It seems like day to day
is page to page
of some grim novel.

And the broken bones
blend in as stones
of ivory in the pale cobble.

An institution there beneath my feet,
the underground for the deleted,
cloaked as ancient fossils…

In the black of the shadows, the truth still softly lurking,
remaining coiled, with primal scales that glisten silently like biotite mica,
illuminating enough light from its fragments to catch the attention of a few.
But the truth, in the dark, was too icy and apathetic to rise up when it was vital.

Now when I read the story I see pages where words are unwritten,
but the skulls in the stonework have steadily risen
up as pretty, young artifacts—now surveyed by human eye—
Finally unearthed, from their sadistic, abysmal prisons…
The truth can bring all things to the surface…

Making Love Like Water

It starts with
so much beauty. In a drop
of sweat down your body…
a feeling of liquid—of
empathy into entropy.

Then it’s
My head against the bed,
face down into fluff.
All of the things float away;
the things are just stuff…
You are really here. I can feel
your warmth, though my kiss is blue—
It’s chilling as ice, but it’s true.

Still we’re
funneling energy
from one’s soul into the others’.
Electrical charges, our body’s ties.
I could die, I could smother,
and as I did I would smile.

Now I’m
melting beneath you, kindled by your fire,
cause what’s between us in this moment is pure and it’s sweet.
You taste salty like the ocean and I sense
the motion of the tides, against your skin, now I’m feeling the heat

My yellow dog—a silhouette in gold that the sun threw down—small by the Japanese maple,
and scarlet leaves flickered submissive in the breeze as my mind crept out from under the table.
I looked to the tree and I wanted to learn.
Existing at ease, stunning even when unseen,
liberated and wild—but expertly discreet.
Primitive and coarse, still gentle and serene.

My eyes squinted as the fire in the sky displayed its glittery glare and instructed,
I envisioned the world from the source of the flame and my human nature was obstructed.
And then I was a blade of grass, a glowing dog, a burning crimson, leaf-coated tree—
we created a web of energy and the thought of an ego became obscene.  
I was all things and all things were me.

I widened my eyes to a setting scene and knew I’d been reborn. How many times,
had the sun sunk low to ride the line strung across the earth- sky divide?
How many lifetimes had passed?
But my skin was still warm and the grass was still green.
Feeling liberated and absolved,
I acknowledged a golden dog, there at the foot of an antique tree,
and for the first time, I felt the innocence I could see in the eyes of the dog, there within myself.
Innocence I could breathe—like incense, so sweet—cause now I didn’t analyze, I simply felt.