Kindling: Winter Thoughts

I never really fit…anywhere or with another…more often than not I was singular even in a crowd…a solitary soul, a stranger among friends…but then he materialized, as if from the late shadows of winter trees under frostbitten moonlight…and he silently laid beside a girl trailing satellites..the sting of cold asphalt through our clothes…taking my hand, fingers entwined…the warmth of such a clasp and the energy building between our two bodies…ignited a thermal melt in late December…and here, it’s November…a chill creeps through casements and steals my comfort…come home, from the cold that shrouds you as well…to sheets we’ll tangle…our bodies a perfect fit no matter how we lay…and we’ll ignite fires in the walls…burning our silhouettes for future owners to wonder…much like strangers passing dark portals we haunted…assuming we were foolish lovers as we laughed through kissing…and you welcomed my strange and I fell hopelessly into your stability…and we set sidewalks aflame…and you sang to me a promise that everything would be alright…and you took me on silver wings to my home…where we drove the coast with the dead and made love to the rhythm of waves…all the words you’ve said to me and the most profound of my life was hearing you simply say my name that first night…I’d wait a thousand more lives to see the truth of myself reflected in your eyes..I’ll leave you infinite moons if you’d clasp the back of my head in your hand and set me afire with just one look…your fingers unearthing memories of faces we bore when the world was still green…there’s so much more to a love born of simplicity…waking most mornings, your absence is an empty hand atop a cold mattress…but your warmth is indelible in my bones…

E.A. O'Connell

She May Be...

Guttural growl from asphalt sinkhole
screams in pitch of street light synchronicity
dazzle her eyes like hard candy melt
the taste of saccharine rocket fuel
…and she falls away, falls free, she gives to
Gravity pulling
Blood running thin from her nose
like juice of a pomegranate
staining her fingers in surface contemplation
Lips crescent and phase
as witness to a language homicide
a violent ending to words that never formed a coherent thought 
Blood pooling thick
slipping the dark caverns of her skull
silver coating the roof of her mouth to protect from the heat
Her body temperature runs high
incinerating dreams and inhabitants of her repressed memories
picking them off one-by-one
(unconscious huntress)
they dissipate in sunburnt waves of rattle percussion
atop a long stretch of desert asphalt
leaving imprints in her vision that make her swear she had them in her hand
like a stunned bird recuperating from high-rise plate glass trauma
Sleep laced words slip on tip toes
(how they try for grace)
…down, down, drown in the swallow
where undertows of acid hell fire take hold in serrated locked jaws
…and death roll
her skeletal fabric remnants
thrashing in chrysalis cell safety— morphing
The warmth offers a slow pull suffocating disintegration
as chemical combustion erases any trace of emotion to escape
the heart of all matter
—a distant planet turns within itself—
Flames burn the silhouettes within her flesh
(alcohol sealant permanence)
fire eating reanimates life
if only for a moment they breathe
…shared lungs, scar tissue tenacity
Her body a twirling carousel in dance
(insanity or a capacity to simply let go in the go)
she pirouettes into ash
…windswept, wind song
(Death extends, but still finds himself increasingly distant)
Blood like star fire
she never knew what stole her
she just took flight
…far, far, far-gotten
She may be earth static
she may be the moon
she may be the womb to birth a Universe anew

E.A. O'Connell

Circle

Circle:
round and abundant
     —rounding ever cyclic mother—
Progression:
the curvature of ovum
swift puncture inoculate
Cognition:
sparks flame to inferno
     —smoke encircling—
Gear-buds ever gripping—ever grinding
forward full throttle combustion
the mechanics igniting
cold grey to molten melt
     —flesh is burning—
Resurrection {of [civil]ization}
seconds flat—nearly nothing
     —the vanishing point—
Circle:
round and abundant
underheel—press and grind
halting infinite mangle
knotted heart of matter
voices encapsulated
     —madder—
vices guarded—forces impenetrable
walking
     …guilted
wakening
          …silenced

E.A. O'Connell

Orchard: First Bite

illustrated thoughts in bass string voices
summer breaking autumn like a bark in plaster crack ruin
eyes drain color of a wind downed apple
     -your appetite whetting-
mental storms in fury spell a cyclone pressed orchard
     -you think upon me-
             upon the
first bite: Revelation :succulent
swell of lips, will of hips
grass stained thighs and the dying warmth of rain welling within my fingertips
     -the length of your spine-
your head rolls heavy with earthen womb daughter songs
your eyes see ghost shadows dance in the wake of leaves
prints remain giving life to dreams
             proof to
incarnate: Resurrection :impossibility
the halls of your mind still echoing my breathing

E.A. O'Connell

...let slip my soul

…the hour of dreams in utero…when indefinable colors stray their spectrum…strangers are foreseen familiar…language barriers crumble from stone wall to mossy bed…sleep slow breathing comfort…as souls slip like liquid from flesh…leaving letters tucked in tree knots and hand prints on glass…an acknowledgement of a life and of a love and of a calling…we miss, we lost…someday…we recover in the abandon….

E.A. O'Connell

...lay in my bones...

Will I,
Will
soul flung
   in shattered windshield
      fallen star glass
{glow glints}
         -amber sunfall, stoplight red-
rippled wind force pressure
   cool on pooling warmth of blood
      exit wound flesh
{slipping cheek}
candle wax length of tears
         -skeletal lines of forearms, wrists ^ life length of crimson
          cupped in fruitful {more the less} palms-
head dizzy sick intoxication {oxygen deprivation}
spun thoughts in webs of distancing arms in reach
         -nothing takes, no one wakes-
Chest slow hemorrhaging bruising birth of galaxies
         -unknown, unseen life language-
{crowded waning pulse point bass}
Will I,
Will
          Through
Will I,
Will
          You
                                          Ghost of my words

 

E.A. O'Connell

...Green...

conscious dyed in voiceless screaming infusing skeletal ruins -infinite reverberations- cell stacks crumble and collapse

cycles regenerating as birth of flames: the mystery of their force in spread
Nature’s impulses flare -wildfire devouring in circles- a geofractured inferno of imprints set in ash

…Green…
tongues lick reflections of eons -troposphere fervor- stratosphere ethereal hues and phantasmal routes  
thin limbs transfer anger as switches born of gusts
boughs of needle precision stitch atmospheric wounds as the sway slows with a hush

…Green…
websongs intoxicate the senses with harp strings and faint bells in chime
dew of a crystalline chandelier hang: the drops of life’s fragility encapsulated
existence releases of its own accord -shattered impact- a kaleidoscopic puddle of motion stills

…Green…
subconscious garden full bellied with mid-thought caesuras
set afloat in formaldehyde underground springs
patinaed vaults of impermanence: wealth of flesh enlaced with astral dust origins and fossilized dreams

…Green…
mother knotted nests cradled in pages of letters addressed to a home of great distance
ring-song of trees spin time anew in an ever forward play
soulprints seed and blossom passages shaped by hands of weathered hope: extending in skyward salutation

E.A. O'Connell