Gliding Gracefully Across Space-time, We Rise To The Surface Of Ourselves


Flourishes of steel gray sky sporadically emerge

from the wind-tickled treetops

as she gathers momentum

one bounding step at a time.


Left foot,

crumpled leaves. 


Right foot,

decaying stump.


Rhythm dancing like war drums splattered

against a tattered horizon.


She runs instinctively,

memories drifting away

from her throbbing center

like rebuked moonlets,

like the emaciated eyes of the wind;

a well-worn junkyard maze of muscle memory

guiding her through the circling buzzards,

each fleeting hazard briefly elucidated

then returned to the darkness,


Briefly elucidated,

then returned to the darkness.



Moonglow shimmers,

yanking on the spindly strings of her heart.


Like the well-worn pages of a beloved paperback,

her beauty, too, is built in stepwise fashion:

by letter, word, phrase, and sentence,

the unfathomable and intriguing result

being a waterfall of elegant inevitability

that splashes like a conjurer’s trick across the stage.


Left foot,

right foot,

rhythm dancing.


The galaxy churns,

as I await await the splendid embrace

of your smile in a pitch black room.


The rain blankets the Earth,

as I cozily sit like my legs were made of springtime,

knowing the wildflowers of sentience shall stream over the landscape

in a riot of introspection and thunderous rumination.



You exist,

and you are multidimensional.


Everything I create

is in your honor.


Cultivate awareness

and move toward wholeness,

I counsel myself.


Yet it is always without forgetting

what the shape of your hand in mine will be,

how it will feel to explore the boundaries

of mere molecules, bodies and minds united.



my dear.



we journey onward.









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.

Night Time Echoes Like A Plague Of Thoughtfulness, Growing Silently Like Moss On The Side Of An Ancient Tree

Sometimes the passing of time eats away at who we are

like moths of famished discontent feasting upon the tattered rags

of a stuttering consciousness.


Where in the riveting darkness of this sudden thunderclap of knowing

is the quicksilver temptation of her spectral smile?


When the frailty of rose petals

is ground into hushed whispers

by the footsteps of goodbye

there is nothing to do but give yourself permission to be infinitesimally small,

a hint of a quark in an atom,

a whiff of an atom in a molecule,

an inkling of a molecule in a leaf

that goes from rivulet, to stream,

to river, to the sea.



star system,




You and I are there between the stars,

and all the lovers from the past

still exist in those moments of bliss,

even when the gravity of now seems greater,

as if a vital force of nature has been tampered with,

as if the festering facade of reality has finally been cracked like a weathered statue,

the final remnant of a mysterious cosmic civilization broken open before you

like the trauma of war coalesced into a single face by a sculptor’s wiry hands.


I am a quark

in the universe,

destined to become so much more.


And I love you all

just for trying,

just for daring to journey onward,

one tumultuous episode at a time:




star system,







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.

Tendrils Of Smoke Rise Like Snakes Over The Horizon

As time crawls its relentless crawl across the epic flowing river of space,
my mind expands, enveloping our little watery rock called Earth,
traveling past the planets, past El Sol, past the heliopause which defines
the end of our sun’s domain and the beginning of interstellar space,
and then I begin a journey through our Milky Way galaxy,
the dark dusty spires which birth bright new stars,
the voids of emptiness that glide by like an owl in the night,
all these things rise and fall in my mind like the inhalation and exhalation
of my chest and the steady thumping of my beating heart.

I am here, exploring the cosmos for another year,
rising above the maelstrom,
creating vibrant health however I can,
loving with all that I am,
dreaming words onto the page,
singing songs into the night,
playing the keys to the rhythm of a ticking clock,
the one that foreshadows all endings,
tick tick tock, time stalks us all but I rise again
battling past moments upon moments,
I am here now,
hurtling into the future.

Hear my cry,
my clarion call.

Not a plaintive sob
but a proud native squall,
speaking as the bear speaks,
flying as the hawk flies,
swimming as the salmon swims,
thinking as a human being,
flames of recognition burning in my eyes,
as I release myself into living,
again and again.

I am here now,
hurtling into the future.

Hear my cry,
my clarion call.