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Tuesday, April 30, 2013


“…just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”    F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Ice Is Food

White facets of delicate snow are born, each
flake obsessively refocuses and falls to
melt on the palm of your open hand.
Unsought by jauntiness ice is cold--
cold enough to hold each molecule of water
its prisoner. Cold enough to expand
the clarity of a layer of blue wet. Cold enough, at
below zero, to elevate a rising advantage.
Cold judgmental words don’t melt. They are frozen
in a transparent weak bond. A slippery tongue,
cracks a critical structure of consequence.
Amorphous red and rocked, an erect iceberg of
shivering crystal water tells the solid facade.
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Tuesday, April 23, 2013


But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
   And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
   The Lady of Shalott. Tennyson

A Possibility…

An energetic countenance mirrors my soul’s symbols --
intricate lines surround consecrated green eyes.
I have known, and now understand composed
pathways to our past lives, and presently,
you live inside of my veins, and I in yours.
One single touch allows tears to fall from your eyes;
history’s salt weeps to release majestic holy water.
Your eyes, multifarious pools, round earth,
falling stars from a constellation to perfect  hands.
Your eye’s daring sculptures, roots grounded in scriptures,
your face the home of Aphrodite,  the body of Botticelli,
 time is breathing quintessentially through life’s oddities.
Dancing fingers surrender to captured tears as   
the vibrato of life’s cello throbs a voice of adoration.
Tears found deep within the sound of
your throat escape and journey to your heart,
following the beating pressured depths
infused in your soul, finally portraying the vigor in you.
Our soul’s combination radiates from the aura of your eyes;
you asked, I confirmed;
the calm of your cheek, the water of all oceans
mixing into the whole of awe, it does exist.

Friday, April 12, 2013


The Life of Tree

This tree
is missing a huge piece of herself--
a maple tree with lightening driven
down through the center of her trunk.
Her arms dig, her legs shoot upward,
veins spread beneath the dark earth.
Limbs and roots expand among the green
and the blue, a plentitudes of shade.
And a bearer of fruit, she is,
each leaf a child of her heart,
fought with the dignity of no regret, and
one foot grounded in front of her callused helm.

Sunday, April 7, 2013



New dew, full bloom,
life, where nothing
existed before,
warming together our essence,
distilling you into perfection,
a complex devotion.
You-- a simplistic
culmination of
earthly worship--
eyelids, lips, fingertips,
floating in orbits of
Tiny verve of stars
collected and you
are born-- when
everything possible
is possible.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


Some things can be perfectly expressed by sound alone and images would only be disturbing. Other times, sound would be possible, but visuals are much stronger and closer to what I want to express and then again, they sometimes overlap perfectly. Alva Noto

The beginning and ending—happening at the same moment.

Awakenings transpose your blooming spirit.
Pain spun into pleasure.  A humble web encasing
every molecule of my being, each mile behind you,
each square matrix in front of me,
taking fear and mixing it into a helix of love.

Softly, a thin layer on your skin, a unique perfume
coding your base from the translation of them. It
is there, a reinterpretation of subtle scent—I long for it.
An overlap, a grid on occupied space, a coincidence of
unoccupied elements soothing common crossroads of fate.  

Something happens when you atone a moment
in the crystalline margin of a warm back, footprints in passage,
a rumbling in the chest, face to face, an overlap of tenderness;
the shadow from a mountain caused by the sun, tears falling,
each glistening a gold-laced shadow of love.

In the surrounding quiet, remaining air bonds,
arms overlap hips, touch overlaps flesh,
spine releases chills, raindrops fall as dew,
slowly over the landscape of your revolving body—
riveting, transfixing, mysterious, and overlapping.

The former presence of something that no longer exists; I am
an overlay of a shadow on the grace of your face, a smile.
The billow of a horn singing north and the wind howling south;
a finger balances the entirety of your universe, your earth,
soft orbital circling your navel—the center creation of love.
 Open mic at dverse