Mens rea


Failure remains sin:
It is intent that incriminates,
which shackles us in irons.

Was it not the Pharaohs who taught us?
Those specters who upon death
will weigh our hearts to a feather?

Not our minds, no,
nor our skins which obey.

Reluctance will not lead to salvation
when our most secret desires
build walls of consumption.

It is this that beats me through the chest
prac-tice       is not      per-fec-tion

But still, I am restrained.



The waves, the waves, falling onto the sand
their curtains lapping against my skin

The clouds roll in from the horizon, and with them
a thunderous applause



I dream of budding roses outside my window
and the sunsets that paint their petals pink
Here I sleep, and a quiet voice sings to me
a love song my heart cannot beat to alone

Lust in orbit, we drift to a dance, not our own,
and when the morning flush wakes me from myself,
all at once the sky becomes blue again.



Once an angel
then a monster
now a queen

Once beloved in
the valley of creation
then cast back–unmade
into the void.

Famine, fallow,
ashes to dust,
Paradise fell.

From its ruin
she found eternity.

Comforts of you


When the cold river bed runs still
that is when I will return to the channel,
still waters open against the slope.
I will dive down into the crystal tide
and comfort the lonely sighs of swells and secrets.

Cyprus, that is their name.
Those faithful guardians who build their fortress into the bank,
roots twisting beside fragile limbs of silt and sand.

They bow a courtesy to the wandering stream
and we close our eyes and lower our voices,
martyrs alive to witness the coming storm.

On my sleeve


My first taste of love was in knowing
that it would always be buried far too deep
Sought, but sewn tightly
to the hem of my sleeve
crowded by the heart I so often wear

Ever red


My fists rage against the glass,
beating into reflections looking on
with vacant stares, unmoving.

I’m screaming when they point at me.
Were I a portrait of some magnitude,
they might show me a tide.

Could I turn this window into a mirror,
they might scream against my cage,
but they are not the kindred I call for.

Weariness walks in my stride,
and their gazes wander again.
Ever searching, for ever red.

Someone comes in,
cleans my fingerprints off the glass,
and vanishes as I begin again.


Twinkle twinkle little star…


Watch them fall into the city
begging to be a part of the night
They reach for soft roses on the skyline,
kiss the twinkling faces of monoliths
stretching into heaven

Beauty and noise–I assign each
color a note better than the twists
and trumpets of industry,
and they build into a symphony
worthy of all sounds.




Carry me over the wind
where the sky reaches into
the Endless, and the call of
the Earth cannot hold me back.
Take me to where Suns cannot burn
and Moons cannot follow
so I can hold you in Stillness–
in the arms of quiet Nothings.
There we will wait together
until the waves of Emptiness
make us Whole again.

The Trinity of Time (first draft)


standing with open arms
on the brink of annihilation
once green like channels etched onto leaves
descending on us when we were least prepared

They saw the sun and wanted to mirror its every step
until autumn sunsets shut their eyes
falling into sleep–unto another winter

Words, whispers, thoughts breaking into dreams

They grow from the soil,
veins of copper which give root to trees
that in turn dip their toes into the rivers
that feed the ocean currents

Words that we learn to steal from our mothers
carve into our skins, then immortalize in our children.
Of POETS and premonitions
we are all blind


each one a solitary pitch, but together a symphony
moving to the beat of a cosmic hopscotch
one, two, one, two, two, one, one.

When I was young, I wove lyrics into their chords,
now, I bind new songs in my wake,
and one day when I am young again
my MUSIC will shake them from forever

It is a path meticulously orchestrated
into a song of infinite choirs
I walk each and every one
through the ages of every present

Sing to me, I say, every dwarf and giant
until music is no more


it did not end in this, for it was always there
Always, it was waiting as a soul waits for conception
and as death waits for company

As the last word is forgotten, as the last note is sung,
as every path, tread and charted, fades from the memory
of what was and would be
The darkness settles
in the midst of the Awakening

TIME AND SPACE laid bare
by the marrow of memories alive in the wake of the End
Eternal of their history, once exhausted they will follow
into a final dance that extends into infinite.

With their final breath, they whisper,

In the beginning…

Sweet sounds


You broke my heart with words and whispers–
music that clung to me when everything else was falling apart.
Honey dripping from your mouth, I drank you in, every bit
then sank to the bottom of the sound.

How did I ever think I could give you up?




Until he wasn’t.


He was kind until kindness became apathy
soft until numbness filled him with regret
and when I first saw the way his eyes sparkled
I thought they would inspire in me
a thousand songs I could sing to him over a lifetime
but in time their light became another beacon
–distractions calling ships towards muddy rocks

He said he loved me, I think he meant it
until ‘I love you’ started pouring out of him like
pleasantries about the weather, and one day
when he said it looked like rain, I cried like
he had just told me he’d never loved me at all

He was everything until it wasn’t enough,
he was my friend until he became a stranger

He was perfect


One, one, one


These pages are where I hide my secrets
between syllables and staccatos, with words
that tread water over inky waves tugging at their toes

They call me, here I am
We are insanity, we are one.
where Rorschach tears press against our eyes
What words pour out of us
while we lie in bed waiting for lucid truths
to write themselves

I wake up with ink smudges on our pillow
they tumble through me like words over a tongue
Secrets never stumble, but they fall out of me
like skipping rocks on the waves

So many pages
behind each one, a hum
Open up, Open up

Chapter two


the picture you paint of me is perfect
the model sitting next to you is not

i don’t know when the Idea took my place
but it will never be enough to love

My shadows


Do you hear it?

Not a choir of angels

but something else

Dark and cold

familiar like the moon

Rising at dawn