Monday, September 13, 2010


There is no voice or comfort here at the end of the earth.
No warm smile, lover's caress, no gentle cosset to still the
Mind and soothe the hearts ceaseless prattling and worries.
Just the glow of the sun on skin stretched taught over rough
Muscle like smooth paper over strings of fired clay, the voice
Of the wind and nothing more as it eddies and flings itself
Blindly over you and out to exhale like breath from a newborn
Over the cliff down the the grey-stone-sea-soup below.

The weight that has settled so snugly to my back (bent like
straw, bending like young trees in the summertime who have
not yet found the strength to stand upright) weighs me down
More and more as the days wind by like spent slivers of wood
Beneath the edge of time's expertly wielded blade where I am
A splinter caught on the edge, dividing right down the middle
Beneath the ever increasing pressure of time's craft-crafted hand.

You come through in scraps of paper, scents caught prisoner on the
Nomadic wind, visions that just forth from the unchanging solitude
Like mountains that stop this wanderer dead in his tracks.

The distance is so long, the need so inane.
How do I begin though, to cross this divide,
To walk the length and breadth of this chasm,
To endure the shadows that creep up like carnivores
In the night, to ignore the bitter cold that slips a
Knife into my side and rends my vitals to senseless
Piles of red and pink, to bear the exile that such a journey
Would impose?

The answer it seems, is simple enough.
A tool for me to use, a talisman for me to recite
In the empty hours and days and weeks and months
That are ready to unfurl before my feet like a satin curtain.
I will bear the pilgrimage ahead with my spirits held high,
My will is strong, my mind is set, I will carry on
Because love will not quit.

And neither will I.

A Resurgence In Activity

Bite down till the bone breaks and
The marrow floods out like angel hair,
Spilling like spent ribbons over ivories bared.

Where does your allegiance lie?
Split in two on the rocks below,
Dashed to bits of gravel beneath the giants feet,
Or just wind-worn and weathered away to dust
Caught on the coursing of a careless breeze?

Where are the moments,
That stand against the filmy backdrop of time like
Gems against the dull luster of sandstone?
I cannot recall but one.

Where has the wind gone as it faded from my sails outstretched,
Turning what was once an indomitable surge into the bent horizon
Into an idling within these strange still waters?

Saturday, September 11, 2010


Awesome snt it

- - - -

n these tired tracks and deeper,
Farther and farther down the needlepoint pathway,
Submission to the snake-fang-slits
Gouged into the soft meat of my shoulders,
Fingers lax at my side,
Blissfully unaware,
Ignoring the bite
Of the dagger
In my side.

Not wanting nor
Hoping to pull it free,
To twist it from its hollow
Nestling deeper and deeper,
Like sand in the crevices of your
Body, like sunshine to the ending
Of night, like the sweetest candy that
Turns to bitter wax in your throat.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

What motivates you to get out of bed in the morning everyone?

I Lied: One More

Satin spreads like a painter's brush-stroke
Across this plateau of stitched seams and predictable patterns,
Spills forth in in all directions, floods the senses with
Silk smooth slips and slides, the cushion curving as
You settle in beneath the sheets with gasps as crisp
As fresh apples and warmth as radiant as the air of a midsummer's night.
The tastes and textures fly by with no particular order,
The sensations roll over you in palpable waves, washing into
You with the persistence of the ocean slowly working to reclaim it's shore.
You are putty beneath the hands of the orchestrator, malleable metal
Beneath the arc-welder of an expert worker shaping statues to mirror
Gods and goddesses innumerable.

Last Word Thing For A Bit

The sky has never been a more magnificent shade of blue.
The clouds, never as poignantly places in their respective positions.
Ever blade and sliver of green on this good earth,
Is upturned and open wide in unifying anticipation.
The world revolves in lazy parabola's,
Each cycle winding down the seconds like
Wood chips beneath a carvers blade.

The air never smelled so sweet,
As it does in this very moment.
Everything hangs still,
Each and every breath
Gets all caught up,
Slowed up, stopped up,
In the final seconds before
The feeble frigates of these
Floodgates fly free.

There has never been,
A smile as bright as yours.
No stars in the sky,
Nor diamonds embedded in crust,
Compare to the luster of your eyes.
With the gentlest of touches,
You are capable of shaking entire
Worlds to their knees.
With tidal waves spilled forth
From the softest of breaths,
Your speech spins itself into
Quakes that roll the ground like
Soft dough.

From this day outward,
In every conceivable direction,
Your influence will flow.
Into every scene of beauty,
Every rippling surface of water,
And every mountain that reflects upon them.
Your voice melding to every birds sweet summer song,
And the gentle vespers spent at the mouth of every river.
You are the sun fading across the lonely desert,
And the moon as it permeates the icy prisms of the arctic night.

The sun sets low,
Golden haze bleeding with the most subtle hints of
Ocher and crimson,
It's brilliance caught in your eyes,
Unkempt and unrestrained.
The horizon blends and bends,
To match the soft curvature of your smile,
And the sky goes to a brilliant shade of indigo,
Punctuated by eternal spots of flame.