pensivepensieve

27. storming heaven.

[kldpxl]

Palm trees sunset.  A commissioned artwork from 2018

[alisonzai]

[bangoreng]

the fifth month passes a purgatory peopled by fan palms, camellia glow California Ave, MLK Boulevard pastel stucco of San Pablo Park helicopter thunder, inverse rumble of hummingbird wings warm stoned flying solo in west berkeley streets.

it occurred to me this disaster was an accident on Telegraph my feet pushing pedals sunlight on my knuckles swerve thud screech crash. accidents like this happen unconsciously.

the little ghost of me trails along in the gutter sniffing roses fingers rupture rosemary lemonbalm while I struggle to exist pressed through the séance of zoom calls, poltergeist politics.

[bangoreng]

candle tête-à-tête

pacific spell unfurls waxing halfmoon, venus resplendent beacons over river of the fog, we are trout swimming counter current skins technicolor with promises verdant questions draw the essence thread by silky thread impressions of her mother locks I've seen grow longer thrilling epithets she the emcee, the lover courageous in the thick. a single flame imprints word of our intentions blooming allochronic the taste, the fast anticipation.

[bangoreng]

I breathe out of this vise a pool of viscous time settles my vision red with solar light sussurus of bees birds-foot trefoil wood thrush songs commingle three bright notes, a chime. I could come here to die alone, if that's where I go. whatever we are to each other will be what survives. this spring is not a stillbirth but a cycle craning round. my eyes open the zenith the crescent moon.

[bangoreng]

4.26

Midnight ride steady push to 35 ghosttown streets the smoothest blocks carousel nonstop a two wheeled steed ions stream internal knots unwind out my lungs. come lonely summer stoney wanderings  cadavers pile unmarked a siren tolls the end of lunch never free never free bloodflow and burn my sole peace the cleansing rite.

[bangoreng]

4.14

April showers bring May flowers come sun that breaks slumber's hold death in dreams a testament the arbiter has come to call. I wade into this silent spring skin brave at nine tails flick breath quickly interrogative whose mothers will survive? and fearing this, when do we break locks on heaven's gate storm the palace pharmacy? the sharpest edge of this disaster wrangles chain away from gear workers tense with prophecy vassal nothings now essential our power tacit in quarantine.

[julieterbang]

[digbicks]

[crossconnectmag]

Paintings by Xiao Wang

Xiao Wang is a Chinese painter who lives and works in the US. He studied at Glasgow School of Art in Scotland where he received the BFA degree in Painting and Printmaking. He continued his study at San Francisco Art Institute and earned his MFA degree in Painting. In his work, he uses dramatic colors and thin glazes to render realistic figures, objects, and scenes that evoke a sense of mystery. Wang currently lives and works in San Francisco, CA.

Artist website.

Our Facebook. Note: The page is addictive!

posted by Margaret from tu recepcja via

[everythingfox]

slurp slurp

(via)

[xenosagaepisodeone]

[bangoreng]

end of new years day

eventide sweeps the desert turns my naked sight to paintings of Van Ghogh. Lost Palms Oasis coming up slowly to the sunset in the west, moon rising in the east. I push towards coming night like a lover from my clothes. tremble at the glass horizon distant mountains, salton sea hands blushing to the fingertips air deepening with rose.

any day will leave like this quietly magnificent a procession of the gods that burns and vanishes which can't be photographed cracking earth til aquifers. the love from my first light springs forth rivers in the sand, paints memory undiluted, fan palm avenues Reseda flats at morning, coming in the silver moon along Mulholland drive. this only artifact survived the night, which I sequestered in me, awaiting absolution.

Venus wakes along the zenith, a shepherd blinking into beams that cast the long road back. I do not fear the darkness, silver on my skin the brush of lips in a kiss between friends. This is enough to carry home.

[guooey]

Mary Oliver, from “the fourth sign of the zodiac”

[chingonax-deactivated20201106]

My last two brain cells fighting to stay positive

[bangoreng]

11.24

a strong storm passed yesterday I stood in the shell of my library waiting for the lemon tree to reach past the iron grate and bust glass into the notions of my life. These holidays wake the spirit who is the Nothing. I turn over the wee hours with it on my neck, etched neurons hold blood on her hands my thighs, taste of metal her exhale of wine, knowing this red is not my power, terror just under the skin this I deserved this transpired.

tears arrive for the first time in many moons while She the silver makes love to rain-clouds, cross streets below gossip with the leaves like cymbals tickled. my hunger coils in pain somewhere far from this body in some corner of this city under an awning, an overpass.

train tracks whisper of quick release third rail brush touch of the last.

roses tell me Breathe, be old enough to know a demon from a truth an arrow from the wound. Rain augurs the living.

[bangoreng]

10.24

afternoon oozes past colors aged maple and palm green. a hurried schoolday spreads into the courtyard, allayed by arrival of families patient conversations leaves of gold a variety of tensions diablo winds mix them to season the secret of my body teeming in sweat and peace of victory. the dapper dagger admin passes eyes evasive as dewdrops on glass perhaps stewing my face in the viral clip of police barricades tipping arrestees of the school board meeting perhaps thinking of some other fire he must suppress. My heart is full, I feel Noelle beside me like sun across a cloud. Silver linings tril our words, soft gravity abounds, my tongue heats the verb to deliver my intention my heartbeat salient, all of me electric but each breath says Easy now, a prelude is of decadence. do these feelings spring from us? what's been for months smooth stone now sweet deluge, emerging truth.