I am left in the forrest to die, a battered runaway slave, until a swamp mambo saves my life with some herbs and love over time, but I cannot let go of the fact she brought me back from the precipice of death, so for the rest of her breath I serve and protect her with honor and respect.  

I am an ancient Chinese nobleman betrothed to a bride for more money and land, except I'd rather spend the time with a common woman because she makes me feel and opens me up, but in the end I choose the power, and to my horror the bride has the woman's family removed from life.

I am a suave satyr, a boisterous and joyous half-goat who prefers the light of night, a rapscallion nymph chaser whose frenzied bacchanalia rife with wild ****** an ecstatic ******* even though a had a penchant for this shapeshifter whose eyes lifted me beyond an echo in time.

As an oracle, I am only beholden to the gods though I don't think the Kings and Queens understand my sister and me. Our feminine bodies flicker and dance in shadows, embers aglow as we flow between each other's souls and worlds to bring words of wisdom through smoke visions and hieroglyphic poems.  

I am a Viking, tired and hurt, our ship burns as my ****** body is momentarily buoyed in the frigid watery deep, proud yet ready to sleep until I realize this is my final battle yet won't reach Valhalla as I drown, the freezing drink slowly chokes my veins, the sound fades.

I feel free, a wild dakini gypsy between dimensions and time, with my sisterly crew of hypnotizing pirates making no bones what we want from the clients as our razor sharp bodies and piercing eyes cut through souls so we may outshine each other in stories and diamonds.

I am a 27 year old misfit artist diving deeper into a profound, glistening amethyst molten ocean of love with a soul older than mine yet struggling to allow love in my heart for lazy, apathetic family afraid to rock the boat  yet wallows and wades in frigid desert dunes of dried ice where water no longer exists.

I am thirteen years old and encouraged to read a poem I wrote in front of the class by my English teacher, my heart glows as a new buzzing azure jazz saxophone sound emerges in my mind as this is the first time any educator has encouraged me.

I am two or three years old running around this humongous place called apartment while my dad is chasing me with this giant eye that captures movement and sound on tapes and I'm having trouble seeing the rest of his hairy face.

I am twenty-five and holding my best friend as that rich radiant  poetic tragicomedic light fades away from his irises for several seconds of lifetimes while the seizure scrambles and mangles and tangles his mind until he suddenly blinks yet cannot think of my name.

I am twelve and at four in the morning suddenly develop this tingling vibration in my pants after I stopped flipping channels on my grandparents cable television as it landed on this inappropriate movie about a lady with huge ******* giving this guy a blowie.

I am eight or nine and scared, some six or seven kids from third grade are hitting me, kicking me, dragging me while teachers watch for a few then turn away and I feel so powerless when they spit on me and hurl my body against the tree.

I am eighteen and ready to tackle the world after graduating high school and performing two different parts in the musical after replacing a guy and taking 'the girl' to prom after she chose me and not the other guy I had to replace only to find myself dating her and another at the same time! Oh what folly and foolish revelry is this!?

I am all of these,
embracing the choices
and voices and being
knowing every breath and heartbeat
every fluttering eye and handshake
and kiss has catapulted, imploded
and cuckoo capitulated and molten molded me
into the being I am right now!

(I)
My mom once kicked a hole in the wall as a way to threaten me.  
Any minute, it feels like my mom could toss out all her marbles & shove a pillow in her mother's face.

Sometimes my entitled Grandma has no idea what her name is,
so she wouldn't know what the **** is happening.

Before he died, my fair-skinned grandfather tried to hide the fact that his wife would forget where she was sometimes. And as his face melted because of leukemia he also tried to hide the fact that he was a hoarder, blaming all of it on Grandma, who was also a hoarder.

There's talk amongst some of my family that Grandfather's brother, the one who went to church every Sunday and spoiled everyone in the family with copious amounts of pies, cookies and money decided to pull the breathing tubes out of his nose.

This is the same Uncle who decided that his sister, whom I used to see as a saint, shouldn't be hooked up to a machine after her stroke. My Aunt made the best pancakes, and cookies, and cakes, and sweet treats from scratch.

From my understanding, their father was a scumbag drunkaholic but their mother was the church going working type who had a way with dogs. She's the stuff of those walking uphill in the snow to and from school with one boot legends.  


(II)
My Father used to be a dreamer. Now he sleeps with the TV on blaring either CNN or Fox News, sometimes in a buzzy drunken chainsaw snoring kind of sleep that's only awoken in a panicked restlessness wishing he had a gun under his pillow, probably because he ran away from a cult.

His mother joined a cult at a young age after years of working for the man. Now she's constantly in debt but swears that this cult is helping her change the world.

