i cannot begin to comprehend the lines and shades that comprise my desire,

and there is no way to discern the righteous path ahead without some diva's guide.

i've been waiting impatiently for release from an unknown smile, 

primed to jump towards the sky without more than the gentle touch of encouragement. 

pool me back into the river, great shaman of the sunrise, 

that i might bathe away my lack of conviction through these prayers.

enough poison already

When you stop desiring the noise, 

it becomes time to abandon the song. 

To write new chords, happy melodies 

to the beat of a different drummer or two. 

The craving had been put on repeat 

and the heaviest drop now seems oddly tame. 

The record couldn't help but skip 

on such old, warped vinyl; 

glued back together for its very last spin. 

The memories this tune brings forth 

are inextricably linked to its timbre and depth. 

But, in the good graces of our creator, 

a new bond with life can now be formed 

to seek the frequencies of inspiration, 

and we will dance and rejoice 

in the vibrations with our brethren.

So let us face the music, 

oh fiery conductor, 

as we cross into the fade.

empty windows shine less brightly
when there's nothing to see outside.
too many right angles in this tiny cabinet of a room,
shelved inside and stored away.
the cockroaches have found their ways in and out,
but I only have four limbs to speak of;
trapped inside this body...
I hear people laughing slowly.

Disease.

i can feel her on my shoulders
when there's nothing left to shrug.
squandered opportunities in all directions,
although there's never been much room to spread my wings in here.

The walls caved in a long time ago.

to be completely honest, shit is pretty fucking turbulent...
in this pitch black cave I spin in place
until i can no longer stand the inertia.
the only thing I can ever recall anymore
is the haunting swell of the slide guitar
as it strums along to songs of loss and songs of sorrow.

Madness is my mentor, now.

nightmares again

In dreams we are alone in a cage with whatever mental or emotional stimulus we undergo in slumber; in our waking experience, most of these things are either filtered out or are put in perspective and filed away. I hope for no more disturbing and raw observations of so many crushed hopes and silent fears put to the compelling melody of my violent snoring (as I rattle apart the very fibers of reality). I'd rather just leave all the lights on at home and avoid this murky sea of poorly understood impulses and anxieties.

Second Wind

I feel like life has changed dramatically

in the few throbbing moments of recent celebration. 

What facets of my being have been impacted will reveal themselves in time, 

though I can already sense the swell of inspiration 

pushing me closer towards the shore.

It might have been the hugs; 

such a heavy saturation of interconnection 

between souls opened wide. 

The flowing, the beauty, the turning of minds; 

life remains harsh and chaotic, of course, 

for this little bear of a man is no closer to enlightenment than before... 

But there is new whimsy to dissect, 

relinquished freedoms to observe, 

and a seemingly infinite stream of raw feeling in which I grin and will contort.

Genesis 3:19

"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity." - Edvard Munch

its that moment when you finally open your eyes to the underlying context you'd never have seen otherwise. that slap in the face, that inevitable swell of regret and ignorance inside. embarrassment. dissolving pride. indignation.

My bones and hair will remain on this tiny planet
until it is emptied,
though my spirit might be lost.
I continue breathing, sensing colors and the wind;
waiting for my exodus
into the great abyss of space.

A beautiful thought for today

"The first time I yelled the word 'Freedom' was the first time I came in touch with my own human dignity." - Protester in Syria

Rinse

Circling the drain, 

ebb churning

and violent flow. 

Dissolved into each others chaos',

The currents protest 

as we swim through oblivion.

Twelve knots towards the shore, 

the tide pulls us apart. 

Sinking deeper down, 

molecules rattling, 

bonding patterned glimpse 

at structures beyond comprehension. 

Effervescent entropy, 

madness,

and always the heat of the Sun 

spinning life into being. 

Pg. 58 of an Unwritten Memoir

We were restless, 

it seems, 

to ascend

and to be justified 

in our silly little ruts 

of identity.

We had been programmed, 

filtered of our instincts

and left to abscond 

from temptation.

Now, 

 in this burning shard 

of what safety remains 

after the rise 

of global aggressions, 

humanity winces 

as toxic smoke 

fills our veins 

and the Sun

is black in the sky.

We know, 

of course, 

that it was indeed 

the fault 

of all the pollutions, 

the endless wars in Asia, 

and the meltdown 

in Iran.

What we could not 

have predicted, 

however, 

was the ambient 

sense of regret

for our brutal 

lack of preparedness 

and tact.

Here, 

in the sickly wisdom

of the 23rd century,

we hold on like vultures

to the dwindling threads 

of our humanity;

the ice was our master, 

and we became slaves.

Rough Around the Edges

to swine, to kings, to rough rotten things,
my allegiances stand on their own.
to fear! to spite! to more lonely nights,
left to worship my temples alone.

well it could be worse,
and it could be over,
and i would be free 
to sail as i please.
but without me mates,
wats the point of the days?
cept to sit around hoping to change,
o to sit around waiting to change.

A Poem About Hugs

Embrace: a cherished blessing, 

my chosen voice, 

and the greatest conduit between 

ones first taste of another

and the present moment 

justly connecting these

humans together.

Bleeding heart to thumping chest;

reminded by the plush solidity 

of another astral body that

(in these tightening seconds)

our similarities can trump 

the distance between. 

For it is with 

LOVE

that we encounter 

such satisfactions;

and without pretension to mute 

our pulse's rhythmic shudder,

we are left to enjoy 

the fleeting grasp

of mutual intentions 

in the space that we now share.

Sworny

For the loves that I've lost, for the moments that I treasure, and in honor of the deities that found their way into my lives...
To you, to the selves I still remember, to her, to us...


... I dance, but not with limbs and skins. I shimmy my way into new oblivions. I speak with words and silence and motion and glances and rhythm. I am grateful. I am humbled. I listen to the tempo of your words in my ears, to the sounds we make in harmony. I taste the ways I felt and feel and know and forgot like dark, rich chocolate splinters on a drunken tongue.