Category: some verse

6:52am 3/25/19

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une préface… – avec mon stylo lamy 2000

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So we part, you and I.
Above ourselves, under the sky.
So we take our last leave.
No lines to pine.
Your easy dismissal my reprieve.
From that we turn
and cease never to see.
That lilt in breath
that takes us eagerly.
Freely I loved, openly I
grieved. That from the
earth we all receive.
The pen is my intent.
Ever mocking what
could have been.


Having rarely looked when the sky held you.
With the stars aligned on that cosmic pew.
Rushing I fell. In getting up, I rue.
That heliotropism was all I knew.

The shades we mistrust. The past we peruse.
Those moments, like an odd glamour miscued,
Is my obstinate wall lowered. Confused.
This lunacy that a full moon imbues.

Our lives in tandem, our hushed breaths subdued.
The lives we nurture, the hopes we pursue.
All coalesce, unhindered, in this view.
Longing for this half moon I never knew.


We were bereft from the world.
Cast as stones from sullied hands.
You were casting stones at me.
Had me second guessing myself.
I knew as one always knows
when baring oneself to your hail.
I know. I thought I would love
the way it hurt. No.
Still I soared at the
thought us. Belief and trust.
Gliding over your ocean.
Still loving you so.
Your mosaic of land.
These wings alighting
on your soil. Native earth
foreign to the touch yet
welcome to these eyes.
I spied you from a perch
long held dear.
From a vantage aloof to despair.
In swooping, I fell.
Dashing myself. Breaking my ire.
Finding sharp corners grinding
against the hard tang of
my denial. Now I know.
In flying and falling,
what most I desired from a distance.
What I disdained close to you.
That, my love, and times hence
is something true.


Time traveling I lost you.
Discordant, concentric skipping.
Sipping slowly I saw you.
Trapped in your plane of view.
Reaching out I missed you.
As though another held you.
These delta dreams mock me.
Free of waking reasoning.
The gravity of my pining.
Bending my course of travel.
Dilating, my heart unravels.
These coarse strands of us.
Our impossible paradox dust.
It was the past I adored.
The tomorrows I strove for.
Faring these lines of time.
You were only briefly mine.
Time traveling I lost you.

– His


daydreaming i missed you.
wanted to tell you about these skies that murmur
when you and i are away from the other.
i shiver. muttering thoughts moving
ponderously from the center.
if ever i forgo the usual.
if ever i was hopeful.
know it is you i hold
this sky for.

deep in this spell we fell up.
bits of perception. an adjunct angle of view.
every turn that breaks from what we are used to.
what you used to be used to.
what i may not be used to.
as if our minds unbalanced by a bit.
as if our wills were misfit.
this binary disposition of mine.
that hexing grin of yours.
these engaging days of ours
like memoirs in a golden bottle
cast into space to fall
back into deep waters.

i thought i lost you.
tides in my eyes.
the swells that rise
and bring me closer.
you ground me.
running your fingers
across my demeanor.
i hold you closer.
this current that binds us.
this land charmed
by our endeavor
if ever there was an ever.
if ever lovers err.
your hand in mine.
we can do this.
let us swim for
those farther shores
of deep learning.
your hand in mine.
we can do this.


on 6/1/17 vania kim wrote:

I breathe in your sweet scent.
A redolence Ive grown to covet.
Your steady heartbeat pumping a melodic consonance into my ear
as I rest quietly upon your chest.
Your lips pursed in enervation.
Eyelids fluttering from dreams amidst.
I gaze upon your slumber.
My fingertips delicately slipping in and out of your raven strands of hair in admiration.
Waiting for the morning sun to come, so I can see those beautiful orbs of terracotta awaken behind those
occluded eyes…
Good morning love

on 6/3/17 i replied:

If I took a little time –
selfishly for my own
To do what hearts like mine
are prone to do when every line
traces itself to you.

A bit of time to breathe –
suddenly on my own.
To know this breath of mine,
slow and sure, is a quantum
entangled with yours.

