Tuesday, December 15, 2015


It is everywhere.
Gripped throat, strengthening
Widening the tolerance for what I attract.
Imitating normal, if it is possible.
Defending the stronghold
As hot water turns cold.

Friday, November 13, 2015


Trustless are we, quaint in what we think we know.
Knowledge, amassed - or is it? Maybe it's more a gesture to protect
Protecting any part of who we are, in any way that we can,
Because the slander from strong words serves to cut away more than fat
It cuts into bone and marrow, into nerve-endings soaked in sensitivity.

Monday, November 9, 2015


We, we are powerless for all our forewarning.
We move according to what our deepest attractions will allow
We are hungry, made of appetites built to feed.
We will eat when elbows rise to push hands into skin
Skin that beckons, '...be mine...'

Fingertips forming fire
Fusing full frontal
Forgiving foreign foreplay
For freeing what has been long-locked
Locked into the deprecating land of spoiled limbs.

Limbs, licked long
Love, limber, lingering
Lavished, longingly, loquaciously
Luminous actions advance without doubt
Now is the time to come clean and say yes, yes to this place of fresh invitation.

Who are we to question intuition?
Who am I to doubt what I know to be true?
Who put the brilliance of youth away, fearful but willing?
Who was I Friday, pretending to forget that I could recognize that familiar beast?
Today I breathe deeply, for things I had forgotten that I now feel, returning.

Energy - living, breathing, ready
Excitement -  building, moving, waiting
Engaged - pointing, revealing, chosen
Evaporating - shameless, connected, agreeing
I am allowing the interlocking of new shapes to form, riddles- get in line

Heat, harboring hardness
Hand-holding, hoping, heaving
Haste, hollowing, haranguing
Heard, hesitation... Here.
Overcoming dusted ball & socket joints, to open and say,




"I am headed your way"


Hand in hand, go the doubt and envy
Into the dream of what nightmares are made.
The lusted trust snapped vigorously away
Robbed, but of what..?
Something, I suggest, was never really mine.

I want to scream, so I do
So fucking quietly so as not to disturb the Peace
The peace of an unsettling sleep-scape
That lingers long into the waking world
Into the sea of difficulties that I designed

This pattern is aged, tasteless, rife with burden
Yet I infuse more of its crooked vulnerability
Sucking in the dysentery of what I know to be intolerable.
Oozing in a vat of chilly, prick-filled impotence
Grabbing useless heat that darts closely to tease

Fucking me between the eyes with vibrant glee
This teasing, this dreaded fucking taunting-
This cock-sucking willingness has turned my mouth dry
A tongue, wagging away from the opportune time
When the taste of an erection would've gone down so good.

Who the fuck did I think I was, readying my wares for spoil?
Foolish, inconsiderate, weakened at the knees..the nose..the heart
Auto-Erotic Immune Deficiency Syndrome has screwed me again
Without the benefit of bearing the brunt of its pummeling
I want to sweat through these dilemmas, weighted down the right way

To get fucked this hard without relishing the soreness through memory
Clowns the heart, clouds the mind, crowns defeat,
Punishing willingness and optimism for the wind in their sails.
Rip away the Velcro bulls-eye from this box, this box, that for a time-
Considered and suggested that making love might have been the answer.



In the interest of thickness
Memory is relaxing
Remembering good cause to get naked.
The muggy-warm air is bewitching me.
Bananas can't even be eaten without remembrance
Of times - profuse, though long gone.

5 Questions...

The delicate motif of love, unraveled. Could it be a blessing in disguise?
Unraveled in which way,  would the blessing be best suited?
Both points be argued with vigor; predisposition yields indecision, and for now
The wily heart- untamed.

And yet- who is tricking who? The Lover, breaking the fighter?
Or the fighter, knocking Love away from its senseless throne?

Friday, October 16, 2015

'...from the fat...'

Earned enough? In this year-long fast from heavy self-analysis?
November approaches and that novel begs again - to be continued.
How much applicable knowledge has been boiled from the fat of distractions...
To imply that 'yes' in this last, past year of living, I chose wisely.

And too, sensitivity seems to form a warm coat around these tensed shoulders
For all I have strong-armed in the name of what's 'good'.
The weight of carrying on, it is, subjective;
The wildly rotating compass of a needle that fights to steer free

From pause.

Friday, October 9, 2015


What are we catering to
In this infinite loss of 'fitting in'?
This grind of bland, blunt, normalism
This context of seasoning-less empty
Promoting monosyllabic grunting
And smiles following the glut of 'safe'.
Interior design shimmies
Under the lamplight of division
Carting away the 'taught' behaviors
That would have us bound and gagged-
To the luster of too many.
Droves of deviated idea
Digressing the further I wander;
"O, untraveled path, take me home to unknown places..."

