Legacy of a whisper

Barely heard
Sound so soft,
from all the mistreatment it endured.

It is made of stuff not fully understood but the message it relays defies the loudness of falsehood.

We are all vomiting on force fed dogma and
propaganda du jour while it is
Beaten and bound
tortured and blasted,
mocked and stabbed to bleed out while hung out to dry,
muffled with pillows
thrown from windows and cars, trapped in dungeons and attics. Wrapped in chains and weights thrown to the bottom of a bottomless lake.

Swallowing the sea;
being consumed almost entirely.
It cannot be kept down
for it floats to the top and
as those lips surface
what wonders they reveal
even in a whisper
the truth is what heals.


Wall of Water

Will of rock
Veneer of cream
Sidling through a torrent current
Contemplation of course
Through to the other side
Which will yield to the other –
Willing myself through or consumed by the wall
Dead ends begin with angles
Always a hook to lead you in
Deeper into the void

green pastures and still waters

I miss something I’ve never had
The pain is not that bad
just numby and constrained
Everyone is in need
yet what they seek is not
that which will heal
I wish I had that love and belief that
resides where my anxiety hides
Breeding fires and eroding gaps
I want that kindred feel

In the confining boredom of a shelter
from a terrifying storm
I read something grand
an extraordinary find has found me
it leaves me wanting more


inspired by AudioSlave’s “Show Me How To Live

A desert remains where I feel lost…
unbound by time,
fragranced with wine.

So many times, diffident when faced with a cause
not a follower nor a leader, but effaced from it all.

I believe because I don’t understand the way others choose to live.
Recoiling and replaying these useless episodes onto a sieve.

But when the heat rises from within, when something ticks me off,
damn you all, for you will know what my nature is all about.

Gnawing through to the other side without any questions asked.
No doubt of my purpose lingers when I’m compelled…

to act … to pounce.


A pool of memories swimming in my head
Some are just not able to survive as a
raging whirlpool forms

Like Morrison’s affection for cinema
and poetry and song

Not meant to last but lived at least

Sprawling expanse to a farm field

The endless gestures from the oceans

So much plays out in front of me and ends up in my mind

And the play is configured from my perception,
added with my insights and swinging from synaptic vines

Episodic, epic and shorties but always the fantastic and the meager colliding into my very own.


sometimes made of metal and other times no more than a passing fancy
whether deciding to be the destroyer of myths or the conjurer of rumors
no one force of nature may predict one’s inclinations
They are like a body of water
tranquil at times and raging at others

I’m inclined to recline when it comes to proclaiming my inclinations
Sometimes I’m in the water facing the surface yet never catching breath
never gaining air smothered by the cooling mass
a desire beyond all that I can bear to have my face escape this watery grave
but I can’t since I’m held back

though swaying with every easy and pretty word that comes my way but what holds me fast
against those pretty persuasions
maybe that mountain of memory, usually the weakest of all muscles,
that I’ve enforced by will to create a tower
that hampers even the most potent attraction
I will always be true even when swimming in the raging surf.
I’ve no reason to survive if I forfeit that.

plain ol

Ravaged by love
Skin smashing skin

Grappling and gripping
Breathing layered by desire

Frosted and relaxed
Quietude and the stripping down of my breath

Joy in the simplicity, plain ol good.

It doesn’t need to be infused with role-playing, costumes, or multiple partners

Nothing mechanized!

Just doin’ it
Two bodies moving in the moonlight waves.