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.

Shelter's Falling Around You And I Am The Wicked Wind

I cannot help, assist, or profit.
The pit in my stomach growls to the vibration of your circumstance,
but no channel persists between our empathies.

I am so thankful for this life I have been afforded by either luck, lust, or the illusion of fate

dead to me in twos and threes,
sweet lovers' parting eulogies
ascend my faith
and break my taste,
for who could stand to tether me?

As when done drunk and cummed

seemed unusually dumb,

and the tension of terror returned,

relationships burst into suns

eclipsing the two into ones.

repulsion

on the other side of charisma and good fortune lies an epiphany drenched in fevered antiquity: what was once absolute may become absurd, challenges could shift into reflections, and this tedium that drowns us might one day teach us to swim.

Paths

I lost you back there

My wife, my life

set free into the cold wind,

into this sea of faces,

surrounded by the ever-shifting
competition of indifferences.

You left me right here.

The surfacing emotions
bleed me out

into a vessel

forged in fear,
brutality, and regret.

Almost

sun beams sway hot hands away
and the hesitance seems to relate;
for a million years
you'd have found me here
until yesterday when I strayed.

No, it wont make sense in this passioned suspense,
left in stasis like hopes and requests.
now the beams have cooled
into something brand new
and i'll follow until there's none left.