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...?