A breath, yours
soft, hot, chilling
the ear, mine
curved - an art on skin
the meeting of both
explodes, a confetti of feelings
a beat becomes a throb
throbbing madness
of that breath that still flows
a begging of hearts
a pleading of souls
begging the emptiness of body
an urging of minds
that breath that still flows
into begging hearts
fills the pleading souls
walls crumble
on soft ground they meet the heart
received, converted into trust
by the breath that still flows
excitement abides
eyes meet and hold
gazes into abysses of longing
a tide covers the belonging
the connection of two hearts at sea
joined by that breath that still flows
into that skin, that art
is but the wind with memory
spun, ebbed, blown, twisted by time
made into dreams fused with reality
the tail of one, the head of the other
its that breath that still flows

Listen to the dogs bark
Watch the lights turn on and off
Feel the dead streets flourish slowly

[A drink and a smoke
And it all makes sense]

To let my enemies devour each other

Let them devour themselves

While I flourish

It might sound conceited
but there is nothing in this world
more powerful than
a person who is
above all
their own person

And *******
I've got enough Me
to go around

I try to **** my ego
but it comes back twice
as strong
and for twice as long

I try to remember
that I am nothing

and I know nothing

But it's hard to admit
your own weakness

When your heart
is on fire

I've grown accustomed to the feeling
of never being able to rest

I fall asleep, troubled
and wake too soon
to the dramas
of life and death

[I thought I transcended
this a long time ago]

but, surprise!
there is more to learn
more work to do

There is another corner to turn
that will give me better grip,
[i tell myself this and believe it]

all of this is for the best....
the way I get caught up
every time a star shines
brighter than my soul

I forget everything and
I am one in the light
and darkness
again

I am an innocent child
in the arms of the mother
once again

Hoping, Praying
that the goddess will
wake up
to a new world
and claim an equal throne
to stop the destruction and madness
of the martian mindset

This red stained rusted map
proves nothing

All the warrior needs
is love

And we will give it
selflessly

So that maybe, like them
we will stumble across
the reflection of ourselves,
as honest and true
as possible

And we will not censor
ourselves, through
brightest light
and darkest dark

We will not hide a single aspect
of ourselves

and I will gladly admit that half the time
I am a demon
Born of pride and power

And half the time
I try to find my wings
and live beyond the limits
of what I see in front
of me

I never believed my eyes
. . . not once

But I always believed
that
these chaos nights
of liquid despair
and makeshift relation
meant something more

I always held the belief that
I'd get where I was going
regardless of distraction

But now I'm not so sure

Because now I feel the pressure

of eternity in the checks and balances
of the dual toned grid
in which we all lie down
and sleep
in silent surrender

resigned to my fate-
I am the child
throwing his hands up
in the air

I am the moon
surrendering to the sun

Singing,
               "this little light of mine
                was never my own
                                  to shine"

It always belonged to the future

The dead souls

The great sages
and fountains of wisdom
that the world has yet to see

For she has yet to birth them

And she has yet to feel me. . .

The goddess of ideals and perfected imagination
who will wake up as I do

And look into my eyes

And realize

We've both been dreaming
for far too long

I smiled today
a genuine kind of smile
the kind of smile that is produced
when a flower looks up at you
but then guilt reminded me
that I am not allowed to be
something of such beauty
so I washed it all away in the sink
(back to normal)
-

you’re here so i’ll ramble on to you

repeat the words again with someone new

share and overshare

your life and it’s a record

cause you’re like a record

and i love my records

but i’m getting sick of me

lately, can’t do what i want

but what is it that i want?

Your hands felt
like home and
they told me things
you wouldn't with
your mouth

"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
...
"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)