Posted in Home, Poetry and Prose, Writing

purple-tinted tales of another universe

in another universe, i am waking up to lavender birdsong.
grand, gracious oak trees spread their branches from the cavities of the earth
and i don’t have to worry about cavities on my teeth, or the inches of my waist.
i can have as much honey as i want.

the sky is purple, but the kind of purple you see on lilacs in a field
garnished gold by the early morning sun
as you drive by a wheat farm on the way to mars.

in another universe, the grapes are always sweet.
we will be sitting side by side
looking down at the world from a mountain of mundane moments,
but more human all the more because of them.

Posted in Home, Poetry and Prose, Writing

this is what we’ll be.

You are my iron-clad, stone-hilted storm.
The dying breath of stars compells us towards twinkling thoughts.

Breathing in.
Breathing out.

Let us rest our heads in the ravines of Venus’ veil, pillowed by noxious nothings. Our formless fears dance on the silouhettes of deep space. We can stare down into the chasm, wondering about the battlefield left behind in the hands of fading sons and suns.

Or.

On a littered wasteland of heart and bone, moments and meadows, there will be a vine-laden cottage surrounded by a white picket fence. Stars bloom outside the door. Galaxies grow in the garden.

A quaint, cobblestone path shows us the way home.

Us, on a planet amidst the masses — larger than infinity, but smaller than eternity — entwined in the veins of the Earth.

If nothing else, this is what we’ll be.