Introduction
There they stood; keeping silent company.
Yet of His face, wept searing electricity.

To the lovers of life*
Here they stand, keeping silent company.
No utterance dealt; yet clear in both their minds
A single, brilliant truth:

He longs for her with a savage delight.
And it cries from every fibre, exalting!
It is in the bearing of his eye;
Rifling through her tender flesh
In search of what he knows, from voices ages old, is there:
That her heart will beat for no other as it beats for him right now;
That in this moment, their Souls are bared
To each other’s glares- naked, and blemished, and cowering-
Yet his eyes remain fixed and sure:

And for this, she loves him.

For they have seen each other for the First of Times,
Truly! And as with many the Ancient Laws unfurled,
They stand aware, in lack of ever being taught,
Aware with every atom, every straining tendon tight
That their time's so very short.

And so they drink… wordless
To each other, to their youth, and to their bodies
Shining like never before in the noonday air
Garbed in cloth that snaps and furls around their waists.

They imbibe with electric eyes,
Eyes that are new born to this world of light
And come out screaming, living, and sensitive
For lack of ever being touched.
They revel in their new-found joy;
Pouring from Her figure,
Of Her sleek, supple waist and the arch of her back,
Bristling with delight,
Of His strong hands and easy smile,
That spoke of laughter scattered
Across countless campfires of summers past.

Their light does burn intense as any fire,
And when their brimming anticipation
Overspills its crimson chalice
The silence shall SHATTER.
To find peace again in each other's arms.
Fumbling in sweet darkness-

Of heavy lids, of earthy flesh,
With lips embraced...

In ravenous finality.

Stars, brilliant, yellow and white, they pierce the total black dome arching over the trees.
Campfires spew sparks, dragons fly and jump to meet the stars,
Miniature electric lights; a spritely accent around the RVs.
Night choristers, peeping, honking voices dispelled by dawn
Morning light creeps up
Dew
Dripped, rivulets ran down the side of the tent
Campfires, lit anew
Pancakes, sausage, oatmeal.
Noon
the heat of the sun bakes the ground, dew dispelled.

I was alone deep within my thoughts lost in nature.
in other words passed out in the park as usual from a night of deep research and binge drinking hey everyone needs a ******* hobby okay.

I was just about to do some deep sea diving I'm kidding it's more like explore the hot tub with Jennifer Aniston and Lawrence hey I bought those goggles why not put them  to some good perverted use right?

When all the sudden I was pulled from my ******* utopia and brought to reality with some strange hamster dressed like a troll throwing bean bags at my head Jesus Christ this is why I stopped passing out in truck stops.

I banish you strange drunken  wizard with a banishing spell .
he said as he kept throwing his strange little bean bags at me I tell you
you have to worry about a man playing with his bean bags in the park I mean sure that kind of **** flew in third world countries like Canada  
but here in the states we had guns so we could protect  areselves and go hunting cause who doesn't love some male bonding?
Or buying a A-K 47  to  blow the living crap out of everything insight .  

**** the woods it's filled with to many fury hippies to began with and what wall doesn't say high class better than some animals head on it looking like it just got prison *****.
Yeah it looks so natural  and dead that is .

But enough with the foreplay and back to the bean bag throwing troll nerd .
Hey man your supposed to exit the playing field after I hit you with that ******* .

The strange dressed nerd said then snickred to with fellow dork homies.
You got to love newbies they don't even know a level 12 troll God from a ***** cave spider.

They all seemed to be smoking crack for they all busted up laughing at this strange little escaped from the asylum hamster.

I wasn't sure if I should just run or try to speak with these odd nerd folk  they kind of of reminded me of Muppets on acid yeah that was a bad trip don't ask.
Boy I never knew Miss Piggy was such a **** or a gymnast.

Excuse me gaydolf 
So  is there so reason you woke me up or are you just off your meds and looking to throw your bean bags at the first drunken in semi coma person you find sleeping on a bench ?

Your not part of the game?

The strange little troll nerd asked me and from the surprise in his voice I could tell this weird little hamster was on some great ******* drugs once told me two things.
One I needed to dump these ******'s like a truck stop burrito.
And two I had to  find out who his doctor was cause I wanted triple of whatever this kid was having .

No sir I'm not part of a game or show unless it's being the judge of a wet t shirt contest cause I do believe in supporting the *******.
Hey **** the whales save the *******  they look awesome and who cares bout the environment duh there's sharks in there didn't you ever see jaws besides everyone knows I'm allergic to water.
That's why I drink whiskey its much better for you besides ever see flipper hop out the ocean for a bathroom break ?


Hey this dude isn't part of the realm were in he's just some old *** drunk.
Another strange hamster said to his Troll friend.

Oh sir I do beg your pardon here take this .
The troll nerd handed me a bottle .
Now this was more like it I kicked it back and tasted the most foul tasting ***** I'd ever tasted in my life .

Dear lord man what is this ****! ?
Umm its called bottled water dude the troll replied .

I looked at the plastic container in a mix of total disgust and hell these kids were into some weird ****.

Water huh tastes like **** what the hells the proof ?  
Umm it's water ******* it doesn't have a proof .

I tried to grasp what the two headed tall one had said but was lost .
How could anyone drink anything not to catch a buzz what twisted sick little ******* had I run across?

I had enough of these strange garden gnomes **** I reached for my trusty flask a hit of some good old 80 proof trying to rid myself of the taste of this poison called water .

Look I do not even want to know what your nerds are up to but unless it involves some hot stripper elves  a bottle of cooking oil and a twister game count me out.

Looking at me like most people do with that mix of confusion and a feeling like they needed a bath there strange leader spoke up.
Sir you have to understand we are larping and on a quest we simply confused you for another drunken wizard .

Well I can understand that my sexually confused  nerd friend but I think you need to seriously go on a  quest with me .

Your on a quest the troll dork asked lighting up like Taylor Swift after just stealing the soul of yet another misguided hamster and brainwashing millions in to believe she actually had talent or a soul I'm just saying .


Yes Gaydolf I'm on a mighty quest to get my magic  staff  blown by some cheap ****** but enough about my ******* wife.
Yeah the internets filled with perverts and if you search long enough you might just luck out and find your very own ****** with a heart of gold or drunken long winded perverted ******* like myself .

