Saturday, October 27, 2007

i wonder

i wonder if she misses me at all like i miss her like the ocean misses the winds that turns its crests into the spray of angels...

Friday, October 26, 2007


It is my left hand that reaches
Reaches for a form that is now
Only memory though so vivid

Reaching for bleached coppery
Wires above the warm pillow
Gentle breath against the linen

How I want me to be the linen
To be part of breath taken in
To be the life in melancholy breath

October, 25 2007

Thursday, October 25, 2007


God I miss her...


for Hilary

She curls up into herself
thinking of this shape and position;
something of a more comfortable state.

She remembers the dark,
the slurred sounds and warmth
in another time, other place.

She is struck with a bright light, fire
and cry, the first loud sound of her voice
and opens bright eyes into a new world.

Birth and renaissance aren't too different;
in one you have no volition and in the other
you are of ashes building into feathers.



In september he found a bird floating
upon the ocean's winds in a distant place.
It had a heart so distant with strings
tied to the vessels of his soul.
There was a wandering soul
looking at cold seas but hoping
a warmth within and beneath.

He lifted letters, assembled words,
sewed them together and made a flag.
He flew the flag for the bird to see,
for the distant wandering albatross.
He plucked at hairs, assembled brushes,
wetted paper with pigment.

He held up longing images against his window,
wishing for the bird to find his beacon.
One day the bird came to earth, placed its feet down,
wrapped its wings around him and
he felt a movement beneath his ribs
for the first time in ages.

He touched its feathers,
his fingers always trembling,
he looked in its eyes,
it held stories and lives.
He tried to tell it everything that was him,
he wanted to confess the good and the bad,
he was still wrapped in a gossamer of fear
stronger than steel and older than rocks.

One morning came,
he woke entangled in the gossamer,
it was changing, he was changing.
He could not finish his whole story
so his voice was lost.
Stories yet untold, seeped out on their own,
turned into betrayal, turned into pain.
His hands; what were once covered in skin
now turned feathery;
His human form lost to silence,
he fell out of the window;
found the cold sea's wind.

Looking behind, she was curled up and folded in,
still with those depths in her eyes;
with such sadness in her eyes.
Looking below, he saw a string tied to his breast
but he knew it was not a miracle thread
to find the window again nor return.

October, 2007


It is that feeling again,
It is like being on that edged hold,
The rock cutting into your flesh
And the last solid saviour is six meters down.
You are on heaven's precipice.
It kills you to stay but you won't let go;
Better to die smashing all below you
Than to avoid pain.
Better to slash open your heart
And give it to the sky, thinking
There must me a star there that wants you.
Blood can't hold heart,
Muscles can't hold life
So you become best friends with Virgil.

October 24, 2007

In Morning Light

Pu-erh greets me in morning light
Her scent pulls emotions deep in darkness
Her scent give pulse to a dying muscle
She comes to me from a thousand leagues
She brings to me scents of mist laden havens
She touches me in a scant moment;
Thousands of years have longed for touch.

October 24, 2007

Wednesday, October 24, 2007


It is like a bass line
That thumps in your chest.
It won't go away,

Its rhythm won't quit.
It is like an aria in your heart;
It sings until exasperation.

It is like a long drawn chord
From Jacqueline's hands.
It feels like dusk at mid-afternoon.

You find the moon where
She should not be, so many leagues
Before she will give you light.

October 24, 2007


And yes I do miss you.
Yes I miss you...
I would be telling an honest lie
If I said differently.
I know I miss you.
But the pearls of my words
Have turned into coal to you,
Even if they are shiny.
And yes I do miss you,
Yes I miss you.
The summer strands in autumn;
How strange you are,
How your colors stayed true
Through all the torment.
How you made me feel
(earth's magma in my heart)
And how I disappointed you.
Yes I still feel you.
Now I sit with a cauldron of molten tears,
Molten past and it is my function
To let all melt all into one.

October 24, 2007

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Swords and Cups

Flip some cards, toss some stones

Write some words,
Make them soothing;
It's only morning.

Flip some cards, toss some stones,
Light the incense, inhale the smoke.
Drink the tea, it's much too hot;
Scalds the tongue but doesn't hurt

As much as what lingers.
There's the eight of swords
And three of cups;
The magician is so out of place.

Write some words,
Make them soothing,
Make them healing.

October 23, 2007

Monday, October 22, 2007


That red lump of flesh
It wants the freedom to go past
The fragile threshold of comfort

It wants to wander the Gobi sands
To find a warmth it lost because of words
Because it never really owned its vessel

That red lump of flesh
It wants to break the invisible line
The numbing threshold of pain

It wants stray on Antartic sheets
To cool its fiery furnace of longing
Because this body never knew moderation

It never could leave love for logic
Nor find logic in love's reasoning

October 22, 2007