This gate is hinged to wind and birdsong
To water trickling down from leaves
Bathed in the uncharted rainfall
Leaking softly from an unknown heaven's whims.

Unlock these limbs from followed behaviors
Diminishing devices obliterate the disease of the mainstream

"I do believe we're only passing through..."

"All fired up on you..."

What if it's me, "I say" to myself
And a new smile forms;
It is me, me and the winding path that kindles its way
Loosely, lovingly, and sometimes, laboriously
Through this life:
This life of formidable retrospect
And incredible potential.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

27 ways to Give Up.

Torn, in a few places
Fleeting, time, taunting moments with what 'was'
Gasping at dying breath
Gone, windows pasted over
View - out.
Rot-ridden, the decay, newly begun
What little time and hope afforded this-
This convoluted emptiness
Born of assumptions.

I am whole again
In my solitude.
Home again, in my lonesomeness
Hope, strewn about like a broken pinata
Confetti, becoming one with the dirt
Concoction of memory and 'almost there' remedies
I hold fast in the stickiness
The sticky, messy, blasted to bits- communion.
Busted host, with its crimson residue

As though 'feeling pretty' had been enough
To stay the nature of darkened beasts
Inhabiting darkened beats
The dying animal bleats
Cornered too late
Blinded, soundless, touch-less
As the errant dreaming of Lovers
Roams disconnected
Into the flume of loss.

Monday, September 14, 2015


Affiliated, in this lifetime, to paper and pen.
To keys and screen and ink - strewn about
The desire to control the nerve I own
Has been lifelong - substantial - devout.
But what if I am wrong... Strong-arming myself this way?
Today I am conflicted; how often have I erred in defining
The context of these engrossing deliberations?

Fuck the touching down of 'what if'.

Control, control, control
How much sabotage has engulfed my native mind?
Fluted sounds of whimsy have never been followed
Never been allowed to pursue more clarity;
Squashed in the delayed reaction of hesitation
I have become intolerant to encouraging my vulerabilty
Too effectively, too concisely, too well.

Do I wander back out hence the way I came?

Or do I jump the current path I travel-
To sandblast all known patterns of difficulty and defeat?


If I want to heal the ache with something more than ignorance.
I ache. Ache from the tightly bolted constriction
The harness held firmly in place, tied to lock away
The nerve to flow outward, with all things left undone.
I ache for more...
I ache for release, for a filter-free existence
'Away from the Maddening Crowds...'

I surge in tension. As I have so many fucking times before
Tell me, I ask of myself, "Tell me what comes next?"
In this place of wretched defeat, where I have boldly turned outward
In every direction but forward.
I'm in denial. I loathe the abysmal gap between conscience
And corruption.

Until I stop wasting time with useless thought
That paintbrush will continue to languish
Burdened by the inactivity of an owner who is for now-
Laboring in a cesspool of indecision.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015


Ripped like a band-aid
Stuck good, stinging.
Arguing silently
Finger-pointing tsunami
Of time lost in space

Not the space of outer limits
Goading moments filled with waiting
That space lingering
Between planned action
And coerced externalities.

Well fuck those gooey needs
That taint the glow of bliss
Unable to float on the puffy love we made
While time was locked within us
Breathing back and forth
Into-out-around-through-and away...

I am there, in the antithesis of your disdain
Lounging around in uneasiness
You force me to articulate new moons
Shedding muddy light onto the glow
Of our corduroy blanket
Covered in salt and sand.

Sturdier fabric exists
But fuck the hunt for something 'else'
I wanted you, cloaked in your strong stoic silence
The sleeping you, that relaxed beneath my palms
A man that understood the reasoning behind being 'careful'
Even when I understood nothing myself.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015


There is, was, has and will continue to be
New glue in this binding,
The spine is widening
Allowing leniency -
Allowing Love.

A new chapter

Catering confirms
Conformity to the heart -
A slab of strong, newly extracted clay
Constructed of malleable, fresh, pink cells
Boldly promotes the backbone of Love.

Co-piloting success

Coax, quiver.. quickened beat
Blood cells brighten
In decadent ode
Valentinian musk - everywhere
I'm drinking every drop that spills into me
This is mischief
This is murder

Risking precious mileage
Virtuosic perfection
Choked by the boldness of  charm
Willingness parades in finest threads
That in this daring... Love be found.

To lie in wait
Belies the waiting

Flowers bloom, bursting
Pollen Ejaculates triumphantly
Swirling potent chromosomes
Into all the air I'm breathing;
Sucking. Soaking. Filling up.

