The serpent slips
into my veins,
and whispers thoughts
into my brains.
I don't know
which way to go.
I am just a nomad soul;
a naked trip,
a change and a chance.
Lay me with your
premade dance.
I'll put my snake
in a cage
for a while.
Touch my heart
with frozen smiles,
drip-drop, dreams,
and similar things
creep into my eyes
as I walk
another way --
some place that is light;
a fading song
with rearview mirrors,
contacts clearer --
I will keep in line,
the velvet and divine;
you are kissing my spine;
Shine with me.
Dine with me.
No more serpent,
only seas.
But, everything looks perfect
from far away;
and I am so close.
Do you hear me breathing?;
a stomach so heavy.
I am a queen,
and you're feeding me.
You found me in the dungeons,
and now I am free.
A wondrous throne
of transformation,
but none the less --
an innovation.
Will evolution
do us well,
or drown us in pity
and other sad things?

Find the small of her back
Feel for the round, the ridge
Notice smooth never varies
Find the texture
Along the shoulder
Overwhelmed and
engrossed
As you explore
warmth, texture
the moment of
a hug that says
good morning

God are you among
streams that filter through
drapes of rituals
adorning  halls
of sacred buildings?

God are you lingering
in faded ink
on pages transcribed
by scribes who claim to transmit
your wisdom?

God are you hidden
amid the din
designed to cover
the answers sought?

God are you present?

If I were to live my life

on sheets of acid free paper

I would bounce

tap, tap, tap

and each line would say

in fragmented metaphor

you are adored.

I would pray and meditate

in rhythms that dance

sensual sways to entice

you to take me to bed

and flip me slow

to look back or peek

ahead to satisfy

curiosity. You would bend

my corners to remember

open mouth kisses.

Our play would sound like

cries and laughter

from a ship of fools.

Cover me with blankets

warm from lust

lingering

and find me in the morning

with the same stare

black on white

calling, devour me

finish me,

turn me

finish me.

Black Cat sits there like the lion by
the bridge I'm always over and he oozes
cement from his eyes but he's not crying.

Old Rug stands up and his old bones
creak and his jacket is made of brick dust,
he brushes himself off and makes a storm cloud.

Taps begin to run and so do I but
neither of us knows who's chasing who but
they laugh and someone answers a door.

Curtains close and the old foundations
set again, I'm still running but there
he has his windows shut and I am breakable.

Scattered Cushions hug me and it's awful.
they've got me in a pillowed choke hold
and they begin to build around me

but my feet just keep on going

I went to the river with my father.

He pointed and said, "look at the water.
Notice how it flows,
Like all things flow.
Like the words from my lips,
They drop
And drip
After flowing from the ocean in my head."

And we walked down to the riverbed,
And there we stood
Deep in the wood
Pondering how things flow and flood.