S h e is playful vibrance
Struck by lightning
On a church steeple
In the eye of a storm
S h e laughs and cries and laughs again
H o l d i n g the crystal ball
But not looking in
The Sadhu dreams
Fire is a dandelion root
Being woken by songbirds in springtime

as I stood by the river
in the cool darkness of spring
I could feel within it's stillness
a beautiful movement and rhythm one with all life
it carries to the ocean a divine flow of energy
it holds the sky on its surface
and the earth on it's bed
in this moment I realize
the river is life
and I am here to flow
with the natural current
to move and allow change
to rise and fall with the tide of the Moon
to reflect the sky and stars
and to hold the earth within my core
Here and now I am as the River
moving swiftly with grace into oneness.

By startlight hush of wind
the owl's shadow voice
the campfire embers glowing inner universe by firelight
smoke curls weaving faint
coyote voices faint the pain
and smell of pitch fire
I sing you stars
I breathe obsidian
and again the owls shadow voice
leans back into times past singing first fire
brittle spine bent bowed toward the fire
voices low to murmur a child whimper

deer fat ****** upon to gentle dreaming
the mother of her song
the night cradles child
the owl, too, has young tiny hearts
and warmth of down and old man
coughing guttural spit to fire
young people giggling beneath hidden fondlings
soon to sleep
again coyote voices drown the mind
in a loneliness of deep respect
in love of those who camp just up the hill
and tiny crystals of tears
spatter the dust
legs that cannot ever carry me back to you
soul that holds you forever

I've discovered Hell, and the truth is,
It isn't a place you go, it's a sickness.
It resides within your bones
And its scaffolding is made from trauma.
The only fire you'll find is from the white-hot flashbacks
That leave you drenched in sweat that smells like smoke.
No-one lives there except you and your enemies,
And your enemies are fragments of history, unable to be killed.
Your mind is the devil that subjects you to punishment
That you can't help but be convinced that you deserve,
And escape is a notion kept only for tears;
Everything else remains trapped.
Hell is being held within the cage of your own body
And killing yourself trying to break free.

Night, that old sinkhole
of the soul, climbs
the dark stairs of despair
who knows what the moon
is thinking behind that one-eyed
stare clawing his way through
the pines outside my window
carrying bootblack in a blanket
when it's colder for shining shoes
that go with my black suit
and the red rose on the pillow
I burn before the morning.

Yes, tell us
of your Trump love,
your tough love;
shout it from the rooftops
while encouraging ******
in a mosque.

Tell us how poetic you are,
you the rearguard
of fascist *******
as worshippers are showered
with bullets from above.

You want to talk about cowards,
or standing with the Sioux
at Standing Rock?

Let me hear your hypocrisy
little miss sunshine,
just one more time.

And you, the defenders
of ignorance,
can kiss my po ***
along with the *******
wannabe poets
who hate the truth
when it shines.

Walking home
ripped I tripped
on a dead dog
half-in the ditch
hard as a log
and stinking.

I said *Scoot over bro,
come morning
there won't be a spit
of difference between
you and I in the eyes
of the buzzards
and the beholders.