Primative man, pre written word had it easy,
When it came to wooing a woman,
It was as easy as
Lugging a 150 lb log
A few miles,
Fending off a pack of wolves with a stick and a torch,
All so your Cro-Magnon flower could have something to sit on,
To keep off the cold cave floor,
While she weaves baskets, and cures skins.
The simple song,
Or the rabbit pelt and the shiny stone
Have devalued, since the arrival of currency.
But a poem,
Masterfully crafted,
Is a currency all its own.
The value of which is determined,
Not by the poet...
But by the reader.

People who live by the sea
understand eternity.
They copy the curves of the waves,
their hearts beat with the tides,
& the saltiness of their blood
corresponds with the sea.

They know that the house of flesh
is only a sandcastle
built on the shore,
that skin breaks
under the waves
like sand under the soles
of the first walker on the beach
when the tide recedes.

Each of us walks there once,
watching the bubbles
rise up through the sand
like ascending souls,
tracing the line of the foam,
drawing our index fingers
along the horizon
pointing home.

Read me, in the elixir of life,
have a slice of duality pie.
Behind lined ivory,
is someone you call you
and I call me.

Read me, in a tear of sadness,
orbs of memories stored
in genetic madness.

Read me, in the dog-eared page
the leaf that quiets my mind
and makes me whole again.

Read me, in my racing thoughts
bipolar existence is more difficult
than not.

Read me, in the grip of melancholy
revisit the wrist scars
of folly.

Read me, in the breastplate of armor
the era of my belief
in chivalry and honor.

Read me, in the time of sepia
tradition fueled
by dreams and dementia.

Read me, in the tip of a candles flame
passions burn bright,
yet I wear no others name.

Read me, at the foot of an altar
murmuring prayers, "...lead my paths..."
or I will falter.

Read me, in an open palm
outstreched, open to you
and calm.

Read me, in the fools smile
the joy will last
only a while.

Read me, in the clear walkway
steps number
all my days.

Read me, in the shattered glass
anger subsides
down to simmer and it will pass.

Read me, in the inkwell bright
the pen has punctured me
felled by might.

Read me, in the moonlight there
lie to me,
tell me you care.

I am made of Ruins
onion-cutting eyes, phantom limbs

I am made of odds and ends
hyena fur, elephant skin

I am made of bravery
swallowing knives, a kamikaze cause

If only I could mend all that I have torn apart
sew together every loose stitch or broken heart

but I am not made of miracles

An arms length from the abyss,
Lean forward, and I cease to exist.
I look down below and see the river Styx,
Fed by the blood of a billion slit wrists.
I reach down, and undo my zip.
This is as good a spot as any to take a ****.

The Devil's been ******* on me my whole life, it's time he got his.

When Daniel swam out towards the island,
the children and I saw it happen,
the family safe on shore, oblivious
to the riptides that pull
shells, weeds, flounder, and men down.

We could not believe the ocean claimed him.
He had romanced her,
witholding for once
his scorn for things too vast.

Today, I leave this coastline,
its cliff-faces and inlets.
I walk on the beach,
and then I walk into the water
up to my ankles, knees, waist,
up to my neck before I let the sea take me.

I swim,
I grow fins,
lose my arms and legs,
gills supplant my lungs,
and my face flattens 'til I'm fisheyed.

I am a citizen of the sea,
come to sue for my loss.
I swim like a mad maiden,
I swim,
then I dive below, dear Daniel.

In the park
sits the Man
with his box
in his hand

The Woman
draped gracefully
next to him

Frail they may be
his fingers
sing three

Of the songs
from within
his heart.

The Woman wriggles
and dances
and calls out with glee

To the passers
she says
"Have you heard such a thing?"

The Man hears
her sighs
with a gleam
in his eyes

He plays
his three songs
for She.