N.ae.d.A. bean

A home for my heart and mind;

I was a ghost

I was a ghost in your house
we hummed about nectar and searched for all the flowers
what once were blooming all around
now became but a thorny track that ran up all the walls

I was a ghost in your house
forever haunting the trim like rusty locomotives and
crash-landing 747’s into piles of rose-bush-thickets
beautiful and asphyxiating.

I was a ghost,
wishing breathlessly, hoping sleeplessly,
loving thirstily, yearning hungrily,
in your house,
a warm hallow where we wrote,
a happy grove where we spoke,
but not a peaceful place where we could simple be
in love.

I was a ghost in your house
and now I’m only home.

between your lies, dude

read between the lines
lover sister brother
to find the hidden
razor

it was there because
i didn’t want to hurt you
i put it there to
cut you

i’m just trying to
help you with my
harshness

can’t you read?

Yot

In the dark, a clang shuttered across deaf eyes as light bore out of enigma. Generations in the shadow elevated moonlight into brilliance unconscionable: a blight cast over the homeland that was this underworld called Yot.
The warmth of weird touched gently the skin of these creatures in Yot. Each of them with skin keen to each-other’s homeostatic kinship felt the otherworldly warmth of moonlight and shuttered.
One, a woman, arched her neck from the belly of the stone, clutching the opposite buttock of her lover, and howled. Her lover, a man, responded: touching her nape, rising to kneel, and spitting on the ground before him. He barked sonorously, begging the universe for answers. What could it mean?
An older man, trembling, approached the source of the light, attempting to open something on his person, in his face. His hands touched the orbs lying in his skull, and he rejoiced as the layer of skin over them split—he saw.
The elder cheered to the others, “open your eyes! open your eyes!”
Slowly, and with great caution, the lovers touched each-other’s faces and found the long buried orbs.

apology

the gift you’ve given
to me this winter
could have never been
so sweet and bitter
if it hadn’t come this winter
when our hearts
we smote

bitten by moths our
woolen leaks our
warmth but you are kind—
kind enough—to prescribe
some of saint johns wart
for the wind and cold
we coxe

from this, our hearts,
freezing bitter and sweet
this winter: such a gift:
“here is the knife,
here is the blood,
here is the bleeding,
and here—here!—

have this:
a clot.”

o little bird i love you

that sound sprung seemingly
from the beating bucolic
that blubbers blusteringly.

thrilling trill agitating audibly
ambient, ardently, o auspiciously,
o in service to a steady drum,
i love you, your feathery
hands. i love you, your
magnanimous heart!

i never saw you, but i like to
believe you saw me, and
reading from a heartbeat
sang: ‘i love you, i
love you! o do remember,
that i love you!’

Love Was

Once I read a flower bloom
Pacing small and lightning rooms
grounded—
Space over swelling petals burn
the animated emptiness
I extend myself into the words and
like a moth fly from the light
is
empty darkness.

Love was a knee
let backward in braces.

For once I read a flower budding
for long brontide realized burning
pain—
hallow in the sound of eminent din
the animated emptiness.
I recoiled of cringing-knowing
so fallen, I flew serpent-like
into fire
and burned.

The Feeling of Weightlessness

Blue-awareness ever-present
secret hung leaflet bowl filled
so sure and lame and lame-
tongued to bondage denote
boundlessness.

Get free

Get out with love
And please do return
If you feel you have to
Just please do return

Get out with your profound
WOWness haloed golden lamb
Get out without your parts of me
All sold to keep the land

About my fortress
wide and tall
Stay out and love my soil

Get out and cultivate
cool dry smooth
grass and cabbages and flowers

Get out and roll down my
hills

Get out and bathe in my
streams

Get out and bask in my
sunlight
on my
rocks
on my
mountains

Get out and be

And never be afraid
to return to me
please

Get out

get free

For Ashes and Leaves

Over the lines distinguishing hope and fear,
An enormous oak always burns.

The leaves ember, red ash flies, and
All ways calm.

Forever:
the oak burns alive
over all hope
and fear.