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...