When The Way Of The Heart Becomes Clear, The Deepest Secrets Of The Cosmos Shall Be Revealed

Even the spectacular advent of True Love
brings with it the insidious undertow of fear,
that flotsam and jetsom of the hypervigilant heart,
those shipwrecked corners birthed by even the most jubilant moments,
once the decrepitude of introspection begins to scrawl
the image of entropy upon the stark corroding edges
that glisten upon time’s rushing arrow.

Forward we all march,
into the mystical arms of tomorrow,
striving to cup the quicksilver droplets
of Love in our hands,
the ferocious need to buoy our sinking hearts
with the magnificent joy of the present
echoing across the canyons of our thoughts.

how she makes
my capricious heart dance,
feet striking the dry earth
and sending the dust into the sky
like smoke signals telling the moon
to never let the night end.

Moonlit and wandering,
I search the undulating recesses
of the shadowy evening,
hungry for the triumphant sustenance
of her invincible firelight.

As the sweetness of light bounces gracefully
off of the soft movement of her hands,
I am cast wildly into a magnificent cycle
of destruction and renewal,
the mesmerizing geometry of her face
filling my eyes with an ocean of cathartic tears.

A billion galaxies teeming with millions
of unique starry skies,
untold fingerprints on volcanic rocks,
smudges of sentient color
fleshed out into meaning,
splashed across the cave walls
in a terrific fit of knowing:
tiny moments blooming
with the vibrant legacy of expression,
stories passed down to the rhythm
of flames dancing in front of enraptured eyes.

As barren asteroids careen by
in the strange uninhabited darkness,
something still pulls at our hearts,
a never ending string of gravity’s caress
tempting our true selves to step forward
into the enormity and splendor of sunrise.

Even as I reveal every weakness
of the collapsing star that is my heart,
you choose again and again to hold on,
to elevate all that I am with the unearthly power
of your transcendent adoration.

In your forgiving arms
I have become so much more.

In your flawlessly human eyes
the gift of a truly elucidated universe
splashes onto the astounding canvas
of my fluttering soul.

Starlight filling in our rambunctious steps,
oceans rising toward our devoted eyes,
we shimmer like an aurora unleashed,
gathering color and vibration in a flourish
of criticality that never seems to end,
but instead is reborn in an endless parade of entropic defiance,
a love that cannot be measured,
for the simple act of doing so
merely pulls back the curtain
and exposes the simple truth
that something deep inside us
has left the planet behind,
to exist everywhere at once,
to sparkle in every speeding photon,
to wiggle in every quantum fluctuation,
to freeze time with every kiss of a singularity.

I thought I understood everything
about this universe that I could,
bathing in reality’s stream until
I was fluent in the language of existence.

And then you woke me from a dream,
poured magic into my veins,
and showered my cosmos
with an understanding that
can never be found on the beautiful
but dusty pages of even the greatest books.

We are harmony.
We are stardust.
We are earthbound.

We dance in the flames of knowing,
winking at the face of the trickster
with smiles upon our resolute faces.

We stand up suddenly with our hands held high,
and shout out those words of daring
that once lit your way in the night when all was lost,
saving you from the darkness with the proud
and powerful howl of the living.

We are harmony.
We are stardust.
We are earthbound.

We dance in the flames of knowing,
winking at the face of the trickster
with smiles upon our resolute faces.


The Spatial And Temporal Dimensions Of The Human Heart

The children roam,
fresh eyes surveying the wide world.

The temple burns,
heat rising like righteous indignation
into the mournful sky above.

And She begins to let go,
the simmer and crackle of regret
echoing through her palatial memory
like the sky burn of incendiary devices,
like a ceasefire after a war of emotion.

Time always slips past us
like strangers boarding a train,
like the sudden laughter of an tickled infant,
whose life force can only move forward,
arcing jubilantly towards the horizon.

Fire brings forth the black carbon of renewal,
and we grip onto what matters most,
releasing burdens into ash,
forgiving the universe,
at least for one evening,
for making us face the night sky.

Stars twinkle,
and the moon follows
our hearts like a lost puppy.

to everyone,

Tomorrow comes the dawn.

If Only I Could Shield My Eyes From The Velvet Horizon

When the flames of loneliness rise from your chest,
erupt from your heaving skin like an explosion of autumn leaves,
that is when the icicles of time stab spring whispers
into the gyrating center of your starving pupils,
which launch hungrily upwards towards
the unattainable depth of the haunting night sky.

Oh how your arms fold and unfold,
attaching and detaching your hands
from the throats of the enemies of sorrow:

for tonight is a clock tower without hands,
with you as the frozen centerpiece,
entombed in idle thoughts which parade wickedly
across the graying spectrum of your billowing imagination.

Enslaved to the demon of biology,
dragged down into the hurting pools of desire,
this heart bathes like a newborn in a gasoline-fed fire.

Full lips that kill.
Bright eyes that cannot fill.

Full lips that kill.
Bright eyes that cannot fill.

I break promises here under the night sky,
here in the underbelly of the universe,
I let it all go,
and begin to care for no one.

