Saturday, February 25, 2017


The smell of incense interrupting my gaze
Black lines used to define- halt.
Austerity hunts early
Snaking the worm from unfed jaws.
A collaboration picks up
Carving idea where idea left off.
Two energies
Making love.
Ink mates naturally
Clung to his last delicate submission
While nearby...
Glass separates the morning between 43'
And a red desert bloom.
Elegy whispering into pristine quiet
Slipping succinctly into the well-oiled psyche
Of what is yet left to manage and handle.
Rough, warm hands are welcome
To ease the stiffness and solemnity
Of martyred tradition.
Coffee cooled yet candle leads on
Into the aromatic infusion
Of makeshift "attempted" release.
     His lines muscle in
     His devotion- profuse.
     In mirroring our addictions,
     I find secular divinity and sexual homage
     To a world knowing no limit
     As the mind runs wild.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

4 Dozen

Holding off has never been so easy.
And yet, it is as it has always been.
Buckled to my senses, to my nonsenses
Merged in unity since before my own opinion
Existed. Formed. Feigned.
How relevant have I made the wrong
Bare-knuckling my own breast
As if it were natural.
And it was, because it had been
Born that way before any notion of self
Was in the cards.

Generational. Coarse ground energies
Eaten in a circle, shit out and sprouted
Eaten again.
Patterns of breathing have evolved
Into nothing but what they came here to do
Destructive when that trauma and Egocentric world
Intensities mix. Intention, inconsequential.
The Lords of handed-down disorder
Ruling yet with leather-fisted indulgence.
Too thick they filled the wounded groove
Of who they inflicted in lives previous.

Cringing. Stimulated by revelations
That I have owned and owned and owned.
Goodness palpitates everywhere,
Blocked by blurred vision, enhanced by
Useless devotion.
Organic medleys linger, making use of any moment
Hint... interest, attentive and caring.
Empathy, magnetic..sincere...willing
These free and beautiful utilities
Open to practice and pungent;
Direct in their giving, their loving, their lift
Unconditional, as it were- to the fullest.

The new waves lap against me each day
Filling blessed moments with sunlight and
Gorgeous intention...
Teaching the elder of how the young love lives
With no effort; strong, amazing, thorough and free.
They are mine, and yielded in the soil I mixed
Pumping laughter and unkempt silliness
Minus the burden of heavy laden miseries.
In decency, in wholesomeness, they lavish my life.
By default I love more than each day before with ease
This enigma of bliss and ache,
So carefully balanced.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Modelo and The Muse.

It might, it might... it might be over soon.
'Might', 'if', 'suppose', 'maybe'
"You are either in or out of your den, which is it?"
Ooh, that place where I find myself
When the crackling dynamite detonates.

He is as good as he ever was, no- He's better.

"Disassociate" Enough.
No other need to fill in the blanks.
"Move on..."
It's what I need to get with the 'getting on'.
Simply put, abrupt. Useful

Smoke-trails, Jameson, whiskers in the sink
It's an all-male event. He even smells masculine.
Thirty year high, like clockwork; he's an oppressive heat
It's good to know that the high standard can still be counted on
When the night stands at his attention.

Philosophy of sound, digressing lyrical brilliance
How to move blockades of 'empty' out of the way
Clipping strings to accord acoustic satisfaction
He plummets deeply, and so we both plunge;
Hand in hand.

Scruff, rubbed closely, and wandering warm hands.
Diligent, pinching fingers, direct in their appeal.
The ringing in of personal new year's has been the best yet.
He has always been close to heart and mind
And so there he will remain.