Muscles clench like knots on rope
prior to any wintry water droplets
dripping on my scarecrow frame.

There's a moment of cautious pause,
my mind waivers the rest of me--
uncomfortable with the atypical developments
insisting through western culture's handbook
bathing is meant to be relaxing.

I agree.

So after a thoughtful inhale
we dive in.
oo!
The siberian shock of the frigid liquid landing
on warm, pale-rose flesh
slowly erodes with an exhale...
My mercurial movements
and conscious unravelling of the constricting sinews  
offer a peppermint bliss-like salvation!
The chill fades,
water wanders down,
allowing my body to interact with the clear solution,
allowing myself to be and breathe with each cold moment
of wide-eyed cool-headed serenity.

A world map puzzle rearranged,
haven for the lost,
home to those too strange
to the outcasts
to the insane,

Where hearts collide
and children of the sun thrive
because storms
can’t keep them
inside

because
here
they find the moon
in their skin
rain in a stranger’s eye
and know that they are kin

because
here
there are no borders
to separate our brains
we are all one
yet never the same

because
here
culture runs deeper than blood
in veins
in its palm this world
where spirits roam
and dreams grow


-kisses
drawn
upon nurtured souls.

Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees
hived in my hair, your smile at the
***** of my cheek. On the
occasion, you press
above me, glowing, spouting
readiness, mystery rapes
my reason

When you have withdrawn
your self and the magic, when
only the smell of your
love lingers between
my *******, then, only
then, can I greedily consume
your presence.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

What is our most prized possession
If not the chamber of memories
That we so fearfully keep
Within the confines of our minds.

Every inch of our power
Lives in a constant struggle
To guard this chest of fading treasures
From the writhing hands of time

Yet we have become so caught up
In this twisted dance
With the ticking clock,
that we have forgotten
these memories are naught
but disintegrating ghosts,
whom desperately cling to us,
as a shipwreck survivor
clings to driftwood,
hanging from our thoughts
on trembling strings
-soon to snap.

Despite all our efforts
They will never be immortalised
-and so we are condemned
to drown
in a sea of nostalgia.

I'd describe it as turbulent beyond silence, an unedited, untouched sequence that spills like blood from the pen.
Unintentional wounds to minds as feelings are played with like Barbie dolls in a 5 year olds prime.
Unrelenting and unpredictive thoughts lash out viciously in sweet melodic pulses.
Da DUM   .   .   .   DA BURST
Who is really the first to drown?
The living or the sea?
Deeper down and disturbingly fluent; the wash of words become clearer, stuttering.
You forget what really needs to be learnt once you start learning.
So much becomes lost the moment you are influenced.
But who writes the rule books on which rhythms take control?
Easily said but not easily discussed.
Choked by a thousand thoughts a minute, we lose track.
Healthy are those un brainwashed and remaining at 68% anarchist, still refusing pollutants fed straight into our veins.
4 jabs a day is the recommended dosage.
Desensitisers, artificial frontal lobotomy replacements, constant comatose states; you breathe for yourself but who thinks for you?
Whose mind do you have?