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Brycical Jun 2014
My body
mind's lobby
old-time-y lobotomy.
*Surfing kaleidoscope time waves,
baking green tree eurythmy cookies,
singing campfire folky-tale lullabies.
We enjoy tasting dawn-squash memories.
We feast,
wheat honey almond pancakes,
feels like deja-vu.
Green Tea gurgle screams--
the moment is lost.

And in an instant I see we've traveled millenia.
Brycical Jun 2014
Midnight fig kisses--
lavender shower dancing...
We hold each other.
Brycical May 2014
We create from:
thought
into
word;
vocal cord vibrations.


From word,                                          
time ripples..                                      
millions of outcomes.                              
Yet us, only conscious of one.
Brycical May 2014
When the topics of
birth, birth control, *******, periods, moon-blood
or any other "issue" involving female bodies

arrive in conversation,

men just need to shut the **** up
*Men may listen, even take notes.
But ultimately, men need not speak on things
they cannot possibly experience.
Brycical May 2014
In this moment,
we are all together.
In this moment,
we are healing.
In this moment,
we release our selves

Flesh bodies sizzle
cadmium red rhythms--
thunder gourdes rumble
as everyone shouts cobalt lightning!
A few stand quietly, hands
prancing in the air feeding the one
in the center of the circle a steady diet of colors.
Drums bubble & thump beat primal heart screams--
yipps & mews & prrrrr's
fill the Shipibo patterned room.

Joyous dancing scorches the floor,
tension falls away like the clothes
of lovers laying atop each other under the bed.

Here I sit,
at home amidst the somatic chaos sounds
chanting magic storm-wolf tones,
pounding away on bongos
patter-pitter jitterbug swing jungle vine jazz
as my body rocks forth and back
mountain lion paw hands tap crystals
red eagle wings flap smiles
navy ****** tail slaps bass
brown snake-eyes snap out of reality!

In this moment,
we are all together.
In this moment,
we are healing.
In this moment,
we release our selves
Brycical May 2014
bodies buzzzzz
bliss smiles radiate from hearts
while the scent of sweat and drooling lips
caress the air around....

We lay,
hands and legs entangled
blood beats to the rest of our bodies now...

Panting subsides,
afternoon sunlight beckons us
from the windows,
while waves of indigo blue dragon ecstasy skip and zip around
our cinnamon and milky skins
like electric pleasure tides.

Here... we lay in the emerald river,
our bodies float,
we whisper sacred love words into
each other's mouths--
the foamy fig cream jazz lavender waters
tickle our bellies,
we giggle when it tickles our armpits...

Content glazed eyes flash pink
rose petals, the spirit flower grows in us,
and we sigh in wonderful unison,
hoping to spend at least eternity into each other.
Brycical May 2014
New York Sun Editor John B. Bogart once said
When a dog bites a man, that is not news because it happens so often. But if a man bites a dog, now that's news.

I think the same could be said of life,
at least, mine anyway.
Don't worry, I'm not going around biting dogs,
but I am living it up as if my life were a story,
because it is, otherwise, I'd be bored.  

But, if it were up to my parents,
I'd be working some dead-end desk job
at some marketing firm shilling packaged bread
so I could pay off my student loans,
own a home, get a wife & make enough dinero
to march to retirement, just like everyone else.


Same 'ol story.
Dog bites man.


Isn't it more exciting to read
about a roving poet skipping around
the world from Cairo to Toronto
occasionally stopping to smoke on beaches
all the while meeting people
who seem like they're from a different dimension?

I'm not saying I want a book written about me,
but... if one should be in the works,
I know it'd be a real page turner.

Although, most in my generation has been told
we're all unique and special;
getting participation trophies in baseball
& ribbons for being in the spelling-bee,
yet we're all also told, or rather it's highly suggested we
follow suit & get in line like our parents & grandparents did,
continuing their stories of countless wars and conformity.


Same 'ol story.
Dog bites man.


But nobody will read all these identical stories.
That's part of the problem with people,
only a few are living like they have a story to tell
while most fade away in some gray apathy hell.

Well, my brothers and sisters,
I can only frame it to you this way,
if you had a choice between reading the headlines:
Person Does What they're Told Until Death
or
Person Dies in a Skydiving Sound Circle **** & Bake Sale
which story are you going to read?

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have to make some magic brownies
because I'm late to my skydiving ****** education lesson.
live
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