Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.

Feathers whisper stories and poems of life before.
Feathers lie in the cold, it tell stories of life before.

Sunday, November 16, 2014


The smell wrecks the breath with pleasure
pricks the brain with fingers of candy perfume.
breeze's message swims in through the open door
but not exactly how last night's dream formed.

Getting flirty, the beatings drummed fast
how could this be that a table bloomed once
with dishes of pink, red and with Cup id’s musk
now, topped with peppers in each ounce.

Aye, spread the wings, fly slowly in true space
out, out to the door--sullen and open wide
component sings dirges without a smack or soft kiss
where drops swish--eyes weave sadness in the lids.

Wail the final pitch of sonata while the scent's pacing
out to the chord's freedom and wilful footfalls fade
crescendo's fading akin to the night's lightning
losing kiss with night's rain under moonlit shade.

O, the separated genius who sprouted a rose in the Gobi
reeks a difference that separates--that all need.
but all come a pard with fishes asking for the key
all freestyled in Lethe but key shines down the bed.

If this true, how come both stars come dripping
the lighted lids are closed but spark with sunlight
but the breast is yet to rip open by a long-standing loving
the deep-hued colors buried will implode with its might.

The difference, a key to separate so then stream out
through the open door as genie puff-off in the open
humming the music of birds early tunes, but
leave it as is--"key's" here--finds the 'morrow in the same pen.

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