There's beauty in words,
but often I find
more in the ones I have heard
than in mine;

more in the sound
of the ones I have read,
than those at the tip
of the tongue in my head..

Your words of tender, mellow slur
are furls and wisps of thin, streaming clouds;
       dancing ecstatic,
       swaying hypnotic,
       sailing on the somber oceans of the wind--
then nestling as mist
   at the doors of these still lake lips of mine,
   hankering to swallow and wallow the low-resting, quiet, ambrosial fog.

Within there lives a beast
Secretly guiding the feets
Path. Quietly protesting with thunder!
It’s a beastly wonder,
The courage of this thing.
The fire it burns
The passion it intends.
Deep, deep within.

Down in there, deep down in
The beast watches over our soul.
It’s the kind of friend
We all need.
Its lit on both ends.
fueled and on fire,
protesting with disobedience.

The fire, this heat
This beastly One,
it rests alone.
The energy it feeds from is
Of before.
Its our source,
Our home.
The delicately strong
Complex throng of love,
And song, and bodies becoming One.
Lines fading, merging taking place.
Beasts meeting, free.
Passion behind clenched teeth,
Grinding tightly,
Oxygen on the fire.

your name
i hear it and i feel volcanic
it sets me off like a cannon and i feel like a gunshot
it triggers me triggers me triggers me triggers triggers triggers--
i close my eyes when i hear your name and my mind is filled with black pain
i feel like a ghost sometimes: floating limply through the motions of living but existing somewhere else
people talk around me but i hear numbness
your name is a fire in my heart and it burns so brightly that it blinds me and i love it, i do
i love feeling the flames of your incredibleness scorch my insides, hurt me and make me proud
being with you was better than heaven
and now i am not
we were two sinners that found each other in a world of pain and wove a cocoon of false paradise
your name is on the tip of my tongue every waking moment and when i speak it, i erupt
loss is not foreign to me
i'm the smallest scrap of a ripped family picture and i'm torn
maybe i romanticize (there's no maybe)
but i love you and i feel your name shatter my soul when i hear it, a beautiful melody fallen flat on deaf, ghostly ears
i shiver
you were my understander, my heart
and i live my life as a prayer to you
always

Fear of death
When old is waste
Of precious time

I don't find any truth  to the phrase the "The Wicked The Don't Sleep", but after all i haven't slept in weeks

I want to sleep. I am tired.
I don't want to wake up until it's all over.
I am exhausted. I don't want to anymore.
I want to go to sleep and wake up over a thousand years.
Or maybe later. I don't know.
I don't think I really care whether I wake up or not.

The Fest  


The Christmas Eve began with smiles and laughter,
where I come from Christmas day is a hanger over day
after excesses the night before.
Plenty of food and drink, aquavit and beer this was long
before wine came the in thing to drink and we sang and gave
presents and had a jolly good time for a while.
Someone made a sarcastic remark that was met with
a bad-tempered answered, suddenly everyone remembered
a slight going back twenty years ago and more
A fight broke out the yule tree ended up in the snow
police were called to calm things down and mother
came out of the kitchen serving coffee.
Next morning my father went out and collected tree decorations,
good for next year's Christmas party he wearily said,
and for once no once no one was arrested.