Juice to hydrate, quench and glide
Into the salty sea below us

His body, flush with my hands
His smell, controlling each sense
His voice, barreling quietly through his chest
Into my loving heart, filled with distraction
And the glow of our perfect, silvery moon.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015


Write to rid myself
Rid myself of the moat
Separating my means to the end.

Sloshing about in the knee-deep defecation
As though the putrefaction were slipping in at my gills.
Fish-like: blurring about in blubbering nonsense.
Swatting my fanned out tail, the glint of which these scales- reflects only fog

Plunged in at the chest, driven hard - at random
My lack of precision with regard to hunting that elusive 'stud' in the wall
Backfires... backfires constantly... back-loaded and shot-out backwards
Into my face; my sensitive neck; my heart that blares in accordance with necessity

I am blown
Heavy, hole-wide
A wind tunnel of ramifications
Cornering my 'all over the place' existence.

I am strong.
I am hard.
I am unblinking
Even when the inside wore shrapnel like jewelry

I am getting through, I am getting through this-
Backed by every innuendo that declares a stout 'fuck off'
To any that blow hints of their judgement
Into my acutely aware instincts.

I read the ques
I smell the wafting murmers
I see the wagging tongues
Long after my back left the room.

I am strong.
Able to sustain wind, first-born from the mountain
The sharp, shrill, teeth-cutting variety
That dances vigorously, laughing in the wake of my dedicated vulnerability.

Come one, come all; for I come too
I come to this place
Where hope marries virtue
And mirth brands itself to my chin

A chin held high, tilted, tilted up into the sun
To absorb the vitamin of life
And consoled once more by the softness I harbor
Even while the core is sandblasted by looming defeat.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

A Season of Care

In loving
We let go.

Skinless, unprepared
Open to the disease of ache
A toothless time, with much to chew.

We are nowhere
Splayed into the nothing.

Clocked at a numberless rate
Passing no remnants
As there are none to give,
None to feel,
None to coax nearness
Into the blackened dawn.

In every doorway,
...into which love forms
Accountability breeds remorse
No 'past' barring future
Was ever worth its 'truck'.
And he asks,
"Be patient with impatience"

Nirvana - torn.

Vertigo of thorns
Tearing into pores that long leak
For a reason to spew sweetness
In a Season of Care.

Love corrals kindness
Respect... Decency.
A courtship of interest
The best basis for that Golden Year

When grey hair molts- comfortably
Held by the hand of another.

Sunday, June 21, 2015


Dust settling
Noise, diffused
Quiet cascades, controls
What do you hear, in the quiet of your room?
The sound of loss,
From those you left?
You've hushed your conscience even, I think
Crowded out the curiosity of how they now look
With a thick, thick blanket of shame.

I knew you once
Even in your difficulty,
You moved with feeling.
Crippled in that fork-in-the-road
Where your detour knocked you dense.
Nothing in your pocket ever mattered, save the grace in your hard-working hands.

Bruised forever, I think
By the void of your loss.

Momentary Blips.

Pound after pound of Archival thought
Knee-deep ink
To rid myself of claustrophobic thinking
I surmise, there is a trade occurring.
Here, on a desolate plane
No eyes intending discovery
Just the plain, seeking simplisticism.
And if the word won't heed-
Make it.

Tolerate the intolerable
I do it every day.
I taste cleanliness, the freshness of which
Exfoliates my innards, depleting monastic tendencies.

But I do love this life, amidst the loss of visceral pleasure.
It is okay to behoove of what I know I am giving up.
And sometimes, 'okay' is a word that I can look in the eyes
And crave less.

In between these momentary blips
Patterns are forming.
Gesticulating (word- adored) among revolutionary Gods
That impugn the 'by and by' with their 'just out-of-reach' energies
Outlines, bold and profuse with muscular definition
Weakening - never, in the interim of fluctuating interplay.

How lucky is this life to have been gifted
Masculine mentors, at the virtual ready, channeling through their utility
Their absentee care and cognizant charity
The few words blown softly into my iron sternum
Softly, gently, taking intangible black holes, and
Filling them with warm, unshaven care: expectation-less, effortless
Whole, in the most twisted, inexplicable, nonsensical sense.

The vat between the worlds that I frequent, and the one I inhabit
Is a vast, protected, barricaded, obstacle course of defeat.
I locked myself away here when a broken rudder and a map turned sour
Had torn themselves into ten pieces, shattered beyond repair
What to do with the headless house that soon lost its arms?

Retreat, repair, recalibrate, reconstitute, reconvene, recoil.
Rid myself of the river and its condescending backwater.
Bilking the warm forearms of trust and security.
The hour wanes from happy morning towards gratified solitude
But before I can get there, I must taste again, the belch of decay

I tread lightly here, and still, the sinking in of thigh-high mud made of shit
Cloys and sucks me further, punished for wandering too close to such fire.
I know better than to allow the unaffected portion of my steam-rolling resolution
To meander too closely to cliched holidays that will always singe, given half the chance.

