a fog, i saw,
in the mist of night.
humble, it led me
to the ***** of the beast -
who pet me, and held me, and licked me,
until it, and i, were one.  
my restless heart would not let the
beast be at peace…
‘what lies into the night?’, i insisted.
‘i must know. tell me now, i say.’
and the beast shook its head - nay.
‘travel not, nor inquire, into the sea of despair’,
it groaned, ‘it leads good men astray’.

‘but i’m not scared’, i said.
‘look at me… i’m you. i’m mighty.’
‘what could possibly hurt you?’
‘what could possibly hurt… us?’

‘you mistake me for my appearance, young man’,
the beast hummed from within.
‘i am but a vessel.’
‘i do not possess the might you seek.’
‘i was sculpted in your image,
and scores of such valiant seekers
who carrowed their poise for pride’.
‘but if you must -'
'i’m obliged to warn you, as they would -’
‘you may not forget what you see;’
‘you may not like what you hear;’
‘the sea is not forgiving to men
who trespass upon the realms of solitude’
‘hope you’re ready - ’  
‘it gets colder as we get nearer.’

and as we passed the bay of deadly sins,
where tales of woe would barren lay -
sure enough, i heard a faint
rallying cry from far away;
‘the captain must’ve lost his wits...’,
sighed the beast -
‘his compass must’ve failed to obey.’
a requiem followed the shipwreck,
as the shallow winds kissed the
waters grey.

As I walk down a rainy street
I see what looked like origami boats
Floating


Float float float
Until the boats
Reach the singularity
That is the storm drain


We all float, we all
Float down
And down we go!

I scream so silently
That the voice is loud
Enough that others might hear,
In this state like a snake
My tongue is forked
So that when I speak
I am having multiple conversations
Slithering across many fields.
Like the ocean tortoise laying eggs
Ever near the shore,
My children join me in the waters
Only after they have fully formed.
You say,
Nature is yet cruel
And shall lay claim
To many of your young.
And yet,
Is it not nature who spawned them?

The sand lines on the shore are just like you and me
Unable to oppose the pull of the sea
Yet every time I draw lines in the sand
I make a wish they would remain until I'm back

I take not two steps and they're washed away
The sea asks me why I come here every day
I move closer to answer the sea
That's when I know sand lines are just like you and me

Think it a wound
That has been cut open,
All of this
Pouring out of some person.
As blood like ichor.
Of Uranus a pouch, a receptacle, a quiver;
Time in consumption,
Like an arrow autochthonic
In the breast of existence.
Nursing the young.
Of Cronus a reflection, a refection, a ripple;
Time in digestion,
Like an innominate derivation
From the navel of continuance.
Bringing them up.
Of Zeus a reverberation, a spark, a sliver;
Time in expression,
Like an aborted secret
From the honey of speleothemas.
Shaping them out.
Of Apollo a radiance, a ray, a participle;
Time in extension,
Like an auspicious countenance
From the mucilage of angiospermae.
Birthing the echo.

This turkey pardon is nonsense,
Clearly symbolic.
But people seem to
No longer grasp the extent
To which that symbolism goes.
The gobblers which we free,
Where do they go?
To live out their lives in solitude
On a quiet reserve.
The rest?
Well, we just put them to death
Enshrined in a yearly ritual slaughter.
Nothing like that situation of the natives
When we boil off all the water..

And you may say,
"You think of it too much,
Sign to it too much importance."
But I say you think too little
And too small.
You think of all the easements
As entitlements
And not ones which we took
Through invasion and subjugation.

I reside in shallow desires,
That have burned to ashes,
A mere swine swindler and a mime,
Are my traits to define,
Exhibiting aimlessness,
I watch the stars align,
And for God to show me a sign,

Like a River sullen in misery,
Knowing it will have to fit In a pond,
I besiege my reach,
And so I preach,
My heart to not have it's way,
Now as a pond,
I reside without a say.

I sit beneath the willow tree
That wilted, weeping, widow’s tree
That messy, mournful, martyr’s tree
Wishing for a better me.

I am the boughs, so bent and beaten
Desperate, derailed, defeated
Without respite, the worst repeated:
“Failed again, you failed again.”

Once, I was the vibrant green,
A softly serendipitous scene
With smiles now so seldom seen
That one day, might be found again.

I lay within the willow’s shade,
To wait and watch and let her sway,
She holds me in her vined embrace,
And says my goodness still remains.