Her husband split when my dad was around three years old. He died homeless in Washington State. The day my father married my mom was the first time my dad met his step-father, also part of the cult.

My Grandmother's brothers are all the libatious kind of drinkers who all took jobs as either firemen or bank truck drivers. They're proud hellraisers.

Their father was a double-****** beer drinker on days he wasn't cheating on his wife with her sister, supposedly. He was a **** ballerina with a beer gut on the ice. Their mother was a bitter woman whose family lost all their money and would sometimes beat her husband with a skillet.


(III)
I don't wish to say much about my brother because i once found him in a compromising position in the bathroom with mom's panyhose over his head when he was around 10 or 11. So I shudder to think what weird things he's into now.

Truth is fluid, like molten lava,
it can be forged into many things.
Like truth,
I cannot be contained
in a single definition
of ***, diet, address, culture, occupation, income, hobby, brands, religion, genetics, being,  path, journey, source...

Everyday is potential chaos
waiting for us to caress
the stargate flower folds of time
until it's dripping, throbbing,
electrified enough
for us to twist our fingers inside
as it moans in deja vu serendipity.

Everyday I am a new person
born from subconscious dreams.
There is potential for me to undo everything
in my life by a simple choice of deciding
to eat a sourkraut and mayonnaise sandwich
with salmon roe despite the fact I dislike all of those things.
Or I could put my head in an oven.
I could get hit by a bus.
I could save someone from choking.
Maybe the best **** of my life awaits tomorrow!
  
Everyday has potential,
though some days I waste it.
Sometimes I wallow in dark steaming ***** pits
of self despair berating myself for something dumb
like not being happy enough.
Then other days it feels like
I could ****** a dragon into my bed.

Either way, I am allowing these moments to flow freely
as I swim unabashed in their currents.

I cannot be contained
because I am a living being,
every part of me is moving
atoms that make up my skin cells
to the blood cells
to my breath
to my blinking eyes
to my mind
to time
to this large blue planet hurling through space!

By the time you try and define me
I've already disappeared
into the deep flow of time and space.
So catch up if you dare.

After time words blur, an absurd slurring cures worried attachments to them,
and when I catch that nonsense by letting it go suddenly the flow flourishes raining over my sustainable poetry planted long ago.

I bloom, the shrooms cue music encoded in the OM, a place called home for me, where stones can be bass drums thumping heartbeat rhythms.

Something slithers, something withers; the darkness as I spark this campfire light house announcing all pirate ships can dock around my mountain.

I shout shenanigans like zippy dippy do dah while yodeling love as the wind bends my words above as below like a yoga pose around the world.

When the screaming void of humanity's barking fear
came around,
I used to shut the curtains
on my hazel windows,
and lock all seven doors,
waiting on the floor for it to go away.

In those moments of
racing breath and aching heart
I chose fear.  

But  one day,
something shifted in me.
And on that day,
as the darkness fell upon my house
banging, barking, snarling, clawing,
piercing odious sounds vomiting all around...  
I peaked out one of the windows.

It was me!
Sure I was a child
but it was me!

No longer shall I shun the dark,
but instead I choose love, inviting it inside with lights,
sharing sweet potatoes and kale dinners
alongside a campfire conversation
with a warm rose bath
and later we watch the dusk sky ignite.  
We end our time with
a short prayer;

*All is Love.
It is,
We Are.
May you venture well into thought.

I hope that one day
everyone in the world has
had Stendhal syndrome.

Delicious midnight,
kyanite and citrine crystal bells buzz
& haummm....
Piano notes dance around the room,
some sing silent eurythmy patterns.

An amalgam of pinball gypsy
time travelers colliding--
the timing couldn't have been more perfect
as we rest in the sacred loft
under the metallic ear.

Full Flower Moon
whispers persimmon kisses at 2am.

Here we rest,
a space for the timeless animals,
wounded healers,
soldiers of peace
all seeking a brief respite....
collecting energetic auric heart fire fuel
before we slingshot off in our kaleidoscopic time machines,
candles navigating to the darkest reaches
of outer and inner space.

Here, fear dissolves....

Here, light evolves....

I believe my parents think they're speaking for the rest of society when they tell me that
being a poet,
to live by writing
isn't financially sound.
They tell me I could not make a living doing that,
as if I am not already making a living,
as if money is needed to pump blood through my veins,
admire a cloudy cream orange sunset atop a hill
or taste the lovely chai & chocolate covered lips of an air nymph.

They tell me that if I don't get another job,
I will have no money, that I will be broke,
as if there's something to fix.

My parents, who speak for the rest of society tell me
I will be dirt poor should I not find a job and make an honest wage.
Luckily I love being with Momma Nature
in the dirt;
being grounded--
planting seeds,
occasionally smoking tree,
just seeing the transparent process of nature
as opposed to the hidden secrets we're not allowed to see
in our food thanks to the lobbyists & their poison tongues.
If that isn't enough, I fail to see what's more honest than poetry..............................

