Aftertaste of paradise

Missed the miracles, those saving graces.
Little wishes that burn and sting at the end.
For what could have saved us?
In the face of the insurmountable.
Of turned cheeks and empty pockets.
The eucalyptus chokes my lungs.
And demise weighs heavy on my soul.
Call it all what you want to.
Tack it up to the wall of my new prison.
I couldn’t belong, I didn’t believe.
The land beneath my feet felt the same as any other.
Yet the sky burned with dreams.
And the rains washed my history away.
All with you by my side.
Now a million miles later I ache for those memories.
To never fade, but to only remain unchanged.
The tangled touches of a life that was beginning to build.
Brick by brick, though the floor was made of sand.
A piece of that bliss is caught between my teeth.
Stubbornly it refuses to move.
A reckoning of intent to stay or go.
When these eyes close, it is love that coats all I see.
Housed in a land beyond the equator.
Rustling in the leaves my disposed days.
Calling like the kookaburras tapping at my mind.
Crying out to visit once more.

Tangerine

With your tangerine smile, which flavours the city.
Casting a sunburst across my eyes.
I’ll find you, where I know you’ll be.
Down by the water’s edge.
Inside my soul.
Scooping up petals and bits of memories that others left behind.
You tape them to your chest.
Quilt them to the inside of your skin.
That citrus disposition.
Sharpe and bright, welcoming me in.
You peel away the days, opening up to happiness.
Finding me at home, with your tangerine touch.
And smelling like summer.



Read by Shaunna Marie Latchman
More video art at markryanhavoc.com

I miss my ocean

Sand. Dirty sand and soil.
Dust in my mouth and coating this skin.
A film of sweat covers me.
Sticky heat and restless.
I miss my sea, the ocean that bore me.
Tranquil and deep like the pools in my mind.
To drift and meander across its aqua stretches.
Calms the blood that torrents through me.
I miss my sea, my ocean.
At times stormy, but full of life.
Threatening to pull me down to the ocean floor.
Where I can be alone, and able to heal.
The arid heat and air of this desert itches my eyes.
Scratches at the very thought of going on another day.
The salty air calls me back.
A maelstrom of reasons directing my compass.
To ride over waves and rise with Atlantis.
Reaching a trident back up to god.
So I shall make my way, and crawl back into the sea.
One which always welcomes and cherishes me.
Washing everything clean, and cooling my soul.
I miss my ocean.
I miss my sea.

IDLE HANDS

Spider vines that creep.
Under my skin, beneath the bone.
Touching you there, where I know you’d feel something.
Underneath where the devil plays.
And the intent, whispers like a tongue on the breeze.
My witch’s familiar licks the blood from these fingers.
And hunts you down.
Seeking revenge and reason for you turning my head.
And throbbing my blood.
With your idle care.
Now at the whim, of my idle hands.