Skyless Mother Nature

Skyless Mother Nature

Ascetic Architects to the skies is the coy creation within unashamed cries dichotomy disguise she implies when interrogated about her Ms. Understood Mahogany Mysticism,
She paints with ageless hands her self-portrait blueprint complexities with a foundation sponge made of clouds that bounds the flawless beauty that gives birth to men thru rain,
Soaken non-reflective broken mirrors stares back in pitch black,
Troubled lip gloss blows secret wind to stir the ingredients of obedience amongst boys,
Avoiding her obvious occulence with an apostrophe S or possibly less to be less bemused with an ownership of parliament pampered papered funk,
being flung loosely over strange tree limbs to bear her forbidden fruit,
known to be seduced in recluse efforts
to reintroduce any opposed to her necessary sexuality connection
that inspects the universe,
that comes effortlessly second nature to her nurture,
I watch thru history hood windows with a misery wood pencil
counting the paint by numbers of the pain that was framed in never to be forgotten fore-fathers that forgot to kiss 4 daughters,
leaving spoiled water to boil their emotions towards the spokesman of most men,
I pick apart her osmosis hypotheses that God spoke His
impossibilities as parts of my Achilles, which is her,
so I sit still & whisper luv letters in despair,
But she'd rather dry hump the midnite air
creating condensation within a accumulated cumulus subconscious condemnation
during collect calls and lying in padded hells, mad at males,
because the first one was the worst one,
Never raised her high so that her Tierra may bump those clouds
Nor addressed her in the 1st person and delivered unconditional kisses to the skips in her heart,
Consumed with assimilated consciousness that now sits in an illuminated dark in emotional uncharted karma,
self esteem is policed with "proceed with pre-caution" and "slippery when wet" triangular sections restricting her delicate and splendid square excellence
being left to exhale when inhaling stale popcorn
trying to block scorn still born births when pop's gone with a Windsor knot matching his irresponsible double breasted suit,
and Jesus' mirth becomes worthless,
The paean of joy is when she doesn't recognize she's a privileged angel that
adjoins right now nevers with tomorrows leaving flowers umbilically withered during spring, summer, and fall and winters, just remember you all are winners
Those with the uncanny ability to birth could never be losers!


©2006
Jay Alexander for Fountain Head Publishing