Roam away, directed by the strength of arms that clench a future
Built of the trust of self, without the intrusion of apologetic ineffectiveness.

I have to keep walking forward, further into this hapless set of circumstances
In time, fruit hanging nearby, ripened and joyous
Can be eaten in sunshine, nourishing days to come
Profuse with laughter and even melancholy joy
Consoling the weakened fighter,
Robbed one last time, of tools worth losing.

Astute in direction.
I will live to see the fields I dream of
Dancing under the softened fingertips
Of these hands that go so long without the warm palm of a partner
To call each other home.

And for now, that is okay.

I am aware of what I am trading.

..and I continue to trade for more of the same.

Monday, June 15, 2015

The Ending

I fell asleep in the sun,
Warm air held me
Safe, relaxed, contentedly dreaming
It may have been years before I woke
Woke to this time where the shift now
Blares, at a rampant pace.

Who was I in that decade-long nap?
Underscoring the worth of self
And it is not so much that I neglected
As I chose to prefer the needs of the beloved.
I gave enough to recover from,
Day after day, happy- even, to have
Parceled out inner consolation

I traded moments of long rest
With the rushed flick of an elbow
Clicking around the blurred boundaries 
Of the dark.
Motioning this tired right wrist
To maneuver about the soft strokes
Of hushed and silent inspiration;
Coagulated ambition
Blocking the glut of production
The robbing of what would have been right
Quantified by the payment of understanding.

This judgement of self is brash, unacceptable
In time I've come to know this,
In more time, I'll come to know it better
Having already begun the cumbersome process
Of forgiveness of the now- If I live long enough...

TS Eliot's garden, brimming with regret
Lautrec's wasted grease, lost in drink
The closeted sexual perfection of EE Cummings-
'Cum on, with a name like that...?
What have I learned from these poignantly controlled brothers' of mine?
To tighten my seclusion, choking more oxygen?

Fuckin' idiot.
Best do some living, before the ending kills itself.

Thursday, June 4, 2015


What, do I ponder, is it that I need, to move?
To shake, spin, swirl, swerve, sway, swivel
Away from all that I serve, in the interest of self-preservation?
What is a world without restraint, refrain, reconstitution?

There, that transitive verb: reconstitute.
Adding water so that I may be made anew?


What more can I take, to take away from this developing cocoon of need?
I roam, off kilter, avoiding the spin-out of lost control; and why
Maybe I need this madness in my life.


There is an order to the way things are done around here
Innate is my intuition and execution of these orders
I fathom the indisputable method and relinquish my resistance.
Leaning in to the way I unfold, I intuit the scheme that Is;
As though the boney, kind finger of a woman in her nineties
Reminds me gently to flow in the direction I know
Offering tidbits of sense among the nonsense
Through the cumbersome stills of deja vu.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

O Gentle Highway...

To take this in segments, may be the very necessity I belong to.
Having not known any other paths to placate assumptions
Am I to tolerate the devices that now program my method to love?
I tinker on the dashboard of all my design

I shall see, in the murky light of all I follow, as I dangle that bone of contention
Grasping the tendrils of freshly ripped oxygen, decrepit, these elbows that punch inward.
The beat of this evening drum, assaults me as I scramble to wreak carnage on mirrors
This wreckage is blatant, carnivorous and all-consuming.

The Lovesong of The Detached, is now roaring into muscle
Burning the surface of all ache; skin is useless here as I wander into the oblivion
Of all my unknown weakness; brandishing knives in dark corners
Looking to slit veins that bleed broadly among organs that double-task

Sing me a song in Swedish that I may assign my own meaning
To allow the molting of decay to begin, and not stop until the rosy sky of dusk returns.
A quandary of cells has belted itself in strong, stubborn iotas yield a chorus - grotesque
Muslin for skin, stained with restraint; who am I amidst this busted glass and drivel?

Scorched, tempest blares, bloated deformities rise, as nuances of destruction become exalted.
The disdain plastered to my temples, recoils in the abject humiliation of recognition
O gentle highway, remuneration - nearby... Come coax the mountain down and away from itself
Glorified in the rubble of forgiveness.

