hi. im rawree

Though you deny me my earn'd concession
I'll bequeath more than you surely deserve.
Upon my demise, I grant rich succession
ardent discharge in vein of Phoenix verve.

I wonder, if it will inflame a nerve?
Or be overlooked, like most grand Novae?
I doubt you have wherewithal to observe
nor empathize with such poignant display.

The frigid void of space could not allay
the great quality of such expression
T'would require much more to disarray
my kind requital to your transgression

Taciturn, as you claim your place in Hell
Complacent, blazing you a fond farewell

the cock crowed,
tangerine pours in and puddles on the floor
like butterflies her eyes flutter to life
glints of turquoise shining in the dusk
legs withdraw from the cozy coverings
she starts across the room
stairs moan like old organ keys
as she ambles down into day
barefeet touch the smooth linoleum
shivering in the ever more illuminating kitchen
she holds her robe tight across her breast
grip and twists the faucet
water sings, a glissando, into a copper pot
letting lose a yawn that fogs the window pane
misty eyed she smiles at the frost
sparkling on the grass
click, click, pop, she lights the stove
letting the water boil, she slides back across the house
without thought she swings the front door open
glances down, at where the newspaper should be
a tiny finch, lies broken
wings splayed out in the manner that it should fly
black beads for eyes reflect the dawn
(an illusion of animation)
vacant and cold the creature's feathers flutter
the morning breeze, a mockery of possibility.
No gust can lift him up, his sun has set.

I am the dead bird on your doorstep
Kamikaze, dive-bombing for your love
alluring in your palace of glass
Sleeping Beauty while i wage war outside
perhaps you'll notice me when im on the front page news
a broken wing in your routine

i might not be able to speak 7 languages, but there is one i understand fully.

十万 雨滴
流れ出す 石
於 二路地 既知
豊麗 山
土下座 形無し
one-hundred thousand
raindrops, trickle down the stone
in paths familiar
the regal mountain shudders
kneeling beneath the storm

Thine art is currency most never trade
'tis bedizened by fluent silver sweeps
a trove, rare few, able, they are, to reap.
certainly my mind will be aptly paid
since rise, it has endlessly summed and weighed
other coin, finding them most dull and cheap
not worthy of my reverence and keep.
assured I claim thy craft be richly made
of tantalizing lines, skillfully etched
deliver it to me, my hands: outstretched.

I think it tall that other wealth could clear
the debts that have been charged upon my soul
with earnestness and greed I wait to hear
the clink of thy gilded, authored toll

you let me handle your heart once
privilege rarely found
with foolish curiosity
i dropped it on the ground

saw it shatter, stroboscopic
each piece an awful pain
like parting with a favorite friend
unlikely seen again

the crown you placed upon my head
it I allowed to rust
I strove to find a better wealth
yet procured only dust

I tried to fit the fragments back
impossible a feat
nevermore whole can something be
once sundered by deceit

tore my own heart from out my chest
and smashed it on the floor
two shattered hearts, mosaic make
more splendid than before

eavesdropping for secrets untold
walking without a jacket in the cold
my crowbar tongue
tying so hard to open up the chest i had before
now it's rusted shut, it seems
a discrepancy of time
felt like a years to me
when it fell short a few weeks,
very brief to you
will i ever hear those words again?
will i ever feel the glow?
kick the leaves to see the grass dying, dying back
do you remember when i cataloged the trees?
ski slope branches
marble bark
maiden hair
sticky stars
i'll take you to the waterfall
the wild dozing caldera
a lost village in the woods
my favorite smooth stone beach

the only thing i know i have is time
time to wait
time to work
time to win
back my oxygen

Do you know those autumn days when the air is crisp, the wind gently whips around you, making it cold enough that you have to keep your hands inside your pockets, but not so cold that you want to go back inside? It's not uncomfortable, it's almost nice in a way. A relief from the heat of summer. Only on those days is it possible to experience those brief moments, when the clouds shift and allow the sun to peak through, and everything is illuminated like a flash-bulb burst in the sky, you look up, the light hits your face sends a ripple of heat into your core warming you ten degrees. What a delightful contrast, so sudden, so fleeting, you don't want it to end, but you know that it will. The clouds roll back, the gray sets in again, throwing you back into the former condition. The brisk day that was oddly enjoyable before, loses its appeal, is rendered void, hollow, as cold as an empty bed.