Sir I have you know me and my knights of honor are true gentlemen why we need no pleasures of cheap ******  we have the company of each other songs and campfires to drive are passions who here amongst my circle would like to follow this demented nut on some ****** bag quest for the earthly pleasures of the flesh?

The little troll nerd turned around to see his round table of fellow ******'s gone .

What the ****!

We could here his cries as me and my new crowd  of  odd little dressed hamsters were off to the Hotseat ******* in search of ***** ,Strippers and hopefully trick one of these naughty dancing hamsters into a quest play hide the sword in the well you get the point.
cause hopefully someone with some cheesy name like sparkle or Bambi or Candy would .


Sir Gonzo the strange looking Cyclops of my new entourage asked?
Yeah what is it amigo?
Do you not fear the wrath of the troll gods mom?
I mean she did bring us all here in here minivan and all.

Well my one eyed nerd friend in are quests you will learn many things there are to fear .
But nothing far worse than the river of fire that spews from thy staff after a goodnight with the ***** of the back alley.

Oh no worries Sir Gonzo I have plenty of spell packs of penicillin .
Hey does ***** Debra still do that trick with a ping pong ***** and a picture of Kanye Wests face?

We  can only hope my one eyed friend you know I cant believe you know bout ***** Debra I said with a bit of surprise in my already getting there drunken lets get this ******* ****** **** story over voice.

Duh what do you think I am one of those twilight homos sir Gonzo?
My Cyclops nerd friend replied.

that night was epic we laughed we darnk we watched a Canadian cave troll totally make out with a ****** from the magic kingdom  Minnie mouse is such a freak and I know what your saying like the nut that wrote this ***** isn't?

Thank you hamsters that truly means a lot.

Are quest was epic are night spoke of in nerds who dream only to grasp a ***** strippers ******* let alone snort coke off there arses .

I never saw my socially awkward friends again yeah I bet that troll nerd Billy Gates sits even now wishing he truly had grabbed life by the bean bag and sized the day I wonder what ever happened to him.

Stay Crazy hamster .

Always your Captain of the insane

Gonzo

I’ve memorized my ceiling.
Every unruly pattern
embroidered to the plaster,
ugly and confusing
constellations in the shadows.

My fatigued brain can no longer
differentiate between dust motes and sunlight.

I want to destroy something beautiful.
Some things need to be
written between heartbeats.
To appreciate nostalgia
you must forget it comes
in soul crushing waves.

I want to sleep for a hundred years
arms of silence winding around my head.
My fingers are slow to curl,
every limb weighs me down.
I’m faced with a puzzle

What is origami.
Where can I burn paper cranes.

A relaxed *** of tea complements
the tide that inhales the sand and
all the possibilities
that come with blackberry brambles.
Something about blue
makes you fall in love with the sky.

Sitting around stories told
Talking about days of old
Hunting, fishing and good times
Busting bottles. Stealing signs
Starry night is made of gold

Warm Campfires and Coors lite
Makes for a fabulous night
Crispy Fritos and bean dip
Great ideas and good tips
All relaxed, no ones up tight

Pack of coyotes begin to sing
Who knows what the dark night might bring
My wife gives me a sly wink
Mountains blue, I get a drink
feel just like a sitting king

Shining stars in the night sky
Satellites that fast fly by
Meteorites trailing fast
They just never ever last
Hell of a time that's no lie

No more than a rumor
Or a legend spoken in whispers
Mischievous folklore
Foretold around campfires

About a man
Skin black, birthed under an Eclipse
Who stalks the dark forces
Casting his might over them

Fending off the evil
Which festers across the land
Bleeding gold ink
That soils the crop and livestock

Wherever life thrives
Evil musters its footprints
But wherever it may be
He is there

Baffling their kin
Striking like thunder
Swift and silent
Like the humming katana

Making clean kills
And fading back into thin air
Being seen as a ghost
When more is known of him

For he is flesh
Great in heart
And vibrant in sight
As the father of judgment

Carrying out his given cases
That are closed by his steel hands

The blaze in eyes while stories trade
sings deep rhythms in sand
vibrating into dunes.
Build,
building like pyramids
the cries of slaves pushing boulders
tap toes in hesitant syncopation.

A voice mumbles freedom,
while the Battle Hymn hums
across the backs of necks.
Kisses hiss like water pops
as sparks ascend into stars.
Blue Ribbons are ambivalent
to the sober back of the mind
as words take a decidedly
winning turn towards life.
Alive like fireworks, words
hiss in water pops
as logs and laws disband
themselves into our firepit.

Journey to Mecca – The IMAX Experience

Imagine the scene... There are crowds of people milling about, some in queues, some chatting by the windows, others sipping a warm drink. There are children playing in corners, babies drinking milk, and wherever you look you see people of all creeds and races united under the banner of a shared humanity. And what is the reason for this diverse cross section of society to be present in one place on a quiet and sleepy Sunday afternoon at Birmingham’s ThinkTank? The answer is right there across the busy foyer. It is a poster for a new IMAX film called “Journey to Mecca”. The very air bubbles with excitement and expectation as the cinema staff cut the proverbial ribbon and usher the people into the auditorium.

Space, vast and open, is the first thing that hits the audience as they take their seats and let their eyes wander over the immense spectrum of the IMAX screen. A map unfurls across the screen and a narrator explains the time and lays down the background to the scene that is about to commence. The year is 1325, the place is Tangier and the story is about a man who is about to embark upon a journey to the holy city of Mecca on a pilgrimage. The charismatic young man is Ibn Battuta, he stares at the stars that twinkle across the canvas of the night sky and he dreams of spires, of domes, of jewelled cities that sparkle in the desert sands, and his vision swoops like a falcon over the alleys and streets of the kingdom until they rest upon the Ka’aba, the sacred building at the heart of Islam.

Ibn Battuta bids farewell to his beloved family and sets out on his journey which will see him tested, both physically and psychologically, as he travels to the fabled city of Mecca. His trials and tribulations on the road to Mecca are detailed with an emotional richness rarely seen in modern cinema. The script is nuanced in a way that allows the audience to connect with the action and the various characters. The depth of research and the care in which the tale is told is delicately balanced. This is cinema as entertainment and as education.

The film reveals the magic and wonder of the Hajj by contrasting the life of Ibn Battuta with modern day worshippers at the same holy sites as those visited by the young traveller all those years ago. The scale of the event is brought to realisation in a way that will make even the most jaded film connoisseur gasp with astonishment.