This dark hair frames a stranger with eyes too solemn to recognize, the basted glow of loneliness.
Had I burnt my history to a crisp, where would my today reign?
Iron-encrusted epicenters of emotionless frivolity latch themselves against-
A buoyant determination to hang tight until comprehension exceeds doubt

Quilted care immobilizes all I seek to burden, these words - these words - this ink...
This ink that crawls blindly, withering away at my resolve;
What, in this night, believes in, believes if, believes in belief
Futuristic plateaus dart about in their discovery, irking some semblance of acknowledgement

A banyan tree to shade these feelings, to umbrella my urge to wail; to waken sleeping comfort
That roams in a brutal coma of deceit. This turbulent aura is tiresome, seeking care to elucidate calm
I crave a gentility from life that I am lacking, to lengthen the meaning of strongly pumped arteries
Prowling for some good on a night akin to softness and the ethereal flow of contentment.

How can they not go hand in hand, the lover and the fighter - ever spinning on the root of existence?
I suspect they tango long into that night that whispers faintly, of love without boundary
There was a time when to analyze a moment meant to capture the bewilderment of bliss
Bliss found in the sigh of understanding and reconnaissance of pleasure

Pleasure, a syndrome that  pounds the halls of unwise choices yet continues to love just the same.
I seek the glistening nutrient that covets erogenous meaning, built on volumes of depth
Not flagrant, misguided satisfaction, burned down by the wilting memory of delusion.
So, to carry on in wisdom-infused purpose is the order of my 'now'.

To bow to the feisty spirit of adventure, with remembrance that life be tasted when the ardor swells.
Anything less is an offense to the many memories of youth and all her wild abandon.

Sunday, April 26, 2015


A soul, as it speaks, is weightless in its curiousness 
Fluid, in its susceptibility, intuitive to need 
Colloquial, effortless, sensitive
Brave within its vulnerability.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015


Frequencies relating to wavelength
Relating to energy, relating mass;
Constrictions doling out conscripts
To pass or fail-
Enough vacillating.
Bounce responsibly from concept to result
Resolute in 'String Theories'
Vibrato belted
Time lapse


How honest can I be about the nature of my needs;
To what level of revelation can I elevate
My willingness to transpose what I fixate upon,
And set it free to billow out and away from my protection
Without the slightest bit of remorse or expectation?

The spectrum stretches in any direction,
What influence will cause this day to plunge
To pull away from the trusted privacy of all I horde
Allowing nerve the free reign of full throttle
To break free from closure and inactivity-

Into a world filled with translucent meaning?

Saturday, April 18, 2015


I remember a time, when the song played softly, just before bedtime.
A reminiscence I love to recall, though this today holds true to that time.
Hope was pouring in quietly, as potential held its hand, firmly, confidently, controlled.
This aged version wonders, in all those years that reach from then into this now-
What has woven itself into the striations of muscle that I was born with, to carry me through?
Beyond the regression of daring, my steady grip has tightened in what has now come to be known as
Hesitation. Twice-thought tripled by ten, decisions that still shout out for signs
Signs that best laid intentions will not always seem prudent, and so too, must they be examined.

Should I flay these words with a slice of ignorance-bliss?
Pour the elbow-laden grease into strokes upon canvas that prime promise?
Practical magic is there, living in the place I call home, longing for hands to poise and strike
Galloping off into a day spent 'well-dreaming' into ribbons of liquidity, born of ego-less demeanor.
Reasons have been coagulating for scores of months, stemming the flow of therapeutic valuables
Criteria breaking breakthroughs that lift me, heavy-handed and judiciously
Into the prowess carving mega-highway of idea-birthing wonderment.
I'm tripping in and out of the fryer: burning, sizzling, blubbering about, in a snot-dripping waste.

The mail, it comes and goes; the weather, it has its way; the clouds travel unaffectedly
The cars puke smog; the chatter of materialistic garbage peaks; the swapping of what is and what was-
Falling, jumping, running, grasping, clamoring, stammering, hammering...
The noise of insignificant inefficiencies, deafening my demeanor, bereavement- beware
What is the use of all this discombobulated abandonment of reasoning and enrichment?
I'm dragged here often, into the bane of daily motor skills; a place where priorities piss off
Pilfered, prognoses perturbed.. protagonists packed punch, pulling prowess- purged.
Immersion of that place in my heart that hides just out of reach, to this self that could use its love.

"Hands and feet are all alike, but fear between divides us..."
This song, again, this movement, this modem delivering messages; a modicum of 'The Right Stuff'
But still I "turn away..." "Human as to human..." "The future is no place to place your better day"
"Hands and feet are all alike, but fear between divides us..." "How can I turn away...?"
"Human as to human... the future is no place to place your better days."

