Black Locust Death

The black locust death
Of bittersweet gold
Bathing youth of memories
Burying harmony of endings
A reaping violet splendid to the nose
The perfume of her crowning womb
And enamored
Am I
By wicked roots 
Biting through frost ridden soil
Trellised by a slant of blush light
Her countenance:
Cello storm building
Violin flutter distancing
Her stature a symphony:
Blood printed piano keys
And songless birds
Who’s wind chime bones
Echo in flight

E.A. O'Connell

Black Locust

The black locust: a scent that owns each hour it blooms

Lush like velvet : delicate press of the lips : cool surface : warmth tucked within the thick

Perfume movement : a Van Gogh breeze : stars in dance of light

White blossoms that strike violet

I define as clarity : serenity : an answer to a question I have yet to ask

My head fills with the music of Forever

My tongue wakes the shape of X {sounding Xochitl}

E.A. O'Connell

Lady Lundi

Lady Lundi
Adorned in marigold freckled armor
Charred under lacings secreted beneath hinged casings
A rigor mortis fashion of limbs and barbed fascinators
Defying gravity : Opposing principles of night
Her eyes {milky death}
Further a fractured fresco
Deep to the dark of neighboring spinster life
Beds of sick and lips dehydrated quiet

Father Mantis
Burnished summer stems praying pardon
Under sleek flames of sun steel
Magnifying the rash of cicadian mating distortion
Siren of bow and strings impaling corvus shadows
Sloughing doppelgänger precipitate: clove fragrant and syrup thick  
In shroud the ultraviolet voice of homily
Amassing ladybirds devouring hysteria

Early Tuesday indigo hours
Atop a crucifix betwixt an equinox
Shrill is the architecture
Blood spilled in the moonlight

E.A. O'Connell

Phalaenopsis Woman

Phalaenopsis Woman:
forest dweller of the night's wealth
She bathes in warm spring saturation
the lilac atmosphere of the evening in crush
elements in a humid acid surge
sweat beading ∞ linking ∞ chaining
from blanketed branches {softened moss and fractal lichen}
She awaits Him...

internal fever building {the anticipation: core welling} 
cotton stitch adhering 
Her skin glistens an amethyst sheen
His earthshine eyes pulled to each niche {wherein the fabric hides}
She acknowledges Mercury with a silent smile 
the discarded fabric a puddle of nocturnes in whisper with each ripple 
{the flutter of moth wings} / {the flutter of leap}
skin bare to the grass fed breeze
sweat spirographs Her body...

Her breasts
{supple}
fit to His palms
{supple}
His lips spread
{supple}

[...
His head muddied: accusatory fear 
{vivid beauty synonymous with venomous seal} 
He hungers / He surrenders all sense / He tastes Her flesh
{not all venoms sting bitter on the palate : not all sins correspond with Hell}
...]

lilac atmosphere pressed between Their bodies
Their sweat fusing {ecospheric universes in chaos}
and She folds Him into Her curves
Their bodies: crescent ~ eclipse ~ blue
and the descent of Her raises him higher
{higher still}
an ecstasy in the spectrum of Her...

{retrograde : thief of words : void of voice}
language for Him finally {spacially} hits His tongue {sensually}
as He breathes in hues and shapes Her name 
{He: savant of illuminate * She: sage of still}

E.A. O'Connell

Moon Over Reservoir

moon over reservoir
an indiphire refracted mercury wildscape
gargoyled by ink blown cormorants wading the arsenic falls
trees shoulder the stars as the wind kneels upon the water's sheen
an earth shift of unison breathing and neck magnetism
-the flutter / the lay-
an aria of incisions to the hydra-plane 

and from the celestial chaos casting back upon a shadowed visage
divinities widowed of astral threads
step through and rise upon the water's sheen
borrowing tobacco halos to rouge their lips
they sing no answers to man, nor beast
they simply web beauty through Spring's nocturnal temper