In terms of technicalities, the IMAX technology is notorious for being extremely expensive and difficult to master. The format does not allow for the creative freedom that one can utilize in 35mm, so it is to the credit of the crew that this film looks seamless and breathtaking. Every single frame of the drama is a beautifully crafted canvas that seems to glow like a painting. The cinematography is exemplary and employs a painterly palette. The deserts and mountains are dry, cracked and dusty brown like wrinkled parchment while the sun drips golden lava across the scorching landscape. The white garments of the pilgrims are like beacons floating in the creamy dust of the desert sands whilst the tapestries hanging in the bazaars are lovingly stitched in green and blue threads; and the silver and gold bangles on the arms and ankles of the village girls ****** and twinkle. The atmosphere of warmth and friendship is apparent in every scene, especially when the succulent food is shared by the soft red glow of the campfires. High above this blend of colours, languages and the swirl of human emotions are the dancing stars that ripple in the heavens. The spectacle and sounds of a bygone era are stunningly designed.

The soundtrack also serves the film quite well. The music is never intrusive or melodramatic, it is there as a soft accompaniment to the proceedings. The use of strings, Moorish mandolins, African percussion and the human voice brings an exotic and ethereal ambiance to the drama.

“Journey to Mecca” is a journey of hope, a journey of understanding and a journey that will inspire. The sheer magnitude and beauty of this film left the audience awed and instilled a desire to learn more about the past which we sometimes neglect to reflect upon in our fast moving lives. This film is an ode to peace, love and compassion, and acts as a bridge of understanding between the past and present. And, as the film fades to black at the ******, there is a final haunting image that will resonate with every member of the audience. The message is simple and poignant. It illustrates the transient and swift nature of life; it shows how we glow brightly by the light of the noon day sun and then fade into the tranquil shadows of the coming twilight. Our journey in this life should be one that respects all of humanity despite our cultural or political differences. It is not often that one leaves the cinema knowing that your soul has been moved by something rare, delicate and exquisite. This was one of those rare occasions.

There is nothing more comforting than warmth
Rays of sun painting my cheeks red
Blistering campfires that tickle my toes
My own blood trickling down my arm
As I looked into the bathroom mirror I felt nothing but
Warmth
Toxic words that had been spat at me disappeared down the sink
A blurry fist fight faded to memory
My black eye and bleeding nose ceased to pain me
All I felt was the red blanket coating my arm
It doesn't hurt
I feel nothing
Silver pens write terrible tragedies in red ink
But they also write happier endings for troubled minds
I am my own demise
My destruction
There is no conductor and my train is off the rails
Spinning, racing out of control
And stopping at a red light
Red lights that pool into one in my palm
Translucent, reflecting the light above me
I see red
I feel warm
I taste fate
She can't hurt me as long as I am warm

I will leave this world with no blood on my hands but my own.

They* drove me across the country,
from the busy city where we departed
to intimate villages where they recessed,
and spent a star filled, moonlit night
singing songs,
their bodies casting long, wavy shadows
from campfires they huddled around.

Just as I got too cold and my wheels
couldn't turn anymore
did they *finally turn the spark plugs,
revving and igniting my despair and sensitivity
producing heat.

Sometimes they pushed
until I shoved
and scraped my rubber
on asphalt,
on rocks,
on sand,
on boulders big and small,
and I hit a flat-line;
the air I could hold in
no longer.

They rode me into a forest
whose undergrowth was as thick
as a bears' fur during the winter,
and redwood that spanned the horizon
you thought it could pat the constellations.
A forest teeming with life that
one would react like Wendy from Peter Pan--
never wanting to leave Neverland.
And I could see it in their
soft faces and squinting eyes,
bright and lit up with joy,
every detail apparent
as if I burst my headlights into high-beam,
directly on them.

It was there I ran out
of gas and my engines
parched for oil,
from the endless adventure
that was exhilarating and memorable.
One could, as a result,
easily forget responsibilities.

There was no service or refill station nearby,
so I was abandoned where I parked,
flat tires, rusty hood, broken chassis,
dilapidated suspension.

I've proved my worth
from when I was brought in
and over time
it wasn't enough.

*Only repairing, never maintaining.

when the tides come in
and pull at the soles of my feet
          unbalance 
                             me.
(grown used to a sensation of falling
i have, i’ve 
       fall
     en
many times before, again i’ll 
       fall
many times over.
many times over.)

when the sweet warm welcome of
a pulse-line and jersey --
it was quite 
                            unexpected (the
                                                        tide),
took me by surprise
but hold and fortress came boxed in
a silhouette i knew to be

You.

To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen.
I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear—

the fog dragging its tongue up the valley.

Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing,
took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went
to go tuck herself
into the tent,
into the safety of ceiling.

But,
you and I
opted to be
coyotes on the hillside.

I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts,
and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur,
howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh,
your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length
‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips
and you, oh you,
you would **** the marrow from my bone.

And when we lay out, raw and steaming
knees bleeding from the drainage ditch,
a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming,
we, peeling off a well-known itch.
Then we play a game with satellites
Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds
And laugh when the reflections never fit.

I gather up my skin, step one foot in and
stumble when the tightness traps my leg,
You pin up your *******, to please our sleeping guests
that wouldn’t take to anything irregular.

On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives
herded on the table of L.A.
A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration;
mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame

Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme
but a million conversations
bleaches each the other white
and now a million electric campfires
bleaches L.A.’s lower sky.

And though I stomped out ours
the ash remains a scar
where we had nearly forgot
how to speak by choosing to not.

How sweet the name of Cthulhu sounds
In raving mystics' screams!
It drives them mad, enflames their brains,
And troubles all their dreams.

It brings insanity and dread
Into the world of men,
This world which once seemed safe and sane
Shall not make sense again.

We gaze upon thy face more dread
Than any watchful dragon;
And sing the eternal hymn to thee,
Ia ia Cthulhu fhtagn.

Cthulhu! my dead yet sleeping king,
Thy cults shall be restored,
Thy tomb shall rise to air again,
Just, r'lyeh, r'lyeh, Lord.

Weak is our twisted woodland dance
And cold our campfires cursed,
But when the stars shall rise aright,
We shall be eaten first.