I'm told money makes the world go round,
though I fail to see how a million or even a billion paper notes and coins can push this big 'ol blue planet around the sun.

I'm told without money, society will collapse,
but I suppose it was bound to happen when you build something with such a flimsy paper thin structure.
I also remember we humans seemed to do alright until the invention of currency.

I'm told by my parents who speak for society that without money,
I am nothing, a nobody.
And well, I don't see how that can be true,
cause I'm getting to know each and everyone one of you as you are me,
and I think all my friends here and around the world would agree
that they at least know me, which means I ain't nobody.

My parents and TV tell me that without money my self worth should be zilch,
but most days I wake up feeling like a million hugs
radiating through me, around me, with me
as I see the difference I am making in the eyes of some of you today
and those I have already spoken to.

Without money, I live free,

One moment,
I'm held in a sensuous tango embrace,
our lips a tongue's width apart.
Passional, honey lavender breath
melts me, caressing my cheeks,
licking my ear
When suddenly I'm smacked on the ***.

God is a terribly cheeking dancer partner,
likes to keep me on my toes.

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.

Midnight fig kisses--
lavender shower dancing...
We hold each other.

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

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

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.

THE OTHER DAY IN THE PARK I SPIED A WHITE SQUIRREL!

LATER:
We remember a past life,
later she opens her heart completely;
gratitude beats out!

I Cry.

She Cries.

THIS SCENE PLAYS OUT IN THE KITCHEN
OF THE TOUR GUIDE THROUGH THE
MATRIX, WHERE SHIPIBO PATTERNS
ALIGN THE INSIDE OF HIS LOFTY DEN.

The Tour Guide introduced us
to the timeless Oracle Pixie Swan
who paints 10 years into the future.

FOR DINNER:
we weave golden sunset light
in good convo's about the human
experience unplugging  the people.

IN THE MORNING:
we watch the gray clouds burn away
as they slowly unzip the sun unto a quiet Toronto cityscape.

We run into old friends
serendipitously pin-balling from all over the world
yet conversations continue,
with some new jokes & banter
about mistaking white squirrels & seagulls
but overall, talking the same magical words
as we are with our old soul timer families.

-----
THROUGHOUT THE DAY:
How grateful we are
to be blessed with a life of travel
& living creatively
while a few live vicariously through our
mostly unplannet planned adventures
spanning warm shores of Bali
to cold pole warm toes in Toronto.

How grateful our beings
made whole holy feel.

-----

We
are
all
is
love
light's
inside
always.

We
are
all
from
nature
alway­s.

I see this scene as our hands
intertwine:

Her hips roll--
backwards, just as her brown eyes.

Bodies burn...
sweat drips out through salty pores.

Growling smiles;
primal minds lead to bite marks.

Fingernails
croche scratch marks on shoulders.

Together,
we breathe like the trees asked us to.

I see this scene as our hands
intertwine.

Midnight Bat & Shadow Monkey
play
with smoke magic in moonlit parks
shimmering indigo stars dance
around them.

Island ***** & Mountain Fox
speak
jazz slithers in southern drawls
dripping in thick maple syrup droplets
off their tongues.

Savanna Fire Lion & Volcanic Red Eagle
sing
lighthouse words in squall-like skies
warming velvet hugs embrace
their eyes.

Psychedelic Air Otter & Hip Breezy Dragonfly
banter;
smooth repartee in tricky dream worlds
volley, twist and swirl around
their lips.

Queen Water Dragon &  Aqua Gypsy Satyr
dance
Drooling patterns with swaying hips
Dawn smiles & electric fingers tingle
their spines.

infinite beauty.
Technically, she's everywhere.
Must have good vision.

We breathe together--
heartbeats conjure symphonies
Dusk sky shines for us.

Smoke tokes out of the monkey's head, embers embellish empathic light enlightening gypsy nymphs from miles around, a glowing lighthouse haven heaven in nirvana massages lavender bubbles upon pores restoring strength to warriors of the rainbow tribe."

Wind rustles with us...

Stay grounded, you're found before you're even lost. Some get tossed and turned by the sea, but a smooth one never created a skilled pirate with third-eye versatile switch-blade heartbeat ink scribed on blood-vessel maps, following the soul tattoos and taboo time scars along with the azurite lightning stars shooting in our brain.*

Time stops sometimes...

Seasons change DNA re-arranges as we grow goin' with our own flow down the subconscious ocean, sometimes watchin' sunsets into a haze of sweet *** sweat and green cigarette peacetime sufi twirling our conscious to the north star crown chakra.

**Love is. Always.