This being,
this vessel of twisting desire,
is a brittle sailboat hurled by the winds of temptation,
destined to crash again and again
against the crunching rocks of despair.

with its conquest of the stars,
with its primacy in the scheme of the universe,
trembles in my eyes,
quenches fiery oxygen
to become a teardrop,

This is a tower of life,
these are the stained-glass scars;

her eyes are the hammers
that bring this edifice crumbling down,
crumbling down.

And whenever I awake,
the tendrils of future despair reignite,
for I am whole,
I am whole again,
a vibrant Sisyphus heart-bound
to mountainous boulders of desire,
destined to yearn for welcoming eyes and skin,
which would hold us together
like the bonds between stable elements,
if only you weren’t a mirage in the shape of a woman,
shimmering so beautifully,
yet so cruelly,
tantalizing my spiraling heart with ephemeral promises
that flutter and disperse like a flock of birds,
leaving only a cloudy arrow of tender nothingness
which soars softly into the misty geometry of oblivion.

Together We Suck The Poison From Our Wounds And Spit It Into The Sky

I. These Heartbeats Are Made Of Bark And Tears


Here inside

the carbon-stained

cliffs of my aching mind

the bustling time-spiders

inject their venom of oozing seconds

and shape-shifting moments

into my Rorschach consciousness.


(There is a healing whisper

forming on the lips of the wind.)


Blood like paint converges

from the battling hemispheres of my brain

to rain down from my eyes

like a syrup of agony that forms

a flailing field of rainbow droplets

which splatter against the fluxing fault lines

of my tectonic heart.


(There is a healing whisper

forming on the lips of the wind.)


II. This Love Is A Tourniquet


We ascend like angels

across aged castle steps,

spiraling away from the dungeon-like emanations

that arise from the dead and defeated pupils

of the bastard children of time.


Like the prismatic eyes

of the floating dragonfly

I capture all the stages of your ascent

from innocent to carnal,

playful to maudlin,

frightened to blissfully content.


And now,

as the wind delicately tramples

the moist corners of our trembling lips

we drift towards the water’s edge

to reclaim the calming language

of swirling leaves as our own.


As we speak in forest tongue

each syllable softens our anxious faces

until they suddenly split like a waterfall

to reveal our hidden flames of longing:


with bare feet and exposed hearts

we begin to fire-walk over the tendrils of creation.


III. A Thirst That Cannot Be Quenched


As love forms from the smoky fruit

of our smoldering body-friction

we dissolve into each other’s arms,

slipping one molecule at a time

past the palatial sieve of time’s icy fingers.


As we disappear into

moments yet-to-be

each future possibility

sends us stumbling

toward the haunting reflections of our eyes

which gently meander down the distant waterway

like faintly flickering paper lanterns,

whose delicate murmur is:


always homeward bound.

As Our Thought-Gardens Bloom, Jupiter Opens Another Of Her Stormy Eyes

I. Sometimes I Awake With Weeping Eyes Of Jade


There in the brooding darkness

pitch-dark lacerations appear in twisted streaks

against the mirror of my spine.


The tangled knapsack that hides

this hideous soul-carnage tumbles open

and the mirage of self dissolves:

as my fingers begin to puddle in circular rings,

the watery vibrations of this asteroid-filled symphony

crescendo into a wall of bitter violins,

ripe with the tender heat of resignation.


II. Whittling The Worn Wood Floor With Another Wandering Footstep


Stalking past the reaper’s molasses trap of gurgling regret

a haunting face appears and disappears in the black lava

like a million-year-old leaf,

unearthed and instantly oxidized

by the quicksilver rays of the morning sun.


Yet still I lift the veil,

still I lift the veil

just to feel the fleeting outline

of a human face bathed in obsidian,

drowned in the slow-cooked crude of consciousness.



muddle through

the eye of the needle

once more.


III. Here In The Trenches I Await The Killing Ether


Corpse rage clouds my eyes.


Icy thought-daggers hover relentlessly above,

coating this diamond sphere

with the spiked gravestones of indignation,

the only ammunition I need.


Calm as angel’s breath

I aim squarely at the cosmos

and ease the trigger back.


From atop this splintered life-boat,

set adrift on a sea of uncertainty,

a shot rings out into the void.


Calm as angel’s breath

I aim squarely at the cosmos

and ease the trigger back.


In the quiet corners of quantified time

silence sheds like the rattlesnake’s skin:

the outer shield has been left,

but the raucous chorus still remains.


The outer shield has been shed,

but the raucous chorus still remains.


IV. The Noose Of Particles That Surrounds Our Minds



that vicious mistress,

is both the waterfall’s end

and the river’s icy-mountain beginning.


Even the wildest gyration of a poet’s arrow,

launched haphazardly towards a simile-strewn heart,

is descended from her bountiful waters.


Wielding the icy blade

of forgiveness with flaming palms

renders resolution impossible.


V. Wring Me Out In Waves Of Hate


This skull juice

is the ultimate poison;

let it coat the throat of this universe

with noxious dark matter.