Every weekend at summer camp the
Memories of the midnight walks we made,
The rushing of the silvery creeks
As well as the daily art and games,
Entertainment as well as molding clay,
The mountainside at night gave good
Presence, the moon offering her halo,
With the memory of endless essence so,
During this time of adventurous fun,
A story telling we campers would all go.

Her raspy voice, I can remember well,
Those cute sparkly playful brown eyes,
We walked side by side, she told me that
The truth was being denied, she was a
Girl in disguise, how I dream of her
In Garnet, Alexandrite. That feeling of total trust,
Now I will probably never be close to
Anyone I love again, already grown old,
To old to ever dream, but what a dream,
A lovely bliss to know that she was my friend.

One day, when the time is right, we'll find it,
This feeling again, of wild spirited joy, campfires,
Of following the forest path, now innocence lost,
A time that is long-gone and past, and if it
Never happens again, the darkness of night
With quiet whispering, story time moon light,
I will never forget her, never will I forget that
Beautiful freckled face, those beady eyes,

*No, never forget you, not for all time.

After the inception of the new, high speed way,
luck beheld a continuation that increased
velocity even more.  Stores, beginning through
optimistic (sails, sales) filled with industrious
wind currents, began to perish, because the dust

crept in to forget and never start again.  Trade
was offered from one to another, likely to achieve

practical results, but the consequence was a loss
of heritage.  All that had gone before stumbled
out the door into darkness and surcease.  Absence
was abandoned as the light walked away into
the desolate remains which, in only a few days,
left the city, and commerce, stalled with people,
everywhere, standing quietly like burlap dolls.
The sound was pouring light outward from its
eyesight to remember something other than that

which had been lost, inserted and devoid; the
former ideas drifted to become a trace of the new

prestige.  Communication overwhelmed the hope
though hope endured.  A collection of machines
was learning to live together, and to attend night
clubs with astonished amounts of stress arguing
against the comprehension which insisted that
importance was captivating the subjects of change.

Always, they were slinking into the circuits,
coloring the programs with a steady pace that
receded to neglect functionality.  Those tired of
hearing about the clocks winding down were not
escaping the clever snares set for their awkward

feet and kept among delicate fossils of brilliance.
It might have been a global fever, or perhaps
everything just ceased to operate.  Some strike by
electrons offered them the predicament, and
the opportunity, returning them to a simple form

of human sentiment, so that smaller gatherings

arrived at the significance of a tale while burning
things on sticks above the campfires flickering
along the coast and seen inland at the base of
distant mountains.  Simple arts included using
furniture and hot air balloons driven by stainless
steel burners.  Talking too often, and to a point of
foolish interruption, demonstrated the frailty of
coordination where zeros and ones meant,
essentially, that a point had been made and lost,
although fighting confusion was denied by context.
Some of this was mistaken by preconceptions that
created impractical situations, and other things
were long walks glued to comfortable boots or

reliable shoes.

What caused you to write a book and have it published?
Thankfully, I’ve enjoyed a career in IT (Information technology) for over 25+ years. However, I’ve been downsized out of a job four times – the last time in 2005, I was unemployed for nine months. During that time, I looked at over 19,000+ companies to find one job. With more jobs in my field being outsourced to lower wage earners overseas, I decided I needed an exit strategy from the corporate world to launch a more stable career and income.


2. How long have you been writing?
I started officially writing poetry in January 2001; it was a natural progression from working on my website. I started my website (Bunganut Lake Online) back in 1999; as I added content over the years, I started writing short stories about fishing, followed by haikus about fishing and Nature; then I started writing senryus about traffic (see honku.org) and later about God.


3. How long did it take to finish your book?
I spent about 13 months to write the manuscript of my current book; once I initiated the book making process with my publisher (BookSurge), I had the final product in hand in 3.5 months.


4. What is the name of your book and what is it about?
The name of my book is “Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory”; the ISBN numbers are: 1-4196-5051-3 & 978-1419650512. It is a book of poetry, geared to inspire people to develop or strengthen a relationship with God.


5. Do you want to write more books and have them published?
Definitely; I have four completed and unpublished manuscripts; in addition, I have five other manuscripts started. All of these writings are poetry.


6. Who or What was your inspiration when writing your book?
Jehovah is my inspiration; He’s always been my Source, Redeemer and strength; most of my life, I’ve blessed to attended Church and receive Salvation in my youth.


7. What is your favorite author and book?
After the Bible (KJV), my favorite book is: How to Rule the World: a Handbook for the Aspiring Dictator by Andre De Guillaume. (It’s a humorous look at people and their desire for power.) Most of my reading is technical stuff from sources such as PC Magazine, so I don’t have a favorite author (in the traditional sense). There are number of poetry writers that I do enjoy [who are too numerous to mention, such as PDK (AllPoetry) and Gershon Hepner (Poem Hunter)].


8. What is the best thing about writing?
The best aspect of writing is the freedom of expression and the power to choose words, conveying ideas and concepts that bolster one’s imagination.


9. What are some of your other hobbies?
I love spending time at the lake in Maine where I own a summer property – activities include swimming, fishing, campfires and working on my website; I also enjoy board games, such as backgammon, scrabble and others, as well as computer games (ranging from pinball to Wolfenstein).


10. What caused you to use BookSurge?
I looked at a number of publishers and was disappointed at their offerings and reputations. For me, BookSurge was chosen because they are owned by Amazon.com; in addition, they provided all services required for the bookmaking process. Although I spent a fair amount of money, to me it’s worth it. For now I’m tapped into a global economy with a quality product. No one wants to spend their hard-earned money on an inferior product – so I did what was best for me.


11. What would you tell others that wanted to become an author as well? What steps would they need to take to get started?
Now that I’m published, I find myself more than willing to share my experiences. The first step is to have a notebook or clipboard to store and write down thoughts and ideas. Second, one must identify what one has passion about; one’s writing must come across as sincere and knowledgeable; third is to produce the manuscript; once the manuscript is complete, then start the bookmaking process that is most affordable. Once the book is published, the real work (and reality) of selling comes into focus.


12. How does your family feel about you being an author?
Some family members are very proud and supportive, while others are still mute on the subject.


13. Do you have a website to promote your book?
My marketing plan employs the use of multiple websites; I’ve posted my writing on a number of poetry websites, such as AllPoetry, Poetry With Meaning, Poem Hunter and others; in addition, I have created a “lens” on Squidoo.com. At some, point, I’ll advertise on my own website. In the future, I would like to develop a personal website geared towards marketing my books.