E.A. O'Connell

For Remembrance

Rosemary beds 

                            upon my tongue

                            each word

                            pressed to my teeth 

the burdened oil

bleeds

                            and I’m overcome

evergreen

E.A. O'Connell

Here is the Church

a brick facade 
shaken to the foundation 
a loosened stability
a door slams, the windows rattle
as a brick plummets
a bruise vocalized
it's a crack, it's a crumble
little hands receive the red dust 
nurtured into the fingertips
drawing a home
of child-sized dimensions, in an elementary geometry
standing within the frame
on pavement set feet
a brick chip pressed to the left foot
a line is pulled 
up ^ over > down: 
a body within the four walls, 
“here is the church”
arms in reach, hands peak with fingers pressing into one another
“here is the steeple”
brick dust about the mouth
a keyhole outline
“open the doors”
eyes slowly shut
sun streaming, illuminating interior lid shadows
“see all the people”

E.A. O'Connell

No more perceived |than|:

No more perceived |than|: 

the instant of conception | the burrowing through membrane | the fusing of two entities |{ separate | one }| cells dividing in a continuous cycle |growth | embedding in the womb | unbeknownst to woman |{ mother}| I | a transitional home | of a bearing light | a star never beheld | a tomb sustaining life   X   uterine apocalypse | a sleight | a grief | unfastened / unwedded :his heart | his silence | my son | took his leave 

E.A. O'Connell

:Where I Orbit:

:Where I orbit: 

I write to you: spherically ~ a thermometric scale ~ of GPS coordinates         

the tin of my tongue, bruising planetary impossibilities, while dismantling a plasma language

Sometimes I’m the pitch of kettle whistle pressure {release}

no ease. only demolition of molecules. 

Mostly I’m bass in the splitting of atoms: dislodging ~ restructuring anatomy ~ according to tonal frequencies

:What I truly want:

to relief map our bodies: tattooing astronomical chaos in prismacolor geometry

forehead-to-forehead ~ curvatures sculpted from seismic satisfaction ~ osmosis of shadow psyches fusing

:the genesis of a new silence:

E.A. O'Connell

For the Wild Daughters of My Womb

You’re inescapable: your energy gives you away: your posture writes the misfortune within my head

{Fighting ~ Writhing} You wrap her in linen until she’s small and dependent: tucking her beneath one of your ribs: because someone once convinced you that woman was moulded from man: from his bone: from his carnage

You bind her mouth: her eyes: her hands

Expecting of her to bathe in your marrow: soaking in DNA scriptures so she may be as you’ve always seen: the potential for so much more

You aim to improve on her design: to force an impossible innocence: a media obsessed shape: “My Madonna” : “My whore”

Repetition from a foaming mouth: yelling broken soul wants: “I love you with four chambers” : “Every one of my cells”

Suffocating: She: from the cell of safe keeping: the bowels of your hell

You feed her simple syrup from a dropper: a recipe of sweet compliance: anemic droplet-by-droplet: pray it travels her venomous veins: pray it malnourish her feral heart: “My docile pet” : “My pretty little arm candy”

You cut her one dimensional paper dresses: in a textile of ransom note letters

You speak of unity: the breaking of her: snapping her from your very chest: cradling her in the palms of your hands: pride in her transitional malgrowth

All the while: she yearns to die: plotting to secure a soft noose: hanging from that very rib of pride: swaying in that empty cavern: a voiceless echo: a metronome of No

I feel this tale web upon my palms: I sweep the prophecy clean

To the wild daughters of my womb: I speak: repeat after me

Never am I small: I’m goddess size: My voice is a tempest: I am free

I: a universe: of wicked math

I: a beast: of an unyielding ferocity  

I: a dark secret: a breathing folklore

In his company: the Devil: Himself: Avoids: Me

E.A. O'Connell

The Clockwork of My Mind

…hammered metal and coiled springs, intricate teeth of sharp picks, and a crowbar held between my lips, 

the violent snap of roots and milk that trickles with a bloody thick from my chin, 

starburst vision summons the methodical pressure, the gears bite, a migraine embrace of my brain, pulling a suffocating deathroll through sinus caverns, 