I hear you, I feel you, I embellish nothing in this time of heavy heart and uncertainty
I hold fast to decisions that were driven hard into the earth and set in stone with cemented haste
I stretch and moan on the mornings that attempt to 'do me in' as my mind wanders loosely
I this- I that- I- I- I clamor, stammer, hammer this self- this being am I, living under constraints
The blueprint is being made, the wind, might I add, must blow forward, advancing on proof
That yes, this time was difficult, and yes, I felt a touch of scraped knees when the day pushed hard
But more importantly, beyond the wrath of my self-criticisms, I loved where it mattered.
I have four hearts to cherish and uplift; the rattle and hum of all else be drowned. Period.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Smoke and Mirrors

A lean attempt
To lower resistance
Resilience, sought
-with a fine toothed comb.
This consistency, day after day,
Impaled upon inactivity,
Morose guilt.
Who am I in this bereft greyness?

Feathers dance
I recognize their joy
The wind's consistency-
Arbitrary loss
Performs nightly
Among the ballad of the starved.
The blame, tacked heavy to my breast
Effusive drivel

Who am I
Slowing for corners
Plowing thickly
Through basalt
Shame reflects
Bouncing off triggered intent
To woo and then choke
Any would-be brethren

Bent on victory
A fissure, a cleft, a minuscule deft
One inkling of 'open'
To pry and dig
Arpeggio's amplify
The movement of Love-
To ricochet and regale
This microcosm of beauty.

How is it I came
To argue so boldly
With my own softness?
To punch and drag- kicking
That vulnerable cause
To love and be loved
In an ode to the Sky;
The Sea; to blissful degree?
Barren, my vault
To explain these offenses

Speeding up,
Roaring defenses are cut
Nipped in buds
Plagued no more
By the stunted aroma
Of perfume turned bad
From the rot of regret.
I can only make amends
To the pitch that wailed away
Irretrievable moons.

The dialogue is oozing
And I am less a proctor to safety
Now that evidence presents itself.
Jurisprudence -encore
For the second day running
Slivers spray outward
Spines twist
Bromide weakens.
Thank fuck.

I'm coming
Into a difference
In a manner of speaking
Innuendos, beware.
Igloo, melting
Ignition, sparked
Igneous rule
Idle chatter.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015


Nothing but wind to disrupt the natural patterns
Of a life lived secular, strong, devout.

Birdsong and coffee, bond me to the morning
It is a clean life, away from the machination of others
Pushed out and for miles in revolt of mankind;
Forged metal and hinges that squeak from use
Careless hands, unwelcome.

This imagined world holds room for one
One, along with one mind - expanding.

Hold fast to this assumption
That eventually, time will afford itself
The luxury of love, touched with purpose.
Purpose, poignant, licked everywhere
Proportionally- welcome.

The day loosens its scripted intent
Formality dissolves as gentle reminders take flight

The birdsong turned amorous now knows envy
The verdigris of 'lack-of-use' glows,
Warm skin coos for company as the old standard dies out
Encrypted in logic, layers of understanding
Flake away softly at first, aware of growling silence

Then, slowly, the quiet bangs drums and every hemline I own bewitches me.
I'm fucked by overbearing needs, demanding yield

Meet me down the familiar road that only you and I know
Touch me without speaking,
Your hands trace over this neckline of mine-
Landing with a boom,
All ache breaks free


Sunday, April 5, 2015


Carved out
Turned blue from the bleeding
Hollow. The hole, widening
This is a shift, a shake; a welcome, discernible ache.
For in the end, we knew
It would get worse before it became better.

I look out the window
Use, utility, uproot
My exotic angle, under-appreciated.

"I remember my first love."

The Sunday morning behooves these feelings
Amidst bustle of quiet and calm
Respect for depth, unfurling.
McMorrow, slowly ripping tendrils out
Ear first.
And I allow it, Lord how I allow it.

"If I had a boat, I would sail to you..."

Sand-scrubbed, rouge: opaque.

"Speak until the dust, settles in the same familiar place"

In a new place, an unfamiliar home formed
Three-legged and tentacular
Tentacular in that I reached out to accommodate lost appendages
Swirling, disoriented, cracked and crippling.

I'm here, in the same familiar place I've been
Home, into where I've settled
Until the next shakedown opens arms
And a sill with fresh paint.

Turn, squint, see
The breeze of tomorrow, forming
Into today
In a manner befitting
New life.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

How far down?

Valley's and Paths
Tugging at tension

"I'm here"
I whisper
Longing in union
Aching the same
Tarnished by smog;
City; Human

"Ain't it clear, when I'm near you..."
"I'm just dyin' to hear you..."
"Callin, my name one more time."


"...makin' me mad."

"...burn in my skin."

This prose does more
Than to traverse into Cochlear caves

It embeds, shreds, dreads
Lamented wake.
And yet I reach
Grasp and capture-
That moaning fuckin' ache

To bury it-

Between ears, arms, and

It fits well there
In the muggy home of hope
Where slick error and ardor
Copulate- even in the absence, of

And I'm curious-
How far down, is his half-eaten heart?