14. Can people buy an autographed copy of your book if they wish to? If so how would they go about doing that?
Yes, people can purchased autographed copies; the best approach is via my “lens” on Squidoo.com; the link is: http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/


15. Do you think in the near future that you may write and publish more books?
Yes, I am planning to publish more books of poetry.


16. Is it hard work being an author?
That depends on the goals one sets for himself; for example, if one’s desire is to earn a comfortable living from one’s writing, then yes it’s difficult. With the presence of the Internet and related technologies, it’s very easy to be published, but no guarantee to make money.


17. What are your dreams and Goals in life?
The ultimate goal is to become the Christian man as seen by God Himself; after that, I would like to assist others to publish their own books, continue work on my website and develop my own business software for the marina operator.


18. Could you tell us a little about your book and what caused you to want to write it?
My book is a personal expression of faith; The Word tells that we are “more than conquerors”; in a sense, I achieved that ideal since my humble book is “now available worldwide”.


19. Is your book non-fiction or fiction?
I would classify my poetry as non-fiction. To me, a relationship with Christ and having faith is real.


20. Could you tell use where we could get a copy of your book? What bookstores are carrying it and what online stores are carrying it?
None of the brick & mortar bookstores are carrying my title as yet. My book can be purchased via Amazon.com, Borders.com or from me directly via the Squidoo.com “lens” at: http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/


21. What kind of promotional tools do you use to advertise your book?
I am using several promotional tools; my work has been submitted to two book contests; it is part of the Beijing International Book Fair (in China); I use the Internet and have set-up consignment arrangements with several businesses. I also have printed marketing materials, such as business cards, postcards and bookmarks.

He told me he stopped smoking.
Threw away the packs of Mayfair
into the river next to his house.
The river where we once spent the evening
talking about why stars align the way they do,
As if they know what they are doing.
Neither of us knows what we are doing.

We are tea stained maps,
And fragile lungs,
And he is bruised fingertips from writing ‘I don’t love you. I’m sorry.’
I am shallow breaths in early winter.
Waking up at five to five to wait for the sun to rise.

He is made of sugar cubes
And campfires;
Glowing in the dead of the night
As if they have a right
To be the main attraction.
We are 3am scribbles in notebooks

And origami warriors.
You folded me so easily
With your piano playing fingers.
And when I wasn’t looking,
You made me into a boat and pushed me onto that same river.
Lit matches for a sail and finally, let me burn.

Suddenly the sun has gone
Away from the lilac skies
The sky's black-blue
Suddenly the sun has gone
Away from the lilac skies
The sky's black-blue
I've caught the flu
I've caught the flu of wintertime

Incandescence through chlorophyll
Visible via the clouds of mist
Dew on leaves
Woolen skin and
Leather gloved fists

New flowers bloom
Dawn's the age of gloom
The merry days of Yuletide
And the days of never-ending nights

Darkened alleys
Seem like mountain valley
My nose can't smell
My throat can't speak
Like the desert my skin is dry

Fiery heaven
These campfires
Peanuts roasting
I can hear their noise

O! These days of sickened voice.
I've caught the flu of wintertime

Incandescence through chlorophyll
Visible via the clouds of mist
Dew on leaves
Woolen skin and
Leather gloved fists

New flowers bloom
Dawn's the age of gloom
The merry days of Yuletide
And the days of never-ending nights

Darkened alleys
Seem like mountain valley
My nose can't smell
My throat can't speak
Like the desert my skin is dry

Fiery heaven
These campfires
Peanuts roasting
I can hear their noise

O! These days of sickened voice.

chapped lips
sticky and sweet
the popsicle melts
and stains my crisp white dress
a seagull steals the french fry out of a little boy’s hands,
he begins to cry
the busker’s sing songs
of love and loss,
whiskey and wine
the boardwalk creaks
and i dream
of a cold beer on the beach,
the melody of waves reuniting with sand
like long lost friends
the soothing slap of sandals on pavement
freckles and homemade jam
midnight adventures to the park
skinny-dipping in a strangers pool
hopscotch and chalk
freshly painted toenails
the sun gifting us with golden skin and golden hair
adirondack chairs and campfires
fishing in lady evelyn and portaging in temagami
braving the falls at muskegoe
and counting the stars while lying on the bridge
catching frogs in the pond
while drinking coolers in paddle boats
sweaty palms and first kisses,
nervous anticipation
red skies mark the beginning of endless nights
i dip my toes in the fresh water
and the ripples skew my reflection
the man in the moon is happy
and so am i

home is where the heart is
and my heart lies in the mountains,
with nights of hot cocoa and campfires;
with the soaring trees, bad cameras.
and in the center of it all, laughter and midnight games.
the dresses, the stars, the countless walks. . .
my heart belongs to those in the beds next to mine,
and in the eyes of him. loud songs and braided hair make me smile.
and yes, my heart is with you.

Jordan gave me rose quartz prayer beads. Freddy picked me up and spun me around.

I kissed the beads and kissed my hand and blew it to the stars, over and over again.
Thank you universe, for the kind hearted people you have dropped into my existence.
Thank you universe, for the good music, the good ****, good wine, and good company.
Thank you, for the smiles, the laughs, the cigarettes, the numbers given out on backs of receipts.
Thank you for the swing sets, the campfires, the coffee and tea, the cars we drive around in.
Thank you for emotions.
Thank you for the feeling I get when someone kisses my forehead,
the feeling when someone compliments my smile,
the feeling when I notice the moon for the first time that evening.
Thank you, for the moon, the stars, the clouds, and the autumn breeze.
Thank you for the sounds, the crickets, the leaves rustling, the clinking glasses,
and the sound of small kisses.
Thank you for the snort I get when I laugh to hard.
Thank you for the bass, the guitar, the drums.
Thank you for the shouts, the soft spoken, the loud, and the whispers.
Thank you for the doors, the staircases, and the windows.
Thank you for everything that ever was, is, and will be.
Thank you for the indefiniteness of the now.
Thank you for everything.

I once read in a book, that the likelihood of our proteins folding just so to make us what we are is comparable to that of a twister rolling through a junkyard and assembling a jumbo jet.
This is something I like to remind myself daily.
It is so miraculous that we are here today to experience everything and everyone around us, and be able to document and share it.
I hope one day someone can look at my photographs and writings and feel these immense and overwhelming emotions that I feel in these moments.