the cuckoo ulcers the uvula with a rusted song of infection, 

the bone saw grinds, a hand fractions my skull…

…a celluloid thought reel combusts, 

words in humanoid form scratching, pounding the interior calcified walls, 

screams thunder in pitch of steel…echo a porous loss   

…and suddenly winter silence… 

…gentle breath upon ash, a ceremonial scatter, embedding dust in the crevices that ledge, 

nail etched ruminations in hollow sockets, the circle of infinite vision 

and from the wreckage, a hand in perpetual tick…

…a five pronged shadow in hover…in thought…in design…

{-the clockwork of my mind-}

E.A. O'Connell

Wired Strange

What of the sin that peeled from me in sunburned flesh? 

A malignancy dormant in sun scars I wear as a youthful gesture to the age of my soul

A processional of cloaked ghosts, each a fractal of death’s eye, crowd the water’s surface, giving prism to my waterlogged voice

When this ocean swallows back to an overflowing rain barrel, I will reach my hand through the well of thoughts that back-fin my skull {skimming palms on sandpaper prophecy, slicing nail from pulp with clairvoyant scales}…

…and let you drink of the radioactive vibrations, let you lick of my sweat inebriate

feel the mandala morph my core, taste the colors that flavor my lips

~wired strange~

keep your hands lit with the current of my pulse points

E.A. O'Connell 

Hyacinth Blue {A Short Gothic Tale}

She woke with hyacinth on Her tongue:

Beneath a sky of equal hue, a plain of infinite saturation

From grounded flames, rose smoke from a winter garden’s pyre

-a March wind gave shift-

The sky masquerading as a butcher’s blood flecked apron, upon which red tails were wheeling, 

left shadow threads in Her aqueous humour, like fingers smearing their duty 

Piano keys in hammer and caress from a rain rotted porch, gave hymn to the hatchet as it forced through the block

The trickle of the thin stream, quietly fattened in winter’s last melt

Sunny lambs gave a mama warning bleat, as the grass splintered under a slow uneven weight

His shadow stormed Her frame

-a cell of expectation unlatched Her lips- 

from them Hyacinth blue speech, as intriguing as the cool lit center of a match 

“We Walk”

Her bare feet out of step with His heavy black boots, 

His eyes of white gave stare to Her neck

His salivating tongue pressed to the back of His teeth

{a gash-burning touch ~ the claw scratch of enamel}

Rough pronged vulture wings circled hungry, screaming their pangs into a silvered silence 

His head in turn to seek their angle, to sniff out the carcass of their want

-such a curious fool of covetous rot- 

Her hand a quick release, the hatchet slicing through the breeze, embedding within His skull

-an eclipse of laughter unlatched Her lips-

from them Hyacinth blue speech,

as precise as the pressed hem of Her funeral dress

“Not Today”

The rise of Her arms {sweeping downward, stretching back, floating forward to calm shoulder height, before slowly resting at Her side},

called forth the vultures, talons scarring the earth as they circled His body, nodding and dancing their gratitude, before lacerating the fabric of His bones

Retrieving Her hatchet and a jagged stone, She gripped the aged handle within Her left palm

With Her right, She carved a single hatch-mark, giving company to the great many that came before.   

E.A. O'Connell

Dream Series: Road {A Gothic Tale}

...cold, damp concrete in an after-hours parking garage... 

{puddles that vibrate with distant highway rush

                                      / 

a harsh static light that triggers a seizure in my right eyelid}

...frantic seeking, frantic breathing...

I'm being crushed by the weight of uncontrollable climate and atmospheric claustrophobia...I'm losing to the wind that voices its anger and loss through cracks, commanding the wilds of flora to suffocate their own young 

-no life will make beauty in this hell- 

...in a dark corner, clutching to her knees, a tiny face is buried...

