My little son is radiant
surrounded by gold and brilliance
sometimes i think he only glimpses me
through glimmering clouds of celestial glory
he smiles and giggles and claps hands at me
holy light pierces fragile darkness
like the moon i clap hands back.

She was the centre of my universe,
and I, the eye of her storm,
the soft centre, cushioning,
calming...
I wore her hurricanes like wings,
her fires like a second skin,
and all of it was beautiful.
Terrifyingly, startlingly, strangely
beautiful.
To feel her heartbeat next to mine,
in perfect sync, the rhythm of the
skies and heavens. The meeting
of two souls, tainted separately
yet, together, fierce
and free

I am not sad because you are gone,
I am sad because I am happy you left.

Feeble opinions of cellphone zombie
Facebook philosophers perched
upon flaccid moral frameworks
like feeders upon which a sparrow
would hop from perch to perch,
nuggets, morsels, rules, restrictions,
convictions, insecurities falling
so conveniently down to make him
the master of his plastic choice
to be plucked like a cucumber
by the cold lonely wet hungry
hawk who provides his own sustenance.

Little sparrow not only do you not
matter some day soon you will
barely be matter molecules stacked
one by one a discoloration in a rock
formation waiting for the sun
to explode and make dust again
to be quiet until it all turns inside
out again to make new sparrows.
I will not waste the starlight glimmer
of consciousness joined to gross matter
for the briefest moment gasp in time
on your silly ****.