I sit inside my podunk room,
As a million meteors make mad dashes
For different conners of The Universe
Like galactic kids stuck in a game of
Sharks and Minnows.
They snap their space caps over their heads,
Adjust their goggles, and dive into the galaxy;
With the refreshing burn of
Firery friction against their faces
As they glide through the galaxy.

Above my head these nova swimmers soar,
As I pull a folded list from a desk drawer
And lean out the window with a quilt
To stop the chill from getting to me.
I close my eyes and let the cold moon light
Reflect off my surface and pale my skin.
The moon has no purpose but to moon bathe  with, of course.
Of the meteors that circle the sky
I have a very different purpose for.

One by one I recite wishes,
One special I had saved just for this night;
Scribbled in marker with fast hands belonging to a busy brain,
Elegant cursive dawned by a deary mind,
My best script for my friendly letters.
Some I whisper, some I shout,
Some I struggle just to get out.
But one by one these wishes are told
To the night sky, the meteors swimming pool.

Suddenly the windowsill creaks and cracks
My eyes snap open, the timber of my home breaks
And my house, my yard, the trees and the leaves
All disappear, and suddenly,
I am splashing and slushing  in a puddle of
Endless Blue Water until I
get the sense about me to swim.

I swim until the water reaches my head,
My eyes, my nose, my chin,
Drains from my ears
Splatters on my shoulders.
I walk when I can, through
A tunnel of cattails, seaweed, and pond things,
Like a swamp without a sky,
That make the Endless Blue Water a canal with
A wooden door that I reach
After many steps.

Knocking twice, I stand patient
Busy with the thought of what brought me here.
A slot in the door slides open,
Old eyes framed by glasses peer back at me.
"Go away!" The old man barks,
"I can't let you in. All of
The water will get everywhere on my feet."
I stand, my eyes pleading with angst,
Eyelashes that drip water.
"No, it's ok Grandpa. Let her in,
She is tired." A voice, gentle and sweet, speaks
With a melody of a thousand guitars
Tuned to the exact preference of my own ears.

With a grumble and groan.
A click and a clack,
The slot slides shut harshly
And with a creak and force,
The floor flies open and
I am urged by the Sweet Voice to
"Hurry Great Darling! Hurry!"
And I squeezed through
The door, but so does the
Viscous water.

It flows rapidly past the door jam,
And the owner of the Sweet Voice scrambles
To convice the hinges that they
Want to turn the other way.
The dusty ground I now stand on
Quickly turns to mud, as the water flows.
We cannot stop the water from flowing.

The water makes a will of its own,
Rises with vigorous ebb,
And carries Sweet Voice's Grandfather with it
Into the dust bowl in which it surges so fiercely to.
I go with it, emerged once again as I
Grasp for a wrist, an ankle,
A collar, until I find a strap
Of a suspender, and hold fast to the door handle,
As Sweet Voice whispers hopes
That the water will stop. He grits his teeth, and
I'll never forget what he said:

"You are magnificent, Great Darling.
I would have loved you endlessly."

And with that, the water reversed,
Taking the sweet voice back into
The Tunnel of Pond Things,
And slamming the door shut.

The Grandfather and I, sat on grassy moss
That once was barren dirt, that climbed into fingernails
And settled homes between human and calcium.
The Endless Blue Waters  had cleansed the dirt from before,
But had also taken my lovely paramour.

And with this, I wailed great echoes
That shook the ground, because
The sweet voice was the wish
Whispered so delicately but so
Anxiously on my windowsill
That lonely night.

After my fit, I turned to see
Great followers of the Barren Lands,
Ghastly beasts with spots and rabbit ears,
Humans with skin clear, great dragons
That inspired no fear, that
All stood before the Grandfather and I.
They held their hands before their faces,
Checked their teeth, and found it free of the dust
And dirt that haunted their days.

A great feast was arranged,
A thousand chairs at seven hundred tables,
All lined with a feast
Of cooked carrots and sweet potatoes,
Texas toast and orange marmalade,
Corn beef and root beer;
As kites with tails and laughter with squeals
Floated through with wind and smoke
Of campfires yellow, all
To celebrate the arrival of me,
The Great Darling,
Who had cleansed the Barren Lands
And brought about the begining of
The Hallow Lands.

I sat alone at this great feast,
Weary of my loss, when I felt
A tapping on my shoulder. It was
The Sweet Voice who had returned.  
I asked, elated by his arrival, about the
Means of his return, and he replied:

"The moon has more purpose than you
Assumed, Great Darling.
The moon controls all tides, and
With its power on my side, I asked it to
Take me back to you, and kindly it did, as
the moon understands that poles and magnetism
Are not the only forces than bring great things together;
That love can do that great deed too."

We sat under the lemon tree,  
My quilt, retrieved on Sweet Voice's journey,
Spread beneath us, as we watched the moon
Circle the sky for many nights,
Until we decided to join in its company.
One by two, we stepped up stepping stones
On a hill that reached the meteors pool,
Where my paramour and I lived
In galactic happiness forever more.

Butterflies in  the day
Fireflies at night
Adding more beauty to my surrounding
Here in the middle of July

People head for the pools to splash around
The laughter of children what a beautiful sound
People lathering up and soaking up the sun
The middle of July; everybody is having fun

There are concerts and festivals, state and county fairs
Summertime fun can be found almost everywhere
Amusement parks and swimming during the day
Campfires and outdoors concerts at night
What a beautiful month; the month of July

HE PHRASE OUR LITTLE HELPER A THOUGHT FROM MY LITTLE TWEEN CHILDHOOD



YA SEE IN 2001, I GOT SICK OF BEING TREATED LIKE A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE BY MY MATES

SO I DECIDED TO TURN MY LIFE AROUND, LIKE, JOIN THE BELCONNEN MAGPIES TO DO THE BBQ

AND BE A VOLUNTEER AT ST VINCENT DE PAUL, WHERE THEY MADE A SANTA CLAUS SUIT FOR ME TO DRESS

UP AS SANTA, FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS, AND AT THE END OF THE YEAR, I WENT TO WATSON CANBERRA