I followed you, as if possessed
across the lake of tar
that which the light house couldn't best
the sky was Pinot Noir.
More than crowns of a thousand czars
your company did shine
ergo, I unstitched foregone scars
my soul poured out like wine

My heart burst inside of my chest,
much like a molting Mars
within mine, your hand came to rest,
i choked on shooting stars.
The wind tore by, like speeding cars
and spiders scaled my spine
You held me tight as iron bars
my soul poured out like wine

I bet the Cosmos would attest
to that night being ours
Luna would not dare suggest
her merit was at par.
Our harmony was quite bizarre
we shifted out of time
immensely rare those feelings are
my soul poured out like wine.

Sir, you played me like a guitar
for reprise, I do pine.
You fled, and left my heart ajar
my soul poured out like wine.

I'm told there is a continent
vast, bleak and white
where nary a rose can bloom
roots cant bear the ice

I've gazed into volcanic pools
of boiling hues
where microbes thrive from the heat
and rainbows suffuse

I've read of whole worlds, submarine
untouched by light
where phantasmal creatures live
amid constant night

I'm wise to that rare breed of bird
o'er Everest
nothing else dares fly as high
they forsake the zest

The south pole I have never seen
but I have tried
to live among frigid winds
old lovers supply

In molten cores I can not swim
but I have felt
the burn of pyretic hearts
yet I will not melt

Foreign are the deep seas to me
but I have swam
in aphotic pools of grief
alive I still am

Above the Alps I shall not soar
but I know how
it feels to be short on air
from stifling vow

the poet--- it is he
who filled my head with air
planted seeds of colossal dreams
that sapped my eager heart
points out all the pretty pairs
engagements, irrefutable
the Pleiades with their bed of black
Ocean and the sky
the bee has her clover
even rubbish has the fly
rainclouds for the forest
thistle for the knoll
lightning for the soil
pastures for the foal
curse upon Eros
i believe that it was he
who marked a love for everything
and left no gold for me

Can one love with the Mind?
Yes, but is it true?
Wit forever wonders
how things might improve

Can one love with the Heart?
Yes, but is it pure?
Often blood boils hot
difficult to cure

Can one love with the Soul?
surely we may aim
to quit corporeal
wholly seize the flame

Thy gaze hath buoyant quality, my love;
each look Thou lendest I climb like a stair,
toward the splendid realm of Crane and Dove,
where Bliss and Rapture fill the very air.
How lofty are the words that leave thy tongue!
Transcending me to such euphoric heights.
Every smile, another ladder rung,
to lift my heart into resplendent lights!
O'er ivory clouds and seas of tranquil blue,
through opalescent atmosphere, soar I.
Held aloft by thy spirit, kind and true.
infused with sunny sentiments, I fly.
When the last step of Courtship I can see
that regal fall (in love) I'll take to thee.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.  W.S. so so good

////
i wish i could write like that

the whispering dies down, suspenseful silence tip-toes in
silken ivory hands, with freshly polished nails, tightly grasp the armrests of the shadowed room
hairs stand up beneath golden chains and pearls, crisp white collars--- anticipating
thoughts swirl within each patron's mind, concerns, plans, reality
yet when the footlamps begin to glow, all eyes are emulsified
minds resigned and ready to absorb
adventures that ended centuries ago, retold
star-crossed hearts waltzing in brilliant tragedy
the words spoken are so surreal, elaborately designed emotions, all ring clear
Impossibility and Imagination hold the very rafters up
every face upon the stage is false, masks composed of mirrors
reflecting dreams
the players move not for themselves, they live for the rest of us
siphoning our spirits, our childhood desires, like a battery
we cherish the escape, the emptiness it creates (all the more space to be refilled)
sing forth sweet nightingale --- thy dagger pierces deep
recharging hollow hearts, fantasy complete
when the last line is spoke and the curtain falls,  a velvet guillotine
the dream is done

but the play goes on

At last! Thy real face I bear right to see
no longer charmed by that deceitful mask
my heart, my mind permitted to think, free
delight, for which, I never thought to ask.