For who the fuck gave him permission
To structure words, and harmonize
The decadent woe of Love
So strung out on seething loss-

And groping for more...?

Saturday, March 28, 2015


Melting in
These needs are systemic
I want to be covered in Southwest dust
And New Mexican wind.
There is no alone
In that mauve hue
Imbuing every inch, of
Cathartic rule.
Plains that slam into sand;
That slam into mountain;
That slam into sky;
I belong to that notion
Where land and being
Draw no lines.

This 'now' is righteous
Lived in honor of 'must'
In order to float further
When the time comes...
Away from the drum of engines, and
Into the hum of choices
That beckon without expectation

To this future-
I am

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


Furrowing in, there is a wish to be recycled
To be handled with care and made whole again
Among the innocence and optimism that checks in with whimsy
Even in light of all my staunch, unwavering control.

It is no less predicted that this life resign itself
To remain protected from all foreign matter
Bureaucratic inconsistencies quibble as the judge within idles by
Taking in with a filter, all the voices that these limbs have to offer.

Time is a recluse, solitary confinement cannot be this reputable.
I dream of fusion and coupled movement, despite my planet of One.

Monday, March 16, 2015


In a region of cells
That never seem to want to make it past my throat.
I have not yet swallowed those intentions
Of the bodily ingestion of another.
Coasting instead,
On a slab of raw

There are reasons,
I must past participle to bypass further offending,
This grasp is tight, worn, anti-ephemeral.
Congested lungs are like a waning gibbous
Decreasing in illumination
Longer still...
I deride.

I rot in cognizant waves
Sailing among the flotsam of all I fear.
I've fucked myself, crippling the institution of 'Now'
There must be chunks of what I am made of-
Worthy of abandonment-
In this

The dream of deflowering skin
Feeds in the manner that consumption robbed life
Rotting memories not yet made
Deplorable and poisonous.
Tinkering around with nerve
Only fucks me further

-is a four letter word
Stamped deeply into both palms
Fingerprints now litter counter-tops in desolation
The plastic oasis of unheated thighs
Is as much a contusion as an uneaten fig.
Ripe, rotting-

My pulse is pissed off
Wasted moisture is no virtue
To love that leans on crutches.
Love, that were it given a reason to leap
Might burst in the swell of all its containment
Away from the chatter

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Linen & Sunshine

All signs of life
Scattered to the dark, away from lamplight
I am well-hidden, my preference

Vacant. Vacancies revealed in the nothing.
Depleted, pretending to have used up my quota
To divide and split further
All the hairs I have torn.

I want to sparsely litter the morning with love notes
Built upon sachets of time
That were woven in secrecy
Of love, lost to my shyness

The world is incompatible
In my carefully planted garden
Dryness cracked the earth I'm in
Pinching wrinkles that repudiate intangible choices

There are gaps between my pen and its ink
Gaps between my fingers and the tubular plastic
Rolling between knuckles and nails that repulse
To a hand that has stayed consistent, quaking from the crushing quiet.

The hearsay of past experience dithers
I want to hear the ocean, running through his heart.
As the heated day articulates the prong I seek.

The mountain in my throat daunts me
I'm buried in half-chewed gum
Unmoved by the plight of inconsequential noise.
Cussing out yesterday, scathingly.

I'm tired of my cells, my soles, myself
Igniting nothing to rouse to a stupor
No banquet of limbs to feast over-
Fucked instead, by solitude.

Peaches and cream eaten elsewhere
On white plates of linen and sunshine-lit hair
Where courage beckons the flow of intimacy
Comfortable, connected, aware...

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

...yanked far back

Hunting resilience with a bow and arrow made of glue
Rubber knees, gesticulating ineffectively
The grandeur of my incompetence is opulent, orgasmic
Orgasmic - Hmm, a choice word
Yes, for it is delirium that has piqued
Puckered ass, without a brace for what's coming
A kick and fuck to wail into eternity
Of the blessed loss of fiduciary branding.
Cathartic catharsis, not enough well-intentioned anything
...can swerve me from this wrongdoing.

I suppose, I suppose, I suppose - enough
Why can't what I imagine serve to suffice all I pursue?
I'm climbing forwards into a sea of heat
Hues of red, magnetized to bone marrow
Gnawing these limbs for a year, in purgatorial wait
Stock, boiled from sweat and spent pores
Bloated energies burst in a millisecond
Transpiring to evolve, yet yanked far back
Before any real ground gained, boneless feet go nowhere.