TECHNOLOGY PARK, WHERE THEY OPENED A BUILDING CALLED THE RAINBOW, WHERE I WANTED TO SHOW OFF

MY COOKING SKILLS, AND MATE I WAS A ****** COOK THERE, I ALSO REMEMBER, THROWING THE BALL

WITH A MATE, AND THE MAN SAID, GUYS THIS IS A BIT DAFT, YA SEE, EACH TIME I COOKED SAUSAGES AND STEAKS

FOR THE HUNGRY HERD AT THE FOOTY, IT MADE ME FEEL NEEDED LIKE AN ADULT, AND I GOT THIS WEIRD VOICE

FROM MY MUM AND DAD WHEN WE LIVED IN WOODBERRY,SAYING I WAS THERE LITTLE HELPER, CAUSE I SAT BEHIND

THE BBQ ALL DAY, NO MATTER WHERE WE WENT TO, YEAH IT WAS SO MUCH FUN, AND THE KIDS WOULD GET A FREE

SNAG, AND A COKE, YEAH, I WORKED HARD, BUT WELL, AND AT THE RAINBOW, I COOKED MEALS LIKE SPAGHETTI BOLOGNAISE

BEEF STROGANOFF, PIZZAL HEAPS OF DELICIOUS STEWS AND SOUPS, AND I TRIED TO COOK THE BBQ THERE AS WELL,

MAN IT WAS ACE, WE ALSO WENT ON A FEW TRIPS, AND I HELPED COOK AND CLEANED UP, ACTUALLY I ROUGHED IT

BY SLEEPING IN THE TENT, LIKE I WAS LIVING LIFE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE, SOMETIMES I FELT DAD

REALLY WANTED ME, TO BE NICE TO THEM, BUT IT WAS HARD, CAUSE, I AM AN ADULT, WHO TOOK PRIDE IN HELPING

PEOPLE JUST LIKE ME, AND THEY ARE JUST LIKE ME, DEALING WITH MY ISSUES, BUT MATEY, I REALISE JUST BECAUSE

THEY SHARE MY VIEWS, DOESN’T MEAN THEY WANT TO ADMIT THIS, AND IT DOESN’T MEAN THEY LIKE ME APPOLOGIZING

ALL THE TIME, JUST BECAUSE THEY HATE FOOTBALL EVEN IF I LIKED IT, AND I WAS A TAD CHIRPY, AND EVEN IF NOBODY HATED ME

I STILL THOUGHT TO MYSELF, THAT THIS WAS WEIRD, I AM GIVING THESE DUDES A HOT MEAL, AND THEY SPENT THE WHOLE

TIME WINGING AND WHINING LIKE TWO YEAR OLDS, BUT THAT WAS BECAUSE THEY WERE MENTALLY UNSTABLE, THEY CAN’T BE NICE

CAUSE THE SYSTEM HASN’T BEEN NICE TO THEM, YA SEE, I DON’T BELIEVE IN CHRISTIANITY I AM A BUDDHIST AND DESPITE PEOPLE

TRYING TO SHOVE JESUS DOWN MY THROAT, I PREFER PEOPLE TO KEEP THEIR BELIEFS TO THEMSELVES, IT’S A TOUCHY SUBJECT

RELIGION, BUT THEN AGAIN, I DON’T PREACH BUDDHISM THOUGH, I HELPED AT THE RAINBOW 2001 TO 2004 AND IN 2002, I WENT TO

THE CHRISTMAS PARTY IN MY VINNIES MADE SANTA SUIT, WHERE YOU CAN SEE IT ON AAA YOUTUBE TV AND AARON CLAYTON

ON YOUTUBE, I HEAR THESE WORDS, FROM ALL THE MEN, AS I WAS BEING MY HELPFUL MAN, TO VOLUNTEER WORK, MAKING

A VOICE, FROM MEN SAID, HEY HANG ON, YOUR OUR LITTLE HELPER, I REMEMBERED BOUNCING AROUND ON MUMS BACK

AND MAYBE THE CAMPFIRES WHEN I WAS YOUNG, BROUGHT ON THE HELPING AT THE FOOTY, BECAUSE IT’S A BBQ, AND IT WAS

SORT OF THE OLD FASHIONED WAY, AND I HELPED A LOT, THEY SAID, HANG ON OUR LITTLE HELPER, BUT I MIGHT HAVE BEEN

TRYING TO BE ONE OF THOSE HELPFUL YOUNG DUDES, YA KNOW WORK ALL DAY, WITHOUT ANY PAY, BUT THAT WAS ALRIGHT

CAUSE I ENJOYED WORKING ALL DAY, AND I REMEMBER I HIKED THROUGH THE SNOWY MOUNTAINS IN THONGS AND, YEAH NOTHING

BAD HAPPENED, BUT I DON’T DO THAT NOW, DUDES

YA SEE I DID THE BBQ AT BELCONNEN MAGPIES

I PLAYED SANTA AT VINNIES AND ON YOUTUBE

I HELPED COOK MENTALLY UNSTABLE PEOPLE  A MEAL AT THE RAINBOW

I WAS A CHIRPY FELLOW THERE, TO BRING HAPPINESS TO THAT PLACE

I HELPED OUT AT THE MASTERS GAMES MARQUEE AT THE SOFTBALL

I WAS A TABLE CLEARER

I PICKED UP ******* AT THE KANGA CUP SOCCER

I AM WILLING TO LEARN ALL ASPECTS OF THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY

I BATTLE A VOICE SAYING I AM TOO WOOSEY FOR LIFE, BY OLD MATES

I WORKED AT OCTOBERFEST, PICKING UP *******

THEY TOOK THE MICKEY OUT OF ME, BANGING ON THE TABLE AS I WAS TAKING ******* FROM UNDERNEATH

YEAH, THE VOICE COULD’VE BEEN TRUE, I WAS THE ADULTS LITTLE HELPER

BUT I WAS A BIG HELP, I WAS A HARD WORKING RUN OF THE MILL MAN

I SUFFERED MORE THAN OTHER MEN, BECAUSE I NEVER EARNED THAT MUCH MONEY

I WORKED WELL AT AINSLIE VILLAGE, HELPING THE MENTALLY UNSTABLE YET AGAIN, **** I AM A NICE PERSON

I BATTLE VOICES IN MY HEAD, FOR A LAMOUS CRIME I DID UMPTEEN YEARS AGO

BACK WHEN I FELT MORE POWERFUL THAN DINOSAURS

I DON’T WANT TO BE JUDGED FOR THAT, NO WAY NO HOPE NO FEAR

I WAS CANBERRA’S BIG HELPER BETWEEN THE YEARS 2001 AND 2013

I ALSO PICKED UP ALL THE ******* SPILT OUTSIDE A HOPPER AT KINGSLEYS CHICKEN

AND PUT ‘EM INSIDE THE HOPPER, I AM A GOOD BOY, BETTER THAN MINJAE

NOW I AM READY TO BE AN ENTERTAINER, SO LOOK OUT WORLD HERE COMES SANTA BRIAN ALLAN

OUR BIG HELPER TO CANBERRA, CAUSE I PARTIED IN CLUBS ALL OVER THE PLACE

ON BOWLING WEEKENDS AND WEEKS, I’VE BEEN ALMOST EVERYWHERE

HOBART ADELAIDE SYDNEY MELBOURNE BATEMANS BAY GOLD COAST HERVEY BAY

JERVIS BAY SNOWY MOUNTAINS GRAMPIANS MERIMBULA, SALE GOSFORD NEWCASTLE

MAITLAND PORT STEPHENS ORANGE SCONE DUBBO ILLAWARRA WOLLONGONG

A FEW MORE PLACES, BUT ALL THIS SHOWS, I LIVE MY LIFE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE

AND THAT IS WHAT I DO, FOR YOU

YA SEE I WAS TRYING TO TAKE DAD OUT OF HIS KID, BUT HE WAS TOO STUBBORN

HE WANTED TO PLAY ALL DAY, NOT WORRY ABOUT THE WORLD

OH YEAH, BOW BOW

I remember her distinctly,
she wore green flannel & cargo shorts,
Che cap & a stuck sunflower,
her braids exploded from under it.

She was proud of her antler-handled side knife
& jump boots, traipsed around
like she was on the nature boardwalk,
I heard she stalked Sasquatch once.

That girl was
the consummate outdoors woman,
she knew all about trapping,
skinning & first aid,
could make water
spring  from the ground.

Her grin was infectious,
a true aura of love hung
like dander around her,
her sensuality screamed
silently from her twinkling eyes,
the color of azure.

I was with her for one summer,
then I moved out of her sacred-valley.
Every time I look at the stars,
I remember her campfires
& the times we spent
at Moondipper
in each others arms
tasting marshmallows.

An inn at
the end of a
path
lights adorning
blazing hearthfire  imagined
one traveler's de-light
trudging pain forgotten
in-sight at last
A glance
behind
a darkness thickens
lonely campfires burning
strangers disconsolate
dim visions and
dreams
the traveler must
turn
reversing her course
painful steps returning
campfires need tending
strangers seek comfort
and her
story.

Let's build a fort out
of pillows and blankets
and holey sheets and stuffed
animals and couch cushions.

Let's go climb some trees
and jump in a strangers
pond with all of our clothes
still on.

Let's go catch the fireflies
in the middle of an open
field on the  hottest
night in July.

Let's dance around campfires
and drink until we fall over
into the grass.

Let's fall asleep in the dewy
green as we look up at the
stars trying to figure out our future.

Let's stay this way forever,
let's never grow old,
let's grow young together.

And the chapped sun-baked tire
swung on the aged and frail rope attached to the most outright branch
of the sheltersome oak tree by the carved up picnic bench.
Children fought for such a throne on warm summer days,
Not many cared for clawing and snatching in attaining it,
But it was a necessary fight in those days.

Once they sat in their highest place and swung to the skies,
All they could see was the wind-ridden flow of treetops
rustling and swaying, creating nature’s static,
This why they fought,
This is why only the battered
and bruised cooled their cuts with forest breeze.

It broke one day,
after being a shelter in storming youth,
Charles Ferger snapped the rope
on a smooth swing to reach the sky.
They knew the clock was counting down
and no one could see how much time was left,
but they still hated Charles for being the one it broke on.
It wasn’t his fault, and they knew it,
but they had to blame someone.
No one ventured to it for the first few weeks,
The sight of it only reopened healing wounds.

At a certain point, years later, after the kids
had gone to high school, it was fixed.
No one knew who fixed it or when,
since the kids still went out there once in a while
to drink some nights and have campfires,
but they were glad it was fixed,
then news of the resurrection spread.

And on one MLK day,
no one remembers which,
they had a bonfire and swung as high as they could
to christen it back to its precious worn state once more,
fighting over it with the intentional caution they
used to use when wrestling for the uninhibited freedom
that in lay dormant in the crusty black tire swing.

Hydrophilic Am I
Whenever it comes to  you
As you carry me on my back
Light as a feather

Willing to go along with you
Because you'll always be there
And if I ever need a reminder
On how much you love me
I just count the waves

For I know the love you have for me
Is deeper than the submerge of a Cuvier's beaked whale
I  Do not fear when you carry me ashore
A surrounding I don't know
For I know you were just taking a rest
For the next journey
You're going to take me on

If you were to ever play too rough
I Just swim beneath your tides
Because you'll protect along this rough ride

As along as we're together
We can face challenges
As high as the sky

I want you to be there with me
For every step I take
As the moonlight helps guides new life     
Into your door each night

How the lobster and crab tickle you
Or when the sting rays decide to play Hide and Seek
 I'll be there to witness the coral reefs decorating your floor

You've been around for years
And all you want is a friend
So I do not fear when you take me in
For it's a welcome like never before

All  you want is for me to take this journey with you
 For your friends usually come and go
Your shores go from being filled with laughter to the silence of the night

No more picnics or campfires
Just trash to remind you of the times you had
When the Bonze Sphere is no longer hot
No one comes to visit you anymore
it's like they forgot

I see it in your eyes that you long for lasting friend
So just know when I step foot inside your door
I'm here to stay for a little while more

Hide underneath the stars with me
and peel back my skin layer by layer,
starting at the cold fingertips
missing the tenderness his touch caused,
twisting up damaged limbs and wounds of my woe,
past scars from childhood stories
- the ones not meant for campfires -
and around hairs that used to stand
when your breath danced like two ghosts
- you and I -
down my neck and into my bloodstream.

Peel me back until I am nothing,
but that little boy cowering on the bathroom floor,
with flickering lights, bruised elbows,
a lump in his throat and pain in his chest,
crying for something that no longer
existed.