Touch the thirst
sandy throat
  nomad drifter

remembering rain
  when all the August grains
    cry out
  
inside a fiery tornado
  lit up in the center

with a bolt
  scorching,
    hotter than Sun.

Funnel of light
  leveling the expression
    you seek.

Must I start over
  carrying silent debree
    after you stormed through me

leaving this bright residue
   still twisting inside
     my hidden pathway.

Touch my thirst
  sizzle the answers
    into August grains,

flash flood this Mojave
with the echo
    of your flood.

Tow the ache
  simmering magnetic
    slivers of sunset awe
  
         streaking unnamed things
           holding it inside
              unleashing rivers of
       clean starlight

giving itself
      to the earth.

    Loneliness smells like curling
        smoke drifting on a crisp night
           when a thousand howls
               plead to the Harvest Moon

                    for something
                       buried inside
                          sprouting to get out.

Call it the invisible field of yourself
  where nobody can see what
     grows there, except the One
        who flies through it,    

        
   monitoring it all
       with unconditional love          listening to the ache
  of diversity yearn for itself

on another level
where two becomes One.

The power of the sea is air born,
its force snapping in my face.

Invisible waves whipping through 4 layers of clothes.

Thrashing Pines.
Shearing limbs.
Natural pruning.

Solitary phantom bashing cliffsides,
spinning leaves, contagious dervish dances overtaking the mountain.

A thousand Rumi letters taken flight
burning atoms, spilling longing.


Moaning captains, ship less,
praying for strength,
fighting night swells,

the power of the sea is swirling sky
kidnapping forest litter
no ransom
an icy thief
cracking lips
piercing skin

howling like the ache
of 80 million prisoners
who wish to be as free
as it sounds.

The endless flying whooshing
happening beyond walls,
sloping through the curiosity of
an entire world,

penetrating dreams like a cosmic ghost.

Going blank is to suffer an army of sharpened nails clawing in skin without sound.

Small grooves,
yet, make no mistake-

A collection of oceans pass in this narrow place.

Silent uproar.
Calm trickles.
Minerals from hidden rocks.

Secrets leaked beneath the buried
  wound where angels and demons-
        Rage their wars.

She sits silent
as night collaborates
cursive wind to spoken pines.


Pearl moon silent
she is the main attraction
radiant dream, dark angel lust

thirsting for every eye
  to stare
and burn
for the fortune she hides

as her naked pearl shine
  illuminates forest wonder.

She will glaze the ice
  scurry her light
    in ways
       that trap your tongue

around the rutilant jewelry
you wish you could wear
  leaving night to worship
    her perfect crisp blaze

as your enamored pen
falls into a coma
     too deep
        to speak out.

Her silence is another world
    only imagination understands.

They are crawling in violet sands of silence. Hours jet by like nothing. They are stinging you all over. Powerful burning, moon spackled in every grain. An inner Sun dawns, hits  water, nobody knows. Or do they?

I once fed my hostility into the jaws of intensity in hopes to be rid of it.

Now. It is done. Paper swallowed
pain. Painted bars the mind brushes to trick you into prison. I learned to let go.

Mother tells you it's illegal to cry. Keep it locked up for decades, a child who discovers Houdini's secret window.

He crawls out. Night and day embrace. Rainfall of stars.

Peace at last.

Now they are stinging in violet sands of silence.

Long letters swirling beyond your reach but dazzling the water's edge close enough to jolt the aching valve to a pipeline your spirit raced through.

They come.

Scorpions of powerful, needle fire stings.

The pressure to release them builds like a secret ocean as you sprawl out on violet sand wondering how to express the Eternal diamonds following you in the waters of your
inner world.

Long letters swirling from beyond.
Only in deep calm can I catch them.

Most times I am frantic clawing at night's window, diamonds falling out from my eyes replacing the words I need to trace them.

They are not mine.
They are everybody's natural heritage.

Majestic stars of eternal love
  streaking into our secret ocean.

We just have to open the door
to the private shore and give it surrendering permission to love us.

The fast descent of snow
covered Reno like a legion of white angels

furious flakes gliding and collecting in mass

it was late
around 2 a.m.
or so.

I was stranded like an alien in another world whose ship had crash landed in a strange, hostile city.

I remember turning the corner,
a body was sleeping in the door way.

I felt my heart leap out from its chest as if some wild boar lived in there.

I felt a warm wave of compassion engulf me for this person who could have been anybody. I could see no face. Man or woman I could not tell.

Just a body.

Who are you huddling in unforgiving cracks of a broken down society?

This reflected so much to me in that moment that I stood, half paralysed, gawking at the stranger, wishing I could do something. Being broke I could offer no money otherwise I would have laid down a 20 beneath his back pack.

What a brave soul, daring to sleep out here. -10 below. Just a sleeping bag.

Was it a veteran?

All I know is that he or she was a member of the human race.

No face. No food. No shield to protect him.

I wanted to call someone but I knew nobody here.

How could society so eagerly throw away people as if they are just inconvenient trash?

It spoke a lot about our system. How could anyone trust it?
Not me.
Not ever.

They will only lie, imprison or **** you with no regard for anything humane.
No heart.
Soul-less.

12 days stranded and there were so many homeless people that it felt like a 3rd world country.

Except for the lights beaming from Casinos which 3rd world countries do not have.

My friend just committed suicide two weeks ago. He visited me in my dreams. I could feel him walking next to me.

A 12 year friendship, gone like that. Tears were trapped within me. I could feel them but I couldn't let them spill until I got through this. I willed myself to be only IRON.

Let the softness collect and build. No time to cry.

The heart was like this sleeping body, left exposed and vulnerable in a doorway,
no shield from the way they talk to you, convince you its fair and normal to leave people in snowy streets with nothing.

They'll turn you cynical in a flash, saying that he deserves it but who knows this person's thoughts, the texture of his life spreading over walls that I couldn't see.

I pictured this person like a brother.

He could have been through anything.

He slipped from the top of a dream, landed here in a doorway, snow fall whispering ten million white pages through his beaten life.

His key to love buried and burning beneath 10 feet of snow.

I walked away, ashamed, tired,
trying not to let my heart leak out from my eyes and freeze against my stinging face. It was not easy trying to suppress a sea from spilling.

All I could think about was home.

No shield around my heart as it opened up
to let in every white Angel of love landing there, growing huge with mounds of feelings;

still,

it broke my heart with flakes of falling silence that a pen could never trace.