I've learned that Love is not a gleeful fete
but rather cloak-and-dagger, backstairs brawl
where faulty soldiers, fear, mistrust, conflate
creating torments, baited to enthrall

no more a slave to Loneliness am I
I find Self-love the only praise I need.
Thine ivory hands are in fact made of lye
the heat I felt was caustic burn indeed

forever doubt will I deep pools of blue
afoot beneath them is a soul untrue

/////
i dont think about the feet of my lines, so dont judge me for it being "Wrong"

The Nightmare canters in on hooves of soot
ashes shed from smoldering star-fire
Ebony eyes, glossy obsidian exhausted meteorites
devoid of formerly wishful light
a mane of extinguished candle wicks
shivers through the aether

upon her back rides Melinoe
whose heart is dark like Styx
in one hand, she, a lantern holds
the other a ring of keys

that eerie beacon which she brandishes
is an ill sight to see
for it marks the coming of her spectral host
an unfriendly cavalry. a ghost
for every slumbering mind
to beset, bedevil and beguile

her other hand holds all she needs
to cross the sealed threshold of dreams
for every mind she has the means
to penetrate and sunder at the seams

The Nightmare gallops out at dawn
when Eos trills her blooming yawn
with flaxen hair and ruby lips she rids the dreaming of their dolor
wincing eyelids open to drink in the coral torrent
saffron hues, amber eagles, replace the raven drove
for another day they are free of that charcoal-pelted steed

Poised the hallowed Angel stood
strong as steel, seeming soft as wood
all around her countless demons lurked
with silver tongues and iron hooves
to her they called and cried
threw words like baited hooks
yet still the Faerie stood, robust
their efforts all proved otiose
"wasting time you are" she said
"i shall not be mislead
im no slave to glut and lust
in time Cupid's arrows spoil and rust
so leave at once Asmodeus
your allure will not work on me
for I have toyed with love and seen
that within every man is a tooth
a fang that hungers to be let loose
upon the hearts of earnest girls
no matter how fair a smile seems
tis with guile that it gleams
love from thee will only bring
false ardor and then suffering
for scant hours only does passion bloom
then the rose is choked, then removed"

Her heart was spun from Iridium
as strong as it is rare
cold as the comet from which it fell
unmeltable from even fervent Hell

There was a boy, who every day
would journey to the shore
to gain a splendid carapace
a token to adore

each day the drove was different
mosaic in the sand
superfluity of seashells
to rifle through by hand

select a distinct clam
and hoist it to his ear
listen to its song awhile
and hope it is sincere

alas, each and every oyster
he held beside his head
would only sound out jejune tunes
bleak, empty, dull and dead

until one night within the surf
he spied a glint of green
varicolored Abalone
alluring, submarine

assuming he had found his grail
he called his quest to end
took his new-found curio home
to cherish and befriend

the love was pure for days and months
but intrigue plagued his mind
is there, on the abandoned beach,
a better love to find?

He took the chance, relinquished it
after a kiss Goodbye
and once again he combed the strand
searching afar and nigh

he entertained piece after piece
none of them could compare
untouchable, beneath the waves
resides his true love, rare

a parade of proud hooves click across the courtyard drive
in matching carriages the dissembled guests arrive
arms linked together, winsome pairs, they amble inside
transforming the hollow manor to a buzzing hive

when every violinist has packed up bow and gone
and each gilded candlestick is snuffed out one by one
all doors and windows shut tight with heavy curtains drawn
fires reduced to embers which glow like early dawn

Remove then my embellished disguise i will for you
naught but strewn gossamer shadows to mislead your view
no fine silks or splendid and gems to exalt my debut
body raw, only, adorned by beads of sweaty dew

6 pm, a balmy night in mid-July
you packed us all up in the car for a drive
down the old dusty 28
for a peppermint-striped masquerade

the roads are dark, but the field is alive
strings of electric flames light up the sky
a castle of canvas held up by wires
a daunting gauntlet of gods breathing fire

the lights go out and Im glued to my seat
discarded popcorn crunches under my feet
blinding spotlights make a pass through the stands
and fall on man with a cone in his hands

ladies and gentlemen shift your gaze up above
witness aerial angles waltz 50 feet up
as clever illusionists transform dirt into doves

ruby balloons and sequins aglow
glints in the eyes of hundreds below
the glare off of knives as they spin to their mark
littered dry straw waiting for a spark

i can still smell that aroma of smoke
the scream of the girl who slipped off the rope
and the eerie way the air seamed to glow
the flock of butterflies caught in my throat

the leather-skinned fellow who swallowed a sword
the blindfolded jugglers that balance on boards
limber contortionist that could twist in a knot
a child-hood nightmare I never forgot

ladies and gentlemen prepare for one final trick
watch fair Maria pirouette with sparking batons
turning my world to a candle and lighting the wick