-back of her dress torn, buttons in a gravitational pull on frayed threads, hanging on to absence- 

her flesh scratched, leaving cavities to decay

-no life will make beauty in this hell- 

my fingers hover above pinpricks of blood that pool and harden like beetle shells 

       who did this? escapes from my fingers

             {too close within her space} 

...the tiny face rises with a wild eye stare, her head rattles a venomous warning...

fear implodes my pupils - iris ink wells and runs my face

my fear gnashes her teeth, snaps back at me in warning...progression of sound {silence accelerating}...... GO ......she sounds like a guttural growl in ever-echo

my eyes on the moons of her nail beds...her hand rises before her face...a relief map of time...turning her palm, bringing it flush to my mouth... 

{the syzygy of we} 

-my eyes shut, I can smell green-

she removes her hand, the deep scar within my lip...canyons...

-on the tip of my tongue I can taste green-

progression of sound {silence illuminates}...... GO ......she sounds like a jagged stone thrown in a placid pool

...rippling warmth...she begins to dissipate...condensation puddles where she knelt...my hands skim the silken surface...{my hands pull away} she sounds in the breaking of the bond...... GO ......

...atop a ledge...eye-to-eye with the moon...I release from the hold earth has on my feet

{highway rush, trails of headlights -night accelerates from behind star spirals} 

...the rise of a sun, blood orange at earth's lips...I, from the backseat, count miles on the abacus of my spine -distance gains perspective- I've always been meant for more...more words in song, more days in climb, more eyes in ache on the rising sun...far from this car, far from this notch in time...

...... GONE ......     

E.A. O'Connell

Dream Series: Untitled {A Gothic Tale}

I sleep on red sheets…they hide the blood. 

Dreams cost me death, stripping away my mem-brains, leaving me a savage dual{el} of myself, but somewhere deep I know, I {the merciful self}, home elsewhere; cranial architecture: a garret socket intricately laced with lash buttresses, collecting motes of dust atop arachnid thin linens. 

/Lilacs forlorn with rain, rest their heads against a stone wall: honeysuckle echoes through a quarry of twilight striae shelves: root chains through graying tunnels\

I painted a wall red, shade after shade {deeper…deepest…death}, my hands smearing the wall, splattering and dripping along my arms, my face, my clothes.  I stripped myself bare and stood before the mass -illuminated- I watched my shadow awaken, stretch, and reach out for me.  I kept my distance, but in my gut I felt embryonic ties quickening, and so I gave, and in slow time we danced a war song, and a reconciliation. 

I leant my back into the wall, my shadow’s arms wrapped about me -fusing above my sternum- its hands pulling layer, upon dermal layer from my body…the chemistry of blood and paint indecipherable.  No pain was wept, not a single breath exhaled, until my veins gave howl -eyes materializing upon sheetrock imperfections, slowly opening, setting their voyeuristic gaze upon me- set to the frequency of wet fingers rounding crystal chalice lips.

:my shadow’s face a skyward angle of silent maniacal laughter and self-inflicted punishment: 

I awoke in a sweat, throwing the sheet from my body -it canopied the moon’s light: ballooning around me: casting me in womb- an absentminded hand brushing at the itch of moisture from my hips, sought solace in the curvature of my scream {blood drying, caking my skin}…I, a clay desert, gape mouthed and pleading…

…somewhere…

…an altar of candles slipped a waxen temple…
…cello strings ignited a lovers pyre…
…a dress of bone and nicotine tinged wings bled inward…

E.A. O'Connell

Untitled

glass cavity : cardiac symphony
an ecospheric sanctuary of angel vein hydra-fey
          ~ upsweeping vibrations ~ 
soft salted sun of intra-space womb in perpetual thunderclap revolution
piscean fetal-echo 
                                prism threads
                                                          that fingers spool in dermal memory
                                                                                                         {life in fraction 
                                                               [ / ]
life evacuation}
congenital cavity : cardiac cease
maternal demolition- a hollow weight crippling umbilical fastening
          ~ acouasm premonition ~
soul ascending silence in exhalation ? soul absorption in spectral quickening
curettage to past tense womb
                                                 uterine excavation
                                                                                 of a consecrated void 
{death in vacuum 
                                                              [ \ ] 
                                                                                            death the outer space}
                       I pray you when my hands phantom your weight
     returned to fire : iron and astral dust : you secret futures yet to luminesce

E.A. O'Connell