Mimi Mata

If you decide to turn from my combustable heart
And the cinders of my words let loose,

remember I had to burn the burden of this noose;
...

Watching leaves shiver
from every hollow gust

I turned my back:
...

I speak of all wilted things as my being
To believe a rose dissipated in the cold
Will never grow the same in the spring,
To feel as the wave does split by all it touches?
...

I wish for you to bed yourself upon my verses,
For, the passionate tyranny of each line set up it's net
And, in the distance between the parallels of each word,
You will then find me...
...

The light would not,
Fight for the deepest root,

As the scent of my wooden soul,
...

You and your meteor of a heart...
You fragile fire,
Why does the sun in the sky
Suddenly put you out?
...

I know what you are my dear
I know subdued solace behind your steel doors and sword fences
The shine of metal only cuts inward of wood
Tell me can your splintering heal? ...
...

I am a balloon,
Or, so it may seem,
light in step and transparent.
...

I cannot comprehend,
Things from an inanimate point of view;

How a vase can become precious,
...

There is a nuisance in this seemingly mindful world

How suddenly in a reverie, a vein tries to breathe
...

I roam barren fields
Ebony velvet descending
Seeping beneath my skin
As emotions unforseen
...

Furrow of brow,
Indecipherable flight of step;
My emotions decapitated,
By razor; steel word...
...

With insubordinate step;
You go looking onward
across your pastures...
Where restless roses
...

The world will never understand a poet,
It seems,
It seems...
...

Sometimes you wake,
And you find me there;
I am restless love...
...

What if my world suddenly changed?
A heart beneath sand and stone,
Beating to grasp those lost gems;
The beautiful circumstance of my final being...
...

Between time and space
There is no retreat for tired arms,
The coarseness of hands seem almost inanimate...
Like objects set aside; restlessly ticking.
...

Do not change...
How would I consume fruit
From these unfamiliar trees?
How would I recognize that branch
...

I am tired...
Restlessly I go to where the rock cannot be unearthed
Where the root of the trees cannot splinter
Where the salt-like, metal smell of my being
...

What am I to you
Between your clenched hands?
I am miniscual; seeping through
In various shades of color...
...