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2h · 15
We stood and watched,
mesmerized by its brilliance,
pacified by the warmth
that radiated through our bodies.

Our highs flowed up through the heat,
riding the tips of the flames
as they licked at the sky,
incandescent and greedy.

We knew it was burning too hot,
too fast—
but only the crash can humble the high.
Aug 11 · 340
The act of not believing;
not believing in one’s actions,
or participation,
in a world that preexists
the conflicted Self.
Aug 5 · 52
collapsing force.

monumental pain.

Shifting in the night,
ripping through torrid dreams—
each atrocity screaming its own cry,
existing through its own suffering...
each plea demanding its own recognition...
creating its own world of pain,
its own Reality, encased
in its own experience of torture.

And you...
where do you turn?
Aug 4 · 64
John Henry
They killed John Henry
with a false ideal:
ownership as Realization;
Happiness as being external;
life's vitality as commodity.

They killed John Henry
with a name and a title.

They killed John Henry
with an interested dream.
Jul 15 · 75
Let It Fall
Let it take me,
those towns I move through,
and those I claim to know.
Let our Institutions fall—
crumble down through the
failed foundations of our
own self-possession.
Originally published at
Jun 25 · 215
It's nothing.
It's Nothing.
It is Nothing.
It Is Nothing.

So, why the hesitation?
Jun 19 · 179
Lay Me Open
Lay me open
and watch me bleed
and I’ll watch you too
to help you feel
seen as you take in
this pain
that you so needed
to witness.
Jun 17 · 139
Behind the brilliant light
that gifts life to our world
burns a collapsing force
fueled by the remnants
of untold millions of years
of pulverized matter
and dispersed gases,
excited and united by
the catalytic force
of Universal disturbance.

Dive into your veins,
past the deep red color of love,
zoom in until you can see
those entities that exist
within your blood’s flowing warmth,
and you will see Warriors
locked in Lacedaemon wars.

Be Open when you feel.
Be Whole when you act.
Life is no place for ideals:
Justice demands a Judge.

We must step onto our fields of battle
solemn and reverent,
willing to plunge our spearheads
into the chests of others
who will die staring back at us
through our own eyes.

If you cannot feel these truths,
turn yourself around
and break your spear in half
on your walk back home.
Originally published at
Jun 9 · 358
Souls Of No Nation
Feel the fire’s flame
cutting through our nights,
its burning heat
glowing in our eyes.

Feel the teeth grinding,
lungs heaving,
knuckles cracking,
slides racking…
Fear’s vibrations
and choosing sides.


Turn away,
relax your breath,
and adjust your eyes…

Can’t you see the face
hidden in the shadow
cast by its fired night?
Can’t you see its narrowed
eyes, the tight smile
emanating from a twisted soul;
the mind that’s taken Center
while we burn at its poles;
the eyes that know
our fractured factions
keep us weak, in conflict,
unorganized and opposed?

The identities we’ve been served
keep us forever in chains,
ensuring the blood we spill
is spilt in vain…
that change is only a slogan
an old institution
with a new name.

We are not black nor white,
we are not left nor right,
we are neither American
nor un-American:
we stand as souls of no nation.
We are people, we are lives—
lives that have been
and confused.
We are people
whose attention and energies
have been compromised.
We are lives
who have been divided
by the rhetoric of a power
that wishes to harvest
our spirit,
our vitality,
to serve its interests.

Join your fires,
join your minds.
See yourself
in all who you are not…
for you live within them,
and they within you.

We fight for freedom,
not a flag;
for Being,
not for land.

When this truth is felt,
united we will stand.
Not as numbers in a system—
nor factions divided
by city blocks—
but as Beings,
as lives,
whose chance at
a new future
has been restored.
Originally published at
May 27 · 577
Her rib cage splayed
and knees felled away
from each other,
she lay as a refuge,
an invitation:

