When Prometheus stole fire from the gods,
I know he placed some in your eyes
Eyes that are piercing,
fiery, 
ardent, 
and melting away:
the worries in my heart,
the thoughts in my head,
the fears embedded in me.
Eyes that pierced through the windows of my soul
Now, I am cut open.
With one gaze, 
one touch   —
a touch deeper than skin.
Ah! My defences are down,
Ah! My lover,
You have touched me, 
closely,
intimately, 
beautifully.
This intensity can feel your fire 
We are only human,
but together   —  you and I
We can be gods!

“I love you” in its kaleidoscope dress dances
like sunshine upon the waves -
does it remind you of something?
Does it remind you of me, my love,
as I sit here and write and break my heart over
entertaining a fantasy;

For you to say my name, just once - just once -
to hear your gentle breath exclaim this personal ecstasy of mine,
this declaration of victory that yes, I am myself!
Finally, instantly -
just one word from your lips - this word - and the fever of
battle inside me rages,
the body ready to swim all seas and win all wars,
to tear up all earth just
for you -
to find you, my lover, yes,
to return to a home of you.
I promise I will, and forever more I shall,
in exchange for the sound of
your rose water perfumed voice
caressing the essence of my Self.

I could
spin this song forever
let it wash endlessly
through the streets of the world, just to
declare my love for you,
just to shout your name into the night
or sing it as gracefully as I could
to infect every heart and ear with my feeling,
this emotion that overpowers me,
makes me crumble, fall to my feet,
lift my voice to highest praise, a taste unfamiliar to my mouth;
praise does not come so easily to me as the blade to a throat.
So have I not done enough to prove myself to you?
Have I not given all my heart, and all my soul, too -

Still no word. No answer.
The hunger inside my heart throws me forward,
edges me closer to the abyss,
the forlorn nothing, the never-ending absence,
a loveless mist to swallow me forever,
and you, my only savior, looking on,
your face a stone-cold mask.
You don’t want to let me in.
Don’t take my hand - for I could pull you down with me,
couldn’t I, my love?
The only power I possess is destruction.
This fragile bird of ours,
I swallow it whole between gnashing teeth,
and snap the neck of delicacy with the careless tongue
of unrequited love.

And who am I, after all,
but covered in dirt and blood, kneeling
at the altar of your love,
begging for my life as if
all the wars and battles won
matter nothing now. Perhaps they don’t -
what good is honor to me if
you crush it with one bare foot?
What good are strength and death and victory if
I was never destined to succeed in the king’s battle -
the last stand my heart could take, only to
lose the fight?
I have died more viciously by the sharp cut of your cool shoulder,
my love,
than I have ever hurt at the hands of a thousand men.

I, warlike, once a God,
wounded and fallen, now,
collapsed without dignity at your feet,
pleading for mercy
and crying, with every sense of emotion,
“I love you.”

On dark & destructive days
I lay there in despair
I'm such a ******* fool
Nothing but a Narcissist's tool

I suffered like a chic in an egg
Couldn't survive & had to beg
I had no shame
I have nothing to blame

Everyone begs one day or the other
Kings beg, Gods beg, Priests & Politicians beg.

How many miles warp the landscape?
She sits in the nook by her window, wondering
etching a portrait of the bounty to come
the rows of stalks, now she is of age
that she will enter the grain silo
her soul is endeared, there is no fear
they begin the harvest before dawn tomorrow

There is peace like she has never felt before,
knowing her destiny is to give back to the earth
and she is ready to do this and more
but in the darkness, the dead of night
outside her bedroom a faint flash of light
the oldest brother comes, his face sullen and white
he's determined to take her away,
he won't let her have this day
in the darkness, the dead of night
she strikes him, he's jealous he wasn't chosen
he turns heel in flight
but there is no escape, father awaits
with mother, brothers, sisters, by his side
"It is time." His penetrating glare, silver eyed
"You will rid your sister of this husk."  Words that strip him naked of his pride

Father's false leg is silent against the floorboards
across the fields the dozens gather
they follow the ascendant light of the son, hushed, no words
the only spark of life is the cigar father puffs, faced with these silo fumes, he too would rather-
she bolts across the catwalk and disrobes in preparation
his torch extinguished, he dives to stop her embracing annihilation
and all is too dark to see, too quiet to hear, she falls for seconds towards the surface of the grain
he lays, face down, hand extended with her night dress clutched in his fist
she lays on her back, impacted on the crust and broken inside and out, every breath is a feverish pain
she needs to sink, if she doesn't she will have done this all only for the maize
long after he should have gone, he looks down at her and stays
her fingertips claw gently at the deepest crack, she's determined to get back

Her legs protruding outward
spine broken, ribs stabbing hard inward
her skull broken, blood leaking over
bowels pierced, organs exploded, it's all over
not one tear, no weakness enters here
she exhales with force, no fear
and pushes herself into the abyss
with her dying breath, into the clear
the others ascend, sensing the fatality
only then do they hear
she's engulfed in the grain, only then do they see
she's screaming in pain, still alive, as she blesses the corn
all the way down, her journey continues, they open the auger
drain her through, collect the limbs and flesh rended, one eye sunken into her head, one shot with unbridled rage and scorn
never had anyone survived, many musclebound mortals
many agile men had walked the grain
hundreds have made the sacrifice,
they carry what is left of her off into the night
father places his hand on his oldest son

Clouds in the distance, thunder and lightning
no rain upon them, father puts his cigar out in the son's face
burning the bridge of his nose until it looks as out of place
as the deep scars and rings under either eye
he snatches the dress from his fist, and declares this lie
"Two more of us have become who they were, you see he never sleeps now and why?
For he journeys through the underworld every night, with his fire alight to guide us through when we die.
My Nocturnal Son."

From a window the young sister watches
forgotten, connected to machines as years wither
she sees her brother take them to the silo
her face turned forever towards the window
she watches as even the stars lose their glow
and the dead join her in presence
as they have yesterday, will today and tomorrow.

in all of my life
of not taking advice
i shot at the stars
and they all fell down

as good intentioned was i,
in the blink of an eye,
the gods were all silent
as they all hit the ground

an honest mistake
i distinguished too late
for the seas were ablaze
and in the ashes i drowned

now i wander the skies
ignited for all of time
until the cycle repeats
for a new Earth i found

~for r, just because~


put her in my mouth and she became my
mouth.

put myself inside her and she became my
insides out.

spill good words on her belly, licked & laced us together, then came my 
poetry.

on elbow, she claimed coauthor-ship, demanded her name above        
          mine.


I smiled, answering most matter-of-factly,
surely they’re your creations, you-a-ruler, procreator, foremost, first,

the ABCedarian

the muse goddess of alphabets, all that is poetic divine mistress to
thousands

I’m mortal,
your transcriber, copyist, alphabetically seconded, merest mere,

the ABEcedarian

I’m rudimentary without you, lost midst the masses o’poets nameless.

She snorted, said
“sounds like poetic ******* to me”*
but returned to her sleepy heaven,
mumbling most contentedly.

For he hurled  the stone,
                            casting it with anger...


And so the first sin was sewn..
                   For the wrath of another showed
that we were the picture of god,


If we were imperfect,
                then our creation was flawed
beyond the reflection of our birth.

The stone was never perfect but
                    flawed when created.

my eyes are laughing strolling arm in arm
cracking the pavement brimming of vibrations
stories of contentment, despondency
a feeling of being summoned urgently by an invite
gracious and acute
in the company of gods and goddesses
on a patch of green grass
i admit to being without admonition exceedingly happy