Spirit healer you are my personal gift from god.
Night fans down, until midnight past or more
I follow your taste to the dark and through doors
For a moment I lapse into letting go
where I reconnect
where I disconnect
casually always, most days lost to impressions
through telescope

Swallowing just a minute back to nature's love
Back to mother's arms, Back to father's arms

Sophisticate basic thought when I sit with you
Briefly sipping news directly from the source
learning for sure what I miss moving forward and cast off before
In each night forever on and on
still closer to me
still closer to me
softly and savvy shimmering lips to my ear
all in whispered tones.

Healing and wandering aimless into nature's arms.

Currently, I receive energies played in waves above
plains sunken under progressive ruination
streets of rock run white with rain
washing and washing
ways for joy to fall,
waste washing down from heaven in rain
washing and washing.
Under their breath someone sees death and says
what of what I'm left, with and without?
While the next life in line with their hands in their pockets
can't help but just stand there and nod, in a
wave that continues to the rough edge of people
besieged by grief huddled nearby if not together in the flood.
I can't help but stand there and kick the water
while looking over my shoulder at loneliness.
Somewhere behind me, there is nothing.

Never thought how I feel would reveal me
for how desperately weak I am
despite individual moments
of being the sword to fall
in intense situations.
Growing colder and older,
growing heaviness depletes
the energies I may spend
on myself.

I heard you were in the mood for company.
Could I be
the sword for you, if you'll save me?
The warm for you, if you'll warm me?
I heard you were traveling, companionless.
Could it be
that wandering brought you past
the burrow where I sleep,
for one reason, to complete needs
untended in my home
in equal exchange
In trade
for what may deface the road?

Ohhh, Jokes,
I remember you, I remember hurt I should forget
but still and again it remains that I'm haunted

(deep breath)
(switch the needle)

...... ...... ......

Beyond the stars, deep within blackness, refracted particles of past times being. Moment for moment, alone with the notion, I'd trade each piece of me in for some portion of wisdom as I **** myself slowly in smoke on the stoop where I sit just after midnight, every night perpetuating dreams. Fantasies where it all ends in static, dramatically falling away from the world with memories intact. Stuck within limbo, clawing for purpose between the endless sleep. Deep within blackness, the faces I sat with for years come streaming in, and mask for mask, in the stars' masquerade, you're in your place trapped in love as the others. I deport data as I rend through the sky, I know that I'll find you, as the dirt parts from the coffin lid and I explode into light.

I’ll know by the touch of her hand I’m with god. Eyes staring into me, alight and long. Mouth to my throat, opening up. She silently speaks the words that I need: “Te amo.” My ******* in kisses. My thighs in kisses. My shins and feet and pelvis. The warmth I elicit returning to me in another who’s bound to my body in high. Slowly engulfing me, nodding, humming, smiling and writhing in tune with the music we hear in our hearts. Sprawling open, relaxed in safety so far between pits as they postcard our lives.

I don't know if I'm high yet.
I find myself in the kitchen suddenly,
struggling to get the plastic wrap off a bag of popcorn.
Says microwave three minutes,
listening very carefully.
Some bags can finish in 1:30.
That means 2:00 is fine, and
I leave the room.
I think I'm high. I must be.
Let's check the pen.
I got what I've got by using the dabber
to scrape the loose excess from the walls
and rims of the little silver bullet.
Nothing left on the parchment for a while.
A gram doesn't go fast -- it lasts and it lasts
because with the smoke in my lungs
I dance the dance of my ancestors, moving
without speaking and thinking without thought,
gliding between space and time with the ghosts that I've brought,
summoned from ether and cast from the gods,
for me but by me, I am what I've lost.

Living a life for all these selfish reasons
love, lust, blood as it must be passed on
wondering why we ever felt this way
sitting on logs watching the world go by
populace of sixty, two by two,
until done in their homes through the night
i'm dying if you're dead, I'll be flesh for the bones in your bed
beside, if we ever find

"Don't you want to talk?"
I said,
caught you whispering something
you'd rather waste your breath
reclusive screaming your spit at the world

Though in the future come we stand here breathing
looking in mirrors we don't know how we own
giving all our passion to day
light, away in exchange for the length we
once before jeered and despised

"I love you, but you're quiet,"  
I said
You'd rather be dead than alive
If I fell through earth to hear you
speak once more and stayed there
I doubt it would be a surprise

Oh running water, take me
with your gentle waving
from the path from whence I bravely came
running
running, myself
Oh, life in footsteps along, in lively strides,
through the deadly passes taught me well
and at last, I passed, so please
Oh running water, take me

Wrapped up in this circle, still, hurting while you
wait for haunting when I'm gone
Pay the spirit flame forward, will you?
--And allow me to leave taking the memory as
a boon and blessing. Soon I'll arrive to
watch you leaving, till then
you wear my blessing, too.

All while waiting to pass,
may you pass through well

A forest
center of
the dais
my bare feet
I sing
A forest
encircling, closing
the world
from minutes we spent
I'm alone here
with the well of painful lost causes
lent to
memories missing
memories drifting out
as the trees close in

dreamless, I'll be here
sleepless, restless, near
yearning for clues in the mist time brought, yearning
for you

If he was just the same as you
the decision wouldn't matter
as much as it presently burns
standing in the ashes, silent and single
Would you
ask me what I would say
already knowing?
Already watching my steam rise in the rain
beyond the windows

Flick the flame.
**** you.
I'll **** me.
Revelers of temporary
It's all right,
okay?
Up and shot me--
Didn't need that vein, anyway.
Punctured and ruptured,
expecting me to drown

and with what blood to bleed?

At times I shake my head at my own actions
or lackthereof too clearly seen in my reaction
Am I not allowed benefit of the doubt
for this common transgression?
As if you would gloat in the same situation
in which you plausibly have been.
You would never really present,
would you?

I thought as much and I'll walk willingly
while I wait for your hubris to just *******,
wait for you to just *******.

Wind's comin in you crazy few wanderers
who
still wander in this madness we're still calling earth
can't you see, can't you see what's all around you?
Look! The walls. The walls are closin in, friend.
You're walking in circles while the world surrounds you,
is what you're doin. But, and I'm sorry for screaming,
you're free to go. By all means, pass this place.
Keep going, and go into the town, look around
and pass the time. It's a fine place for it.
You should know. When you leave, this
place for the next, for the next, for the next,
you'll find me. And all I do is sit. While I wait.
Why walk, when you can fly?

Lost
maybe finding a way before too long
through the fog locking knives into skin
for the sins swept in on my heart
though more likely gone till the lies fall in
with the death of the loved ones who shun
time again, again and again, genuine feeling
Feeling the closing in walls
preemptively seeping through palms
while we wait for the squeezing,
enthralled

Pressure from vision and images talking in silent rhymes
hiding in Heidegger with numbers null up to nineteen
Life now becomes what their lives all became

Penance
Pay it
Play with
decay surrounding as if all is alright
smiling and laughing, swallowing and choking through night
dead in the morning

Will you whimper while you wait,
for me to save you?
Or will you make me?
You gotta' make me.

In my dreams I see the world I could have been
living in had I not been myself and I hate to
have to inform you but I do believe that this
body may be no more than a shell, inevitably
for our big potential nothing more than a cell,
not that it is, but if, then from within your jail

Will you whimper while you wait,
for me to save you?
Or will you make me?
You gotta' make me.

Can you hear me?
Do you tremble while you wait
for the destined words to take you home?

Update:

Turns out she didn't like it. And that's fine.
I write for myself.
Though on occasion it would be nice to receive with excitement reflective of the deliverer.

Amen.