My heart,

forged from the unfathomable cauldron of time,

is shaped like a trillion question marks.


My mind,

reassembled from a swarthy jet of star radiation,

is a prismatic lodestone sword:

with unforgiving effervescence,

it glimmers in the chill of the night.


VI. Pruned From The Trees To See The Skylight Surrounded By Black


Sometimes I shred

the obscuring clothes of humanity

just to beat the rocks like the primate I am.


I vocalize,

a furious four-limbed sculpture of carbon

shouting from inside the atmosphere’s skin.


The formula is cruelly diaphanous:

god is a zero,

a placeholder denoting

all that is vast,

all that confounds

a single pair of trembling hands.



there in the half-light

we surf upon the cold wind stream,

propelled by the flamboyant warmth

of our jackknifed hearts.


VII. Flourishing In The Quiescent Light Of A Soaring Moonlit Night


Sometimes we yearn to un-know,

to return to the elaborate facades

that cloud the skyline of ideas.


But this razor-vision,

swiped from Occam’s lips,

it reaches into absolute zero

and pulls out a steel heart

brimming with elapsed regret.


So I vocalize,

a furious four-limbed sculpture of carbon

shouting from inside the atmosphere’s skin.


I call out for a sentient star:

a giant machine like us,

born into majestic isolation.



we are atomic siblings

bathing in the flamboyant warmth

of our jackknifed hearts.


VIII. And Sisyphus Wept Intergalactic Tears


Sometimes a galaxy is a speck

caught in the eye of a supple colossus,

a Herculean statue of light,

littered with the fruit of self doubt.


Yet the size of its mind-terror mirrors our own,

and eventually we must reunite

in the brotherhood of blood:

cracking rock after rock after rock

against the slavemaster’s chains.

Rising From The Depths Of This Magnificent Tomb, We Face The Sky

Kiss me here
under the azure skies
where time kills.

Kiss me here
where the mind’s eye
simmers in fear.

Taste me tonight
where once again
the trickster’s balm
of artistic expression
has failed to soothe
my aching eyes.

Even in the tomb
of King Mausolus
there is no rest,
for words do not heal,
they merely reflect the torrid currents
that flow through the twin rivers of sight.

even those etched in stone,
merely reflect.

So take me into blackest night:
above the embers impale me
with the funeral-scarred skies
as I tenderly genuflect.

Starry sky,
you compass
of my forlorn heart,
your ubiquitous light-streams
only heighten the rush
of the precisely-calibrated oxygen
that courses through my brain.

even those etched in stone,
merely reflect.

So take me into blackest night:
above the embers impale me
with the funeral-scarred skies
as I tenderly genuflect.

your sharpened mountain peaks
can never overflow enough
to float this wretched boat,
so I disown you,
again and again,
again and again.

to survive this time-quake,
to scale this tremendously blackened monument
is a testament to the wiry limbs of life:
from my vantage point here in the teeming silence,
how the galaxies swirl, how the galaxies swirl!

I feel the screams of contemplation
as their wounds of dislocation
erupt from a billion distant points,
cascading in front of my eyes like falling stars:
the light years streak onto the canvas
in carefully-measured caresses,
carefully-measured caresses.

Tethered to this fragile satellite,
the mind feels like a universe-sized wormhole,
a supernova bloom that engulfs
the event horizon of a black hole.

Oh, the bitter give-and-take,
the bitter give-and-take:
even the handful of light years
that separates us from the nearest star is
a meager teardrop thoughtfully descending
into the cloaked cauldron of time.

So taste me tonight
where once again
the trickster’s balm
has failed to soothe
my aching eyes.

Kiss me here
in the twilight
where the mind’s eye
simmers in fear.

Kiss me here
under the azure skies
where time kills.

A Galactic Starburst In The Shape Of A Bullet

I am a thin sliver of doubt
floating upon a sea of devastating tranquility.

Yet I dream with the velocity
of exploding stars.

As planet Earth rotates at 1,000 miles per hour,
my mind twirls with dream-time possibilities;

like a ball on a string we simultaneously zoom
around a lemony sun at 66,000 miles per hour.

Even when I try to cease these clock-tick movements
the chemistry of life churns onward as heartbeat by heartbeat
my body rifles through space-time.

In the massive serenity of the moment
I sense the glacial churn of the Milky Way;

though our spiral arm spins at 483,000 miles per hour,
it still feels like swimming in molasses.

As I sink deeper into this cosmic mirror-land
I hear the faint rattle of a snake’s tail
as my perspective morphs again.

Relative to the Cosmic Background Radiation,
the Milky Way barrels through space-time
at 1.3 million miles per hour.

As my essence bathes in the faint
universal whispers of the big bang

I taste millimeter-sized wavelengths
bursting with the flavor of human epiphany,

for I suddenly know that,
since the formation of the Sun and Earth,

the quarks that compose my body
have spun around the Milky Way twenty times.

I am a thin sliver of doubt
floating upon a sea of devastating tranquility.

Yet I dream with the velocity
of exploding stars.