Ryoness

Inbetweener

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both eyes open, both eyes closed
I am found in light, found in darkness
but in grey light
I am lost

eyes unopened, eyes unclosed,
I wink then fall apart
somewhere but not
here, there

I cannot run, cannot hide
the stink, the smell of
suffocation, the sensation
of Earth pouring over me, filling
so slowly, not fast enough

cover me, don’t
let me live, let me die
but lead not my breath to hesitate

both eyes open, both eyes closed
I breathe in, I breathe out
but never do both

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Rabbi

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Even Hell was barred
from the Human Divine,
the fire spurred after
damnation was revealed by
Heavenly Hands and brought
forth unto the feet of the Poet.

What lesson is worth
learning that is not first obscured?
that does not heal by burning
or blind with the light of Seraph
blades carving flesh into Divinity
Redeemed.

Quantum Love

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From when we came from nothing,
even still we felt the resonance of fire
quickening in the silence
adrift in the depths of what was then
known and unknown,
made, unmade,
the Original Union of that which Is
and that which Is Not, or maybe
never was at all
What we call Big Bang,
a singularity as Void and Eternity
became one in the thrill of ecstasy.
We are the lineage of Quantum Love,
our joinings not of instinct
but cosmically ordained in the
space between our pieces

The lonely place

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You led me here where skies are
gone and winds blow faint and far,
where time has slowed between
two hearts and places far beyond

you match my step in rhythmic tide
my heartbeat in your hand,
such emptiness you’ve shown me
here near barren, quiet land.

Why do you pause to run your
hand into that lonely dust?
through greying earth where vacancies
replace the thrill of tempered lust

so you might stand among the
sorrows of this desolate refrain
and see the sins of all the ages
become the shadow of your pain

This quiet cold, it burns me:
I see your skin freeze under mine,
just let me follow further–
let me bring you back this time.

As far as you may wander, lead me
further through this waste;
unto a lonely summit
or the edge of time and space.

I’ll walk with you and sigh under
a fading melody,
I’ll gladly brave this emptiness
so I might fill you up again.

Antares

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Of mystery she is born
and in curiosity resides
a spirit of flame oxidized
into flesh and bone
ever carving away at
her skin with delicate fingers
polishing layer upon
bloody layer of tarnish and sinew
for what body could contain
a vessel of the red dawn

automaticpoetry

Heavenly Nothings 

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at the end of it all once the last
glint of starlight falls behind the
curtain of our eternity and
the eves and emsees dissolve among
the silences finally at rest in the dark
i imagine an Ocean as black and as deep
as all the sorrows of this Endlessness
a baptismal Cold entering me into
Whatever lays beyond forever
no waves begotten, only still waters
and a memory of everything

Rain dance

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Fall into the open arms
of the Southern Storms
Let the fire quench your
thirst for tomorrow
Let the rain ignite
all the flames of your
wandering spirit

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Matters of

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True love is not caring who they love most

It’s being happy they have so much love to give at all

Mother

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I took Latin in high school instead of Spanish or French because I wanted to understand the history of my voice–how my words were mothered by time and civilizations far greater than my own.

But Latin was not the mother I thought she would be. She was a conduit for words still in gestation, for tongues much older than she were lurking behind the doors of veni vidi vici.

I wanted to understand my voice. I wanted to shake hands with the first sound to escape us with meaning.

Our songs are old. They are ancient. They are relics that may well be from another world, another kind, another singularity… thousands of years of human history, not lost but ungiven, as written language came much later while our voices followed closely behind us.

Imagine. Your voice coming from the mouth of a woman clad in mud and fur, teaching herself and her children how to shape the pyramid that would become Babel.

Her voice is yours. We will never know the vowels and the verbs she gave us, but we know her in the same way we need not think to understand that our words are us.

I may never shake hands with the tongue that gave me language. I may never know the face of the one who pulled meaning out of meaningless sounds. But let that not stop me from speaking. Each breath a quiet thanks to she who opened her mouth and gave me life.

Di amore

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Sing me a lullaby

sing me a song

sing me into music

that might make me fall in love

Sing under the sunrise

and when the moon is bright

sing to me so maybe

I might fall in love tonight

Let me fall

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Let me fall, let me fall
through the cracks in the sky
through the gaps in the clouds
I don’t need to fly

Let me drift, let me drift
down the slick riverbed
through those swift canyon currents
which sever all the land

and when they pour into
the soft drift of the sea
let me sink, let me sink
between watery weeds

Down, river, down
when I reach the quiet bed
let the trench, far ocean valley
swallow me again

Darkness unto darkness
let that quiet blackness sigh
and as you let me fall
let me fall back into sky

AutomaticPoetry

The Origin of Language

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Once upon a time
there lived a creature
so desperate to understand this world
she gave birth to a name
and forever changed the way
we spoke of love

Once upon a time
there lived a creature
who spoke the first name
then taught her children to do the same
-who discovered what it meant
to be human

Once upon a time
there was a creature who became human
by spinning air in her lungs
like a spider spins web through her legs
conception and birth together
through the singularity of word

once upon a time

Mr. Sandman

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Mary Mary quite contrary;
Winken Blinken and Nod.

such simple thoughts
like spoken heartbeats
rocking me to sleep
tonight

counting beats like
counted sheep, not
howling wolves
stirring the silt in the
sandpiper’s pipe dream

for let no storms disturb my drift
no words be spoken
least they be in rhyme
and rock-a-bye-byes

FAQ

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Is Hell all fire and brimstone
and flayed skin,
or do you think a greater
pain awaits–one that rips
through the flesh
without ever touching the body

The deeper you cut into skin
the greater the pain that follows,
Imagine the agony
of someone taking a knife
to your soul…

Lines

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Lines on the highway
that guard and that guide,
lines on your face
a reminder of time.
Lines on the page
spilling rivers of words,
and carved into stone
for those we remember.

Lines that we draw
around land and through seas
there to prove we
can divide anything.
Lines through our families
and lines in the sky,
We draw lines between stars,
would they fall otherwise?

Some create music
others tear it apart,
and some are like arrows
which pierce us through the heart.
We’ve drawn lines all around us,
make them measures of worth.
Do they do any good,
or leave scars on the Earth?