As if for the first time –
Achingly new. Deliberately unknown.
To brave this world of ours,
spinning callously amongst the stars,
together with you….

Good evening, Love.

on 5/14/17 vania kim wrote:

I used to love the ocean.
So deep, so seamless.
A rippled mirror reflecting the mysterious face of sky,
Deluged with the stars and unknown tales of the void.
I was captivated.
I saw in it what I felt in me.
Contained yet empty.
Vast yet underestimated
Calm as a summers breeze yet wild as a storm.
Time and time again my love was left aboard a ship that set sail into the deep, just to return along ghost ships…
Marooned broken amidst the shore.
Pieces of me left scattered like ash, laid to rest amongst ocean bed rocks…
I wait here in the sand.
Just a lighthouse with a broken beacon.
Calling out to you from the dark.
…But you cant see me.
I’m just a shadow in the wind,
And you? A ship without a sail.
Anxious to discover my shores.
You admire my beauty from afar
Through a scope in the fog.
My island of hidden treasures
Luring you like a glitter in the shade.
It isn’t safe for you here.
It isn’t safe for me there.
I still make fire from pieces of wreckage.
I remember nights of inscribing my faith through poems before sealing it in a bottle…
Tossing it out into deep water, just for the current to bring it back to me.
You cannot see my jagged oceans edge from here.
Encasing my island in a wall of defeat and fear.
You don’t see my broken.
This is no place to dock.
Why must I warn you?
Why must I protect me?
If I never have you…
I could never lose you beside a shipwreck.
I used to love the ocean,
Until I realized you could lose yourself in the beauty chasing the unknown.
It made me contained yet empty.
Vast yet underestimated.
Calm as a summers breeze but as wild as a storm.
And still I wait here in the sand.
Just a lighthouse with a broken beacon.
Calling out to you from the dark.
But you… cant… see me.
My ocean.
A rippled mirror reflecting the mysterious face of sky.

i replied:


swimming in the dark.
at odds with the deep.
i was rowing, somehow, before.
making my way to your shore.
i was sure. certain to find
what this course was for.
this odyssey was odd,
i was thinking and so caught
up I broke my oar.
this feeling was unknown
i was pondering and so caught
up dashed my boat upon
rocks far from the coast
that you call yours.
now, in the dark, i swim.
my heart falters.
my spirit, grim.
fearing death,
i sang a hymn.

find me as i look for you.
find me if ever beauty was truth.
your stars and mine aligned.
your life and mine intertwined.
through the dark, through the dim
a daft dream, yet i still swim.

seamless, the horizon lining
the stoic sky to the murmuring sea.
silent, the waters keep pining.
passing ships, they mock me.
icons of my past begrudging.
but your unseen light calls me.
waves crashing. storms brewing.
no beacon that i can see.

are we ever safe anywhere
when bound in the darkness
or drifting in surly seas?
the antique questions
begs your vintage stare –
to look with the desire
of classic traditions to which
we both adhere.

am i stranded in between
your mirror and my life in tow?
there is no measure to the sky above.
no fathom to the depths below.
if i let go, will i lose your love?
if i let go, will i grow old?
i do not know, but i will swim
without doubt for your shore.
at odds with the deep
no more.

Your chair across the dining
table sat empty.
A reminder that our hearts, like
my appetite, was arbitrary.
These days of ours, given to fancy,
cast over and through the net, like
currency virtualized for the sake of economy.

Saying I missed you would be faux pas.
In the sense that we all have forgotten art.
The old gods have fallen.
Something, in living today, we knew.
Our inbox, relentlessly, keeps calling.
The likes, and dislikes, we eschew.
That, in living, we embolden.

Surely, my kind is dying if not dead.
My pen, in strokes like recursive computing,
is extant in metaphor only.
When we lament our missed meetings
as if our attempts at trying, an atavus
rising – gave meaning to entwining.
Booting the need from which we were bred.


