spiritual – Aremyfeetofftheground

Tempests

Having come from the seas of your storms and decades of disquiet, I step, directionless, on an unmoving Earth. Being tooled for havoc, I despair of knowing what might fill this brazen peace, this wild surcease.

[Art: The Ship, by Salvador Dali]

Womb

Do not speak of it.
Do not see me.
Give what you have to give,
willing or no,
and don’t mind the scars.

The remnants of your gown,
oft removed,
keep us coming back for more.

But, in time,
you will womb a tree
that reaches to Heaven.

***

[Art by Zdzislaw Beksinski]

The seeker

Some things
make eyes dead
as a great white’s,
the soul a yawning maw
seeking the holy.
Swimming long and long.

***

Art by https://www.instagram.com/zxc.style/

Goodnight

Mister whiskers, curled up in dream. You, in the faded recliner, the motors of your snore like a cheetah’s purr. The TV on mute in blue aquarium light. Outside the window, a borealis of feathering snow. And I, in a sated sigh, put my feet up too. We go gently into that goodnight.

The Garden

“I have a hunger” –

Those words,
spoken in a formal manner,
were as stillborn, as heavy as a stone
cradled in an apron.

And, what does one do with this thing you’ve said-
you, who were always the comic,
furthest from the dead.

Taken aback,
in slow shock I cup your hand-
not leading you to bed,

but into nightfall’s garden.

We sup on the strange swirl of universe.

Getting used to it

In a moldering dream,
I fitted a woolen sock
over the stump of my leg.

The two middle fingers of each hand
were missing,
the knuckles paper-skinned.

A presence studied my learned motions
and nodded its approval.
~Now you will stay~
~Now you have learned~

***

image credit: https://pixabay.com/users/mysticsartdesign-322497/

Closets

I think of what the skin holds in,
what’s in the bone, alone.
The finds of the fingers that linger.
What’s unsaid beneath the teeth.

***

photo credit: https://openchurch.com/free-download/photo-of-womans-face-in-shadows-1004047/

Jester

and this day has a nevermind feel
the soulful king is full of regret

~hands off~ he knows

watch those whispers
for they betray

the teabag tumbles
in morning mumbles

do not touch the lingering cat
he’s spiny
he’s moony
he knows, too

this boat floats with just a whistle

***

[Image: https://pixabay.com/users/dpexcel-5262680/ ]