:::beside the good:::

fall i could,
but never steal.
shadows fade, the gallow is real
strikes the blow that will never heal..
atonement for sin with blood and bone
turn your head briefly...love leaves me alone.

heed the sound
of Abbey's bell
deceit walks sweetly the souls to hell
trips for those where others fell
onward march and eyes to yourself
if love had come or not at all
i think you would have known.

the ancient know
your battles fought
they keep the place that you were bought
prepare for silence..cease tremble and thought
if want remains when all is lost
i think that i will know.

:::communique in August:::

I show the pieces
each in time
side by side
they form a line
an ordinary straight it seems
does dance but slightly in between
the mechanism of your love
a chamber ghost
the bed still warm
the sheet off white
my eyes have cried
do not make known
the truth inside
this coyness that you
stumble past
with gaunt eyes searching
stone for glass
will coil your neck and shatter fist
a girl you see
the serpents kiss
your babbling mouth
should warn you sir
communique
do not disturb.
now you must dress for the fall
the heads shall roll
the roll is called.

:::lithe:::

wisper softly
humid air
blood won't burn
a body there
blue protects
white is pure
circle open
close and cure
gentle kiss
behold this night
see through my eyes
until the light
moon does guide
sun does warn
the fleeting shadows
and do no harm
earth to ash
and stone to bear
the sacred path
your journey fair
hand to forehead
hand to breast
my hand in yours
now cross
now rest

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::itchy joe:::

the epitome
explanation
a foretelling of sorts
laid for my eyes
of which i abhor
take ratchet
and tight
spin  round, tension
and hold for u now
come bastard
come quick
stay seated
while u beg
a ripple in fate
a turn of your neck
stay seated
white gluttony
above u i stand
and sleep...
for u darkly
in every new moon
and one for your last
as the iron hits the spoon
and with weak breath i push
the iron to the fire
and the evil which damns you
take life and expire.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::for want of nothing:::

stand,
I am now walking down
a silent moment stolen now,
the sun is forceful to my eye
my breath beats hard
with water I hide
tears are somber, but gone I wish
I make them my last
sail rotted ship
I guess in truth
they're all the same
the light is usual
the window frame
key symbolic
of this meaningless vault
a symphony of void
a love that i've lost
but had only imagined
and thought was real
but so easily leaves me
with nothing to feel
stand guarded child,
never reveal
never assume
never again. 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::in service:::

there is solace here
i climbed into your lap
beneath canopies of wisteria
under a blanket
within the stars
earth black
and evening humming
like wet tongues in ears
for the first time and around
and in the morning i see clearly
then you cover my eyes with yours
quiet now,
hand to mouth
and evermore,
the ties they bind
a walking floor
watch you above me
is love in light
softly move down
again wait for the night.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::prose from the beach in february:::

i can see Orion in August.
i feel humidity tangling my hair,
pulling it as a lover, and holding fast.
i feel naked sinking into deep wet sand.
i take Orion in a breath...
can my breath push against the oceans endless whisper?
perhaps the oceans whisper is a rage,
a passion...
could this breath i exhale...
can it reach the heavens by incidental experiment,
and in doing so make light from darkness?
with this breath i sing sweet and pure
i touch my body and i know that it is a corpse,
i take spirit and thought and exhale
in doing so i kiss Orion and a truth is revealed,
this makes me alive, transcendent and clean.
everything i have, take now...
everything i would want, i cannot bear to think of....
i need nothing save this peace, stillness,
and a mouth upon mine,
take this insipid life,
turn it out with your breath
and let go...
the dreams drift lazily back down from the heavens,
from Orion's bow they were cast,
to heal? to make true? to discover...
within our hearts they lie down
and remain
in August
now i see.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::if you are reading this:::

what are my possessions?
am i so vain, so ignorant, do i own this light that i see with?
is this silver ring, a child of time and earths womb...is this mine?
the cheek that blushes, pressed to earth silently whispers it's return.
one man will eat with his hands and another with gold,
one drinks from cupped hands and another from glass...
which is more worthy of death?
to whom will death become?
Ah! the finest death for you my lord!

i cry, love, and even the tears i cannot claim.
i drink her water, i eat what is alive, what feeds upon us...
and i am granted a tear, and a step forward, and doubt, a watery dream.
after some time, all of your trinkets gone...
and a generation passes by,
then another,
and you are forgotten...
and your trinkets are in a strangers drawer...
but you held them ever so tightly...

what are my possessions?
i would like for you to have them.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::sumtimes but not usually:::

there are times which i compare
to these and then i bite my tongue
i hold my mouth so still my mind
do not make known what you have learned.
ever close and call me back
push your whores and you attack
this is where they always go
a steeplechase, an open door.