Your chair across the dining table sat empty. A reminder that, our hearts, like my appetite was arbitrary. These days of ours, given to fancy, cast over and through the net, like currency virtualized for the sake of economy. Saying I missed you would be faux pas. In the sense that we all have forgotten art. The old gods have fallen. Something, in living today, we knew. Our inbox, relentlessly, keeps calling. The likes, and dislikes, we eschew. That, in living, we embolden. Surely, my kind is dying if not dead. My pen, in strokes like recursive computing, is extant in metaphor only. When we lament our missed meetings as if our attempts at trying, an atavus rising – gave meaning to entwining. Booting the need from which we were bred. – sur le SE avec mon stylo parker

A post shared by Desmuir (@des.muir) on

6:00am glances in the
mirror leave me scathed with
thoughts of you.
everyday has been like a wraith
to my discretion, and I roll
on to paranoia with the
conviction of your mouth
to mine.

we can ask the world what this is.
the neurosis of loving
when we had no business of doing so.
no more rovings and meetings –
the makings of severance.

intolerance was ever free.
tell me, did you leave your
promises by the tree where we laid
and dallied for the months that
were never to be.

i am back from the dead –
west of eden on a side of paradise
that this hub of urban rock
praises to no end. i am bending
my pretenses to suit you insteading
of ending the charade that is us.
lust made its cue, went askew and fell
in constellation drops on you and the
few breaths drawn in lieu of our silohuetting
in this metropolitan view.

hold the moon and cry to the dawn –
sleepless yawns over the lawn
of bygone memories in the clouded
song of the morning.

never leave but stay only a while.
tiles of habitual self mockery
make me tense for your love and
takes the relief from my
tapered sighs – every line that found
a minute on the strand of our lost

it is still a wasteland where we play
and hate our hampered humanity humming
humbly in our homes. it creeps. it leaps.
it is the last of my taunting.
it must be me pretending to be

just remember in december when
i encumber you with touches sombre
that i wondered if we could
ever be.


It was never easy. Those easy soliloquies
made to appease the easiest parts of myself.
Truth be told. In every fold of easy wit
underlying the folded skits of your skirt.
These were the days of our lives.
The uneasy pleasure of your flesh pressed
with measure upon my protraction.
I protest. You laugh. A smile breaks between us.
An exacting of what we reckon to be.
You seize the day and I
the moment. I breathe as
you leave.


I tried to forget all about you.
Your steps traced on synaptic seams
pick stitched by what seems to be
memories of you.
It was neural yet static.
The cleft the same but a leap erratic
These hurdles in my head
a lonesome goal to you.
I am iota.
Struggling to cross the membrane
bound in regret of you.
To escape into inhibition
that I might, excited and frantic,
be pruned into insensate reflection of you.
I am through.
Charging in a flood of change
rushing away from you.
To find a state free and easy.
A place torpid – no longer pedantic.
I tried to forget all about you.


chimie du cerveau…. – sur le z1

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I saw me in you.
Catching moon rays in lieu
of golden days ripened with
the passion of night to lay.
I live a dream like you.
That a home could be crafted
by our hands with wood hewn
from this land long slumbering.
Waiting beneath our bare feet
on the grass where the
drowsy air has drafted.
I glance over at you.
Seeing the joining of
feelings that leaves my
breath captured yet not empty.
A reminder that I have yet
to truly touch you if only
you would let me.
I rise with you.
Slowly like the sun hitched
by the yoke of the evening
no longer daunted by
past misgivings.
Quickening as my
pulse gets when
I fall for you.


those things that make us who we are
find time in the night sky
those things under our evening star
are less than that which makes you sigh
when at last you gaze afar
and see where we may lie


