every word birthed and in format,
crafted by this mans poor
life motoring skills,
is the sole fault of his fault lines,
all taken, this responsibility

but the good that transverses the
arteries and veins of his profferings,
fair credit shared now and then,
for those that listen to these,
his poetic heartbeats,
raise him up to more than he can be...

My beloved night was dense,dark, wavy, soft velvet,
fully naked, moving in rhythm with me,  frenzied, sweet,
we moved heaven and earth to reach the acme of delight,
then flew in to a sudden  culmination,words fail to express,
the day dawned, blazing molten gold,ages were  impatient steeds,
together we rode, gained wings, became transcendentals, sublime
reached that tranquil, trident  blue peak where silence for ever reigns,
we had a deep yearning to sit and peer deep in to each other's eyes,
and see what remains after the last wave returns to the ocean's heart.

Above the emerald mountain,ran a river that fell in to an abyss,
the white foam of it's smile told us, about all we sought thus far.

"Ÿou have reached here in your frenzied search for the elusive
chasing the essence of a conundrum unexplained , cyclic, cryptic"
looking at  us sang a little bird, from a low hanging branch
of the tree of diamonds, that shaded us with it's clear light.
We felt the thousand petaled lotus  bloom within us that moment.

"Day and night are the horses that draw the chariot you ride,
an oasis you'll reach, then  hear stories that would ease your pain
you are in a story that reflects on the periphery of a bubble,
that exists in innumerable worlds simultaneously and hence
none is real, your truth you create,every minute and live"

We are somnambulists, that sit and paint colors in our fanciful dreams,
when we smile the colors stick to our souls till the apparition dissolves.

I learned the blues
too soon
and the pain
I gained
singing on dark nights
to the rain our plight
those who know loss
is just another cross
to bear for the dark guitar
strings piercing hearts
the cross spreading her legs
like a pair of pliers to make us beg
plucking nails from ****** fingers
picking scabs that seem to linger
through the calloused evil seasons
of high cotton and boll weevils.