Nearly everything worthwhile
has some form of a risk attached to it,
and the things that we want most,
often come at the greatest cost.

The less the cost is to us,
and the greater guarantee of no risk..
the more palatable
and placating the result becomes.

A jewel such as you need not
embed itself into dirt
in order to try to feel comfortable,
secure..

     asleep.

Acute to the place from where my regret will stem
It's 4:30 AM: my thoughts condemn
Anxiety floods my synapses

Regret is a dish best served deceived
With my own two ears, I heard the truth
But, I still had not believed

I speak from a place of squandered ambition
Of fecklessly feeble, and imprudent volition
I buried my treasure, and forgot where it was when I turned around

Indulging my sloth, my lust, and pride
My conscience was seemingly silent
Though many times, I should have died

I sold my costly soul at once, to buy a gin and tonic
Hello my name is Adam, and I'm a hopeless alcoholic
So, at 4:30 AM: my thoughts condemn

And, my tenuous will fell asleep already...

These rocks--
round,  not suitable for skipping
centuries of rolling along
the stream's flow--  all
the edges ground smooth
in the most ancient of ways.

These ones making walking difficult--
when one rock doesn't fit well with others
it rolls
and shifts;  not
wanting to find its   place
with the other rocks, making
footing unsure--       unstable.

I see this one;  there--
unconcerned with the fit.
It
has an edge or two--
   still..
as of yet  not ground smooth.
It stands out--  not
for the safety of step it can provide,
but for it's utter uniqueness--

               a stone like no other;
     with it's almost chosen-rough edges.

I want that one-- right there.

                         That one.

... And the skin opened up  into wide, cavernous cracks..
and there was a hissing sound--     a burning smell..
                               not unlike that  of a calf-branding  
on an everyday, working  South Dakota cattle ranch--

The feathering smoke, curling around the ancient stubs
                              of that which is  as of yet,  de-horned.
And there was a raging scream--
yet, one almost as if harmononiously intertwined
with the guttural moans of a pleasure-chant:
    that which is borne.. not of victimization,
               but of deep, consensual agreement

   And,  against this kind of liaison  between
flesh and death,  all the power of love's ache
becomes   a l m o s t   as if  nothing other
than a whisper...  

                          almost.

I am the flower of untouched perceptibility, the unique breed nobody could ever find in any imposing gardens. Do not chase to haunt me and the richness of my petals’ sap if you are not a holy breed of spirit as I might wither and get my seeds of knowledge scratched in your unjust volition. I am the pearl, the mermaid chain of blushing moon tides.

consciously, willfully, I wish it

quietly the Sunday, the sun day, drifts toward,
in its natural game, set, overmatched,
the foregone conclusion, nightfall diminishment

the water songfully swishes,
as the tide departs for places unknown, this then, now
the only natural authorized aural apparition,
the power boats renounce their normal noisy conditioning,
honoring their silenced, under-sail brethren,
as well as admitting their noises disfigure
the fast approaching majesty of the end of
our summer seasoning of humanity

consciously, willfully, I wish it

once again, lush is the quietude,^
now given up, surrendered and surceased to wonder,
how come I to write of these moments so oft,
thenever-ending quest to re-inscribe it on my sensibilities,
in vainglorious hopes that this stamping will last, be the last,
see me through the turgid frigidity of my Lucifer life,
come the fall, the winter, the early dark,
the daylight's brevity, the hurricane season of the mind,
that...need I say more?

consciously, willfully, I wish it

the particular white cloud formation of the moment at hand,
shall stay in place,  be the capstone of my summer living vision,
become permanent part and parcel
of the sclera, the white of my eyes, and when
I will write, soon enough,
my vision white weeping clouded,
you will weep knowingly, sympathetically

consciously, willfully,
I wish for that as well*

8/27/17
6:35pm