Your heart is your home as much as my own.
Somewhat dilapidated – somehow still standing.
The old columns in hardening now crumble as if letting go.
The chateau a surviving testament of our will.
These homes of ours were numb – silent in the wind.
The hearths witness to what we had to brace ourselves from.
Bitterness in the main hall.
Jealousy in the cellars.
Disappointment and embarrassment hid in the attic.
Those bedroom doors that locked the heart break
away from the love we shared in the foyer.
Somehow these things can still be felt.
Humming away in this Chateau Sept de Gables –
These hearts and homes of ours.
Something has been amiss.
Most often in the night, the stars hold us.
Kiss us with cool, silver tides of remedy bound
by sweet words that loosen the locks we set on the door.
Mostly during the day, the sunlight highlights the decay –
the garish paint peeling away from the sultry wood.
The wood that held our homes together.
The spirit that held the strength to rebuild –
to grow as though our roots were our souls and latched to the land.
These homes of ours that still stand.
We restored the halls so that laughter would echo again.
We opened the cellars so that we could share wine again.
We cleared the attic so that the noon sun could enter again.
We embraced the possibility that our hearts could break again.
That all we needed was for the other to fill the space
in our once empty homes.


These spots of time.
Like wine in my glass.
Holding that last incline
as pouring, sipping you
spilled your eyes
upon mine.
Line for line, you remind
me of me.
At least we are free.
No sign of that
uneasy feeling when
meeting someone
strangely like me.
No, tell me your
heart is as rampant
as ever.
Yes, let me take
your breather.
You can keep the
pulse going.
That easy smile
of yours ever coupled
with mine in October.
This timeline is skewed.
Like a wreck of a train
you and I boarded.
In good faith we trusted.
In love we lusted for
that we could only
find in dreams that
curled around your lips
smiling in uncertainty
as I am writ from you.
Mind urging.
Body struggling.
Soul so taken
with you.
This freedom in writing.
This joy in being.
This fear in your eye
a wistful imagination
of mine.
Will such things in
time, slow as it is,
be just another line?
When you and I drenched
the evening sky.


Skewed we were skittish.
I needed perspective.
Something I lost in
moments entangled with you.
I needed your soul. To tell me I found
a bit of myself at last.
So, it’s true.
These moments I cherish.
A man. Glimpsing you from afar.
A woman. In her looking glass.
Who are you?
Ofttimes, it was me, falling.
Peering, as if demure; rising, as
if I knew.
Let me touch your rune.
That hazy portal beheld by
those we scorned.
As a pensive man, shorned.
As a woman, adorned.


The city is blue
according to you.

Try as some will.
Think as some are wont.

A town like this is full
of the clinically sane.

Ten blinks of Nystagmus
And I find that the rotation
of the world is inconstant.
A reflex from
loving you like this.

The sky is blue
for me.

I have nothing to lose.
I choose my fatalism
a clue.
If I knew, but Ido.
It is still you.

Place a bit of me
easy on your hips
as you take the
curl from my tongue –
Claiming that the
World is a folded
Piece of origami.

Side to side.

I had to kiss you
For the salvation
Of your insanity.

The moment is blue.

I enjoy the slow tease
Of making nostalgia,

The indescribable tango
Of tragedy and lovemaking.

Your smirk in the midst of it all.

How blue this city can be.


it has always been you.

every time i feel myself falling.
every time i remember to be me.
the world is passing, and we are seen
in those moments when the
night is still in her infancy.

She, too, knows that it is you.
She knows of the ache, the pining,
and the keening.

it is still you.

i still wonder – often into the night.
i still find the restless chill of my
brow an old delight not worth
playing to.
pretending was never my
want or need
nor was pleading or
laughing untrue.

the night still mocks my
soul, and I will have you know
that I was always

always thinking of the idea
of us.

the phantom smiles that hold your face
make my youth simplicity’s grace.
i am fallen from the cliff.
only half a man at times.
lift me, love, and forever know
that i have grown as much as i can
without you….

that i wish to grow old
with you.


Elemental traces of soul
collide and smear upon the same.

Isotopes adrift and apart
in this atomic dream.

Masses moving through the rigors
of microcosmic space.

The exchange of thoughts the
traffic of nucleus and you.

I wish for sleep in the
hyperactivity of reasoning.

Such futility in wishing.

I hinge upon the light that shafts my mind
and detonate without regret.