Climb in, stretch my skin
over yours—
it's warm and dark inside,
you need not come out
until you are ready.
May 21 · 125
I was once One with
what I love
but cannot know
and am now left
to return to where
I cannot travel
to restore my place
amongst that which
is without form.
May 18 · 100
The fog's captives
were held
and entranced—
in a bearingless
There had existed
within them
only a moment
of anticipation
as the grey
encased them—
between the loss
of one world
and acceptance
of another.
As its vaporous
cold snaked
through their
clothes and into
their bones,
it whispered
a silent boast
of how quickly
they could be
made to forget
all they thought
they knew
to be certain.
Originally published at
May 17 · 132
No use in saying
what won’t
be understood.
After all,
how many times
must the experiment
be run?
How many
times must the
confirmation of
and rejection
be faced
before the soul
learns to stop
as a prisoner in
a foreign
land sits silently
within a cell
between walls
built of ears
and eyes
who see and
hear all
and use
all against him?
How long before
the soul is
reduced to giving
only a knowing nod
and a saddened smile?
May 16 · 300
The illusion of
of freedom,
of choice—
the patronizing
call of the
his insidious
hiss through
the cold steel
“Your time
is your own,
you may do
as you wish.”
May 15 · 86
To jump and never land—
to breathe in but never out—
to fall asleep and never wake up...
The glass stillness of a pond,
its surface never disturbed—
peace without its pole:
May 15 · 183
It’s not that
they don’t speak—
it’s that we
won’t listen.
We hear only
with our ears
for only our
own tones.
Their language
is subtle
and comprehensive;
a language of
truths without
motive, born
of a life
we’ve turned
away from.
Originally published at
May 12 · 247
The Worlds Of The Living
I was watching Worlds
moving past and through my own.
They returned my intrigue with wariness,
if anything at all.

Why do they view me
with only misgiving
and indifference?

The glass's glare answered the question
before it could be posed,
signaling back to me
the separation it represents.

It was I who had declared myself as Other—
watching, as a spectator,
the Worlds of the Living.
Originally published at
May 11 · 271
Taking Life
It struck me that
taking life and giving
life represent two perspectives
of a single act.
Originally published at
May 10 · 333
twisting levers—
gears ratcheting down
little by
against a box with
no walls
and no way out.
May 8 · 104
What is waiting for my weight—
for the matter I carry,
for the energies bonded within me?
What is lying dormant—
anticipating the day
when my body lays itself down—
so it may drink from my cisterns
and eat from my stores?
What will come into Being
from my ceasing to Be?
Apr 13 · 516
Tumultuous Minds
It is a temptation,
isn't it?

We sit and we wonder
volatile thoughts
flowing through tumultuous minds.

It is a temptation,
isn't it?
Apr 12 · 204
I was watching Worlds—
Worlds far removed from mine.
They dissolved my notion of Import
along with my concept of Time.
I was watching Worlds—
Worlds far removed from mine.
I saw our disconnection
our thoughts have made us blind.
We're lost in Worlds inside of Worlds,
within Worlds made in our minds.
Apr 6 · 145
Judgement is our prison:
     the bars, lock, and key.
As we build its walls higher,
     our perspective grows smaller
Until our confines of Measure
​     become all we can see.
Originally published at
Mar 31 · 244
Rebirth: Part II
The Death of one world
is the Birth of another.

Listen to the Mountains
speak and they'll tell you
stories of the Ocean.
Mar 31 · 171
Rebirth: Part I
Standing on a dimming stage
in the echoing stillness of our Plot—
fixed in the Silence of an
audience deprived of intimacy:

The Death of a world
that never knew Life.
Mar 28 · 168
Surplus is burden.
Expectation is limitation.
Hope is anxiety.
Fear is confinement.

A heavy pack is a liability.
It does not help to carry more than you need.
Originally published at
Mar 26 · 443
The Real World
Our world is not crumbling.
Those are mere numbers,
those are just games.
Listen to the roots warming,
they're humming in the ground.
Watch the crows snapping limbs:
structure for uncertain wings.
Can you smell Spring's fertility
in the changing air?
Originally published at
Mar 25 · 383
Move before the walls tighten,
go before you’re asked to leave.
Breathe in that old t-shirt one last time,
the one that still holds a faint
remembrance of a past lover’s scent.
Say your Pagan prayer
as you lay it down over
the yellow burn of split pine
and watch your spirits
dance to one more song — 
twisting and flowing up the flue,
whispering their final, dissipating
goodbyes before joining the
ocean that waits to greet them
beyond the stack’s order.

Goodbye my lover.

Originally published at
Mar 24 · 162
Submit yourself to Nature's voice,
this is not a fight—
your enemies are of your own making.
What are you scared of, Death?
Do you also stand in rivers,
attempting to halt the water's flow?
Originally published at
Mar 21 · 328
We are panicked because we've divorced
ourselves from Nature. We feel our lives and
time to be of singular significance.

We are panicked because we don't
accept consequence. Consequence
comes later—we think ourselves exempt.

We have proven ourselves inept
at mitigating our impacts, inept
at living and multiplying sustainably--
inept at respecting Nature,
our Planet, and those we share it with.

Nature is not an enemy—nor is Death.
Disease is a tool they both use,
they know when and how to use it.

Nature's virus is Her shining testament
to the limitations of the scientific mind.
It stands as the form of humility,
served with exponential growth.

There is nothing of singular significance
within my bones, heart, or skull.
I am merely a fragment of Nature's Flow.
I did not choose to come here,
I will not argue when it comes my time to go.
Originally published at

— The End —