the breath of an ebony dragon;

my mind formed from every scream of dislocation in the universe.

Touch my skin, read my palm,

but know the fortune is always the same:

you shall feel the depths of space in your eyes,

you shall know the quietude of every spent brown dwarf star,

for you are charcoal brothers,

eternally gazing into the abyss with atomic eyes.

This galactic revolution will be in my next book: click here to learn all about my first poetry collection!

1.

Here our shared footsteps are smeared

with the primordial ooze built up

from billion of light years.

See how the sun shimmers,

while we shake with the sudden turbulence

of a defiant youthful stance?

Steeped in the evanescent creep

of this slow carbon crawl,

we visualize a waterfall on fire

as this constellation of consolation

frees us from the choking hands of the great void.

Feel how we tip-toe towards

the summit of our ripening fascination?

Here the silence rings out

in pleasant tones of airy reminiscence.

Blunder down the artist’s path long enough

and you begin to see with spider eyes.

Armed only with the past

we are blind to the crystalline river

of the future.

Hands adrift on the sea

of your heaving skin.

Probability clouds inevitably appear

like mushrooms in circles around our feet.

Standing over these furious fairy rings

we learn that a hand belongs in another hand.

In the wormhole of our hearts

we are transported to a forgotten

moment of tranquility:

as our lips shed

the thorns of knowing

we become newborns,

sleep-drunk with mother’s milk.

And overhead our flurried flock of buoyant words

scatters into the oxygen-starved reaches

as we revel in the delicacy of a midnight kiss.

A thousand glimmering eyes paint the skies

with tender awareness as we redefine the hidden

edges of our suddenly extraordinary corner of the galaxy.

High above,

the puffs of patient clouds lazily form mouths;

we traipse a trail of delight across our thirsty bodies.

This is poesy,

we say with our caressing skin;

this is heart rejuvenation overflow.

Our sensual aspirations lumber skyward like an airship

swollen with every color on the painter’s palette.

Taste how we burst forth

in a spinning kaleidoscope

of surpassed expectations.

2.

As the galloping horsemen of reality

begin to emerge from the awakening time-break

we find ourselves serenading their return.

Oh how we danced over mountain tops,

building cities of iron under the sleek sun’s heat;

the sky swarmed with swatches of purple

as we planted the fiery seeds of love’s renewal

in the fertile ashes of every defeat!

And in the morning,

a gleeful rising will come;

for here in the dark,

we rest heavily with beautiful eyes:

hands adrift on the sea

of our heaving skin.

*This new poem will be in my next book, read poems from book 1 here:

www.bruisedroseblossoms.com

1.

Today,

I am a dream deferred;

as this asteroid of Self-Reflection streams forth

on a harrowing collision course,

the spindly fingers of gravity

inflict bruises of self-doubt

all over my body.

Today,

I’m going to build a sky,

pink and purple and flayed

with the wretched stains of existence.

For this dawn burns my eyes

with the temporal nature of living.

For this night-skin sheds

and the blood that remains on the sheets

is in the shape of a human heart.

As I form tears in this lonesome darkness,

a cry of resurgence flickers into existence:

a fist of rage launches into the blistering skies.

2.

How can this carbon reach out for freedom

when these chains of reality shred our skins of innocence,

leaving us covered in a harsh bark that scrapes the ground

as we lumber onward, onward into the taunting chasm

of a trillion hurtling atmospheres?

What if we were never drowned into this charcoal cauldron?

What if this hasty sketch had never been whispered?

Yet we have no choice,

for we are Children Of The Stars;

hear how our growing chorus pierces the Milky Way’s core,

filling its supermassive black hole with the terrifying wail

of a galactic junkyard full of rusting human hearts.

3.

There are a billion galactic views I could have witnessed,

a million supernovae I could have ridden,

but it was the journey into your heart

where I filled my cheeks with seeds of hope,

then spit them one at a time into the tender slipstream.

There is no adjusting this dial

of tremulous static and gorgeously howling humanity.

You are not me, but together

we are everyone and everywhere,

for a universe does not exist without observers.

So take this kiss of hunger,

witness the wondrous grasp

of these disbelieving fingertips on your face,

for nothing could be more.

In the terrifying stillness of the night,

nothing could be more.

4.

The planet cannot be recycled.

As the haughty laugh of entropy increases,

the vibrations sing across our bones,

spitting out melodies like a cosmic violin.

The percussion is the sound of our foreheads

striking the crumbling walls of the past

as our crimson hearts dance in flames of bitter yearning.

The dead shall not return,

though physics does say the past and future

exist all at once like a block of universal ice;

so where is my pick, my tools of exquisite excavation?

I want to resuscitate the Phoenix,

taste her ashes in my brutalized mouth,

feel the drip-drop-drip of renewal as her magnificent rebirth

cleanses this embittered cauldron.

5.

You cannot say I did not try,

you cannot unspeak the words

that swirl around me like fawning moons,

like lovers-to-be on a string,

luminescent baubles afloat on a distant, distant sea.

Billions of light years in the past

I sent you a message of quantum importance:

I said I would be here on this day, and yet not here.

I went through both slits, forming a wave pattern

across the purple expanse of your inner thighs. I kissed the

bruised streaks and left you crying on the cliffs of bliss,

for I have returned, and I haven’t.

I am yours forever,

and we were never here.

6.

Nothing is right in this quantum void,

for our time is a whispering willow

torn apart by a tornado of singularities,

our emaciated minds the hungriest black hole of them all.

Watch as I fill myself with you.

Watch as the atoms separate in my mouth,

as I tear asunder the strong and weak nuclear forces,

as I laugh at pathetic gravity,

as I floss with electromagnetism’s paltry death-grip.

There is no pretense,

only the fierce momentum

of our bodies, intertwined.

This night will last forever.

This night has never existed.

7.

I was there at your birth,

and you were there at mine.

It was 8 AM in Red Bluff,

when the walls of St. Elizabeth Hospital

began to envelop my nothingness.

This child (Male):

Thomas Lamont Goss

Mother Of Child:

Juanita Ann Salinas

Father Of Child:

Thomas Lynn Goss

Birthplace:

California,

in the constellation of regret,

in the constellation of regret.

*This new impact crater will be in my next book.  But you may purchase my first book now.