Again it was in my thoughts.
The forensic of ambivalence.
Evidence of nostalgia.

Again it plied my thoughts.
The persuasion of kiss.
The scent of our afterglow.
The butterfly of our encapsulation
Flitting away on fey wings.
That need entwines our souls
Makes beautiful hypocrisy.
The restlessness of memory:
White calves inclined against
The closing of the bedroom door.

Again it was in my thoughts.
The shallowness of it all.
The ennui of forgetting.


here is the void.
a choice cut of misery.
fallen blue and chanced on green.

ever see the unseen dance naked on your table?

unstable me and dizzy you.
like angels at the bar.
far and few in between…

your thighs sizing up
my entry.
dipping into you
was frozen fear
of my own

don’t you know?
we grow on fancies
and pretend fallacies –
denying the world of
our precious precociousness.

we knew long before.
before the fall.
before the slip.
before lips like ours
found each other.

look for me, love.
find me and let
me know that i can
breathe again.


grasping at seams.
stitches that mean nothing
when i save them.
a rag and rhyme
that hitches my disarray.

fey, love, just fey.
the lining on your
stocking makes
a silver canteen
of me.
i yearn to press my

my wit, that is…
let me whip out my wit..

to press against your hip.
let it stay there.
soothed by your discretion.
the undiscreet tuning of
your mind.
let it stay there
until it gyrates.
until we unundate the
wellspring of who we are
with sleeping pills
and whispers goodnight.


Amidst the fallen words that
lie between us,
Your dry lips pick through
the old remedies.
The panacea soaked in blood.
The skit of your skirt,
The upward turn of your bust –
Against my back moving farther
away from you.

Drifting was ever the style.
Moving through you ever so
lovely in design.
Silver watches and
vintage wine.

All I ever wanted to do
was share the sky
with you for a while.

You speak of trenches
and winters
in the steadfastness of
our summer.
When lines and love
was our little urban

The mirror and glass
that made follies of
our attempts at

We were both
too unhappy for that.
You were playing the ingenue
with hardly a clue
about me.

About sangria, peacock plumes,
and vanity.

Pride aside,
I hope you never share
our sky with anyone



(… twin peaks)

Things like you matter when people like me exist.
Is it a thing that makes time?
A time to make a thing?

Freedom is forbidden when we cry like draconian lovers;
Hurt like martyrs kissing the children of others.

Look at me.

Far fetched.
Far from freedom.
Far into the night that freezes me alive.
Far gone.
Far too much into this.

[Rush. Go fast and lame and soil ourselves
yet that is the only recourse.
Like forest rings and elves.
The faery in our discourse.]

I see you in strange moments.

You are beautiful,
And I am wicked to say so.


(… porcelain)

i’m was looking for you. wanted
to tell you about the stars
before they go. the night under
her lazy robe.
so beautiful.
the satin and still, the little
cotton balls trimming the urban
pillow. how we sleep and dream
the last of jealous dawn away
til last night makes a small
echo in our waking breaths.
so beautiful.
the afterglow. the first
kiss hello. the slow roll
of california. tell me you
know of this. my letters for
every sigh, for every place we lie.
i wanted you to know that
not everything was careless
design. that the moment
walks with me ever.


why would the stills of you
still mock me? i was looking
out through mahogany frames
made inane by the candor of our
maples spiral from time
to time and we begin
on cycles bred by long lapses
into the melancholic sublime.
taking slow reach. at least we
find little comfort in sleep.
we find a little infinity
amidst our fall.
keats we kin.
we mary shelley.
where have you been?
drying high on some
seam made mad by insomniac


moving through the spell of time.
i’m ensnared.
not wearing my jacket of rhyme
so well.
please tell the midnight to come
of what to bring to my sleep.
a moment with you
without the walls.
frigid with heat
in the evening calls.
i breathe quickly.
thinking of the possibility.
the dream of us
in the slow champak ardor
of what we seize.
the circle and ring
of our infinity.
the forever hills
where we may sing.
everything has an ending
yet i sleep the dream
of beginning.