a binding for the frail and decayed
whose bodies you take and you're unafraid
but too much, is not enough i fear
a human path, a forest clear.
sometime when i've laid down alone
i see them behind me, you their throne
i see you years behind me now
cast ahead by your self and doubt.
they are engraved with your nails and teeth
ever patient at your feet,
and i a sole possession of sorts
of some dream i'd made real
but forgotten at once.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::simply speaking:::

please do not step blindly into darkness.is your heart heavy or solid with truth.are things as they seem or how u see them.walk softly and speak slowly after silence and thought.wash your hands again.annoint your water with purity.scent it with time and a breath of knowlede.inhale and then cease to do so.forget childish dreams.take in hand what owns and controls u.who can be led or subjected but by freewill.this freewill is your soul and you are not one with yourself.brave now and shut up.no time for whimpering fools.u are not so foolish to think they will help u.down to your knee and take in this moment.this moment is all you can feel.walk soft little soul.look up and keep your direction.no one can see us here.but we are.they are quick to fall.we hide.we walk soft.cry my love.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::1908:::

missing u sweet man
early mornings remember you
my little feet, wrapped in leaves
running across broken cement
through rainbows in the mist.
you gave me nothing worldly
to adjust my nimble mind..to taint it.
you gave me jars for lightning bugs
and spoons for digging earth.
you gave me Schlitz and Sweet Tea
in the tepid Autumn dusk of your love.
to climb through the trees at daybreak...
to brush mosquitoes off of your back in the eve...
to pick wild okra and asparagus and fresh peach...
every tunnel you would let me push the horn
and these things you gave me can never be sold
they are my body and they are to be coveted.

Ink Spots, water witching, wine making..my man
bourbon, breakfast and the coarseness of your hands
which were never laid upon me...
you kept me well and made me become you
i still hear you everyday and i listen still and closer now...
i lay in the bath with my feet on the wall, my skin red
i use far too much water and it is a shame...
i lay in milk and honey and Patchouli and I watch
your clock
every second moving into the next seems to look back
who is this Arrogant molester...pushing time forward
Captivating it and Owning it.
Time itself is sweet and succulent...
Time gives us our first kiss and our first child
With time we learn to make life and grow Up and Orgasm
and then this being, this void or dream takes our Time
and he is gone with it.
Your time is gone sweet, sweet man...
but you have given me so much of yours
that you breathe through me now
my lungs are full of your breath and my lips
singing your sweet songs all day and night.
I still tip toe and twirl through the kitchen
and I dance with you and I love you more.
Grandpa.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::day ditty:::

where were you today...
i was stepping thru the grass by the creek, cold and impatient.
there are no relics for us to collect, nothing hiding beneath the silver rush of waves.
i hold a trinket in my hand i have a song in my heart...
i share it simply with the fowl..with the trees,
with the beauty that cannot be compared to you.
i am soft, i remain outstretched, unblemished and quiet, alone.
what is the breeze i feel dancing inviting itself, invading my body...
i cover my eyes, closed shut, with my hand...
i don't want your breath to leave me...
it is warm and the elusive net has enchanted me, awakened and owns me...
i tiptoe home...lithe and unaware to any beginning or ending before now.
the smell of the match burning,the wick is broken...
i slip into sweet slumber... and a sigh..cry my love.

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::a field alone:::

i would drink the water, as it is.
unmoving and listless
a well forgotten
deep inside ground where not only rain has fallen
where lovers will not travel.

i would press my cheek
silent into the ground
and let the water in
through the corner of my mouth
past my lips, unacquainted

this water that they dread
and advert their stare
has called to me, and i have answered
it has led me to it and i wait
pure, unidentified.

the bitterness, they lied
is sweet.
the filth is honey drifting in nectar
i sing to the sun softly
i sink inside this damp Shangrila.

if i cannot drink
i will let it roll off of my tongue
across my cheek, it pales my blush
i hold the taste
the sun dries the salt to my eye.

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::truth subsides:::

i have a legend
entombed within
a quiet witness
ever still and somber
dampened by your body
cleansed with it and taught
a lesson for one
a slave to daydreams
in vacant evenings
upon white sheets
with empty hands upturned
it is a last thought
before retreating into my Shangrila
and erasing what never was
truth imagined
easier left behind than
truth realized

 

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::

:::with upmost sincerity:::

~purity is evasive and impossible~
it is like a ghost that tantalizes me with a glimpse and then dissipates
it kisses me briefly on summer days and then abandons me when i need it most
perhaps the secrets that purity holds are fatal, or perhaps i am undeserving
it could be that purity is only a notion, childishly i believe and make true
time, my only currency, will certainly tell

:::amber.hart.sinclair:::