I am hiding.
Hiding from a rocky sea that backhands my face
Salted, rippling surfaces, implore me to act
To trim away moping tendencies and wake instead
Alongside arms that understand temporal pleasure.
Love: Aged, wise in caress, longstanding in flavor
Twirling still, the grey hairs earned
Admiring daily, the compelled need to stand tall
Softening taut spines that ache for affection
Within the duty-bound day.

I am bruised in my method, flawed theories tear
Ripped in several places as I mend one hole to form another
I want to place the menacing hands I own-
Away from the unforgiving fire of distrust
Into rough and learned palms, seeking as I do,

That world of slow-pulsed delicacy.

The intimacy hung between long-cured affection
Blisters in a distance-bound union.
Venturing out from my cavern of safety and impermanence
Is something that I must do
If I am to give myself the afterlife I long for...
To make memories that glow hot among the living
While fire yet backs loins and tongues
And ghosts can die out - smiling...
Carted away at sunset, amidst the glow of soft reminiscence.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

The Lullaby of Intuition

Echoing rhetoric studies the lack of action
Precipitous errors drizzle in orderly succession,
As though years in the making,
The lack of 'unkempt' moments stakes itself once more
To a wall without feeling, lost to the shrill chime of 'error'.

What trips this gentle caressing of investigation?
The urge to vehemently scratch away this leathery halt
Beckons like a drunken, burping beggar; messy, brash, guilt-ridden.

The organic oiling of a healthy breeze has reacquainted limber needs with lust
Cautionary flags bullet the sky in their vomit-like motion
Proceed with claws retracting, there's consequence lurking amidst intention.

That green meadow lives on, distortion of deeply effective safeguards - have loosened
Camouflage, made less effective in the melted heat of refracted light
The bending lens of love is carousing without regard for the footnote *beware
There seems to be a confidant hybrid, a being of 'innovation'
An Alpha heart with no weakened immunities: to life; to love; to living.

What courage is this now surfacing, that seeks to rape the cruel memories away
To not only ruffle greyed feathers, but to rip them out - to be freed from the calamity of waste.
There is no greater dilemma;
To be fucked from the negotiation of experience, and fucked a second time - through 'hope'.

I am unable to accept my plastic confinement any longer.
The gale-force wind of time-sensitivity is usurping the crown
A throne built on tinsel and spit, dug into this back that bends unnaturally lower
In the event that a definitive 'break' will set me free for the last time.
Free from the guilt of what I crave: the flight into skies exempt of reminiscent filters.

Warm energy swirls, defervescence expounds from everywhere
My quill floats in a place that I cannot yet touch
I can smell it, and sense it, even if I cannot yet see it
The strongest sense bonding me to all rights of this passage
Is the mellifluous chanting of sound... an intimate algorithm that flows effortlessly

Into me... Into all of me... quietly, and without threat of any kind.

A lullaby of intuition that lays me down each night, with care enough to last the Ages...

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Curl Away... (10-15-12)

There he is again, that archetype of male that has been living beneath my skin since birth.
That masculine component that I long for like no other, to come in strong, and never let me down.
Why.......... there is no why. There is only, 'eventually...'
A time I am sure of, as there will always be the possibility of inviting him in.
Him and many more prototypes that come in so many shapes and sizes.

I am careful these days, to steer clear from clutter.
To veer sharply against the tide of the next onslaught.
...and that's just it, I never make eye contact long enough to entangle the mind of any- I don't want to.
I am done playing games with boys.
Even when the bastards were ten years older than me, they still held fast to their slingshots.
The muscle in my shell has retreated, to a time of recovery and preparation.
For I know that even within the midst of all the memory of my downfalls, I would yet again,
Choose 'yes'.

In that moment when the Yin to the Yang is matched, I am at a loss for 'why not?'

I have been a sexual philanderer when it came to love, but not of the promiscuous end-
No, in fact quite the opposite. I dove into the cliffs, heart turned outwards, ready for all
I will want that again someday, and I won't shy away when it finds me.
I am immune to barriers of the heart when I roam in that realm with another.
Sanctified in our vulnerability, I want to dig in to all he has and trade him for my own.
I pledge well, and you can be sure, when love finds me again for one last time,
I will be ardently aware of everything, and the flow of my plasma will sing in song and glow-
Inwards, outwards, forwards, backwards, all direction, up, out and inside... reverberation without end.

Until that time, I am cloaked, I have no knowledge of anything concerning who this stranger may be.
I only know that while I steady myself throughout each day that passes, I take comfort in my longing.
I have stored away carefully, all the conditioned excess that lay unattended:
Grieving on days like today. The well has deepened considerably and surely shall continue to do so-
As long as I have it in me to believe, Believe in myself, life, love and understanding.

Nothing is in vain, for though I will myself to curl away from love today,
A steady tomorrow is on the rise.