Little sapling growing between a rock and a hard place.
Weathering what life is surrounding you. No friends of yet
but you are only a sapling give it time. Moments passing
watching scenery elope to shifting seasons beauties.

Sea air invigorating as rain trickled from above dancing on
your now maturing leaves, tickling as each one weaved its
way down, like teardrops they descended on there journey
of life carrying on.

The Cliffside sighs, and teardrops of rocks descend,
woeful of those this motion that swept away, beauty
that clung silently there. The sapling is of branches
and leaves giving needed shelter to tired wings.

Seasons whisper by as the sun and moon dance above
her gaze. Roots delicately weave deeply into the Cliffside
keeping here steady, for if it were to sigh again her fate
steadfast in this place between a rock and a hard place.

Her leaves happened upon a blossom, so delicate in
its serenade of colour against the harsh rock face.
Like a parent when winds were bleak shielding its
frailty with branch and leaves, it only lost a petal this time.

She flowered in the seasons, blossom invigorated the
surroundings of what was bleak, like teardrops of love
for a time they painted vivid etchings on the Cliffside
till they faded nourishing those of lesser stature.

As she yawned on the morning rising above the
horizon, she felt motions upon her leaves.
Never in her time had she felt such gentle touches,
as palms glided over her foliage.

Feeling the breeze from up high, the cliffs edge she
had flourished in growth, now little eyes saw her
in full blossom as the seasons had changed.
Laughter ensued when gusts eloped with blossom.

Pink and light shades of magenta danced between
children, a fence keeping wondering thoughts safe
from the fallen dreams at the bottom of the Cliffside.
Leaves caressed the winds and she was content.

Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions

We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground

With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism

I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend

We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated

Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb

So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans

As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge

So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP

No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung

Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity

Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility

The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day

Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom

Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight

A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived

A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause

A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite

Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark

Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal

Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity

Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time

An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents

Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring

I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch

Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain

But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd.

The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity

Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins

Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade

This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed ****** waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare

Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries

Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes

As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes

The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens

With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last

Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs

In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog

A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter

A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach

Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride

Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring

Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes

A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight

He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer

Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun

We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right

And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight

*** and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies.

Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam

I wanted to set markers in the future,
So that, when I came to
Points of no return, I was able
To show myself, what I could not tell.
Along the guard rail of my life,
I tied ribbons. Over the Cliffside
They would blow, reaching out for me,
Touching, and tasting the air,
As the sky, oblivious of my treks,
Continued her smile.
Down the road, I found one,
A ribbon tied in red.
Not put there by myself,
I wondered where they were,
Those others, tying knots of my life
For me.
With my eyes closed, I created night.
Through the space between my eyes,
I caught their smiles, and toys,
Their tricks and their attempts
At being coy.
Pretty soon, I opened my eyes to a whirl
Of dance, swooping and looping
With partners I hadn’t seen before.
Kisses and smiles exchanged with friends.
I forgot the Cliffside, and the ties
That I tried to make.

Most of my life is a forgotten cliffside. There's nothing you can really do about it, it's just the consequence you pay for being alive.

I don't remember a lot of my childhood. I can remember my schools, my friends, my parents, my teachers. But I don't remember my sisters. Only my brother, the little boy carrying the family name on his shoulder blades... But he is not ready for that.

As for my sisters... I do not officially "know them" until they begin to leave. I was 11 when they started leaving my house, and 13 when they started re-entering my life.

There is no excuse for arriving late to my life crisis. But what crisis is there anyway?

I grew up alone.

Sisters too old, brother too young, parents too protective.
And me...

Too eager to run through the halls of my early life, and high school is not what I expected the years to be. But I am still here... alive.

And there will always be that to hold on to when the sky falls from the stars that pin up the rest of the universe.

Or the the clouds fall from the blue sky just before that cliffside collapses into the abyss.

This is the artistry that is my life on a power surge. Feeling the shock of the first kiss, and the break of the last word.

The many voices, and single sayings. The before and after. The push and then the fall.

The feeling of all my memories being shot.

But not killed.

This is the joy of living off of the electric tower... or the Eiffel tower.

This is life made wild, love made public, friends made family, me made whole again.

Me surviving the cliffside fall for the 378th time this week.

Safety nets were never written in the fine print of this circus act.

But this feeling can **** as much as it can save. It is, and always will be a cosmic shot across the front of my skull...

Opening my mind into eternity. Until I decide to go back to that cliffside...

Again.

(added) Prologue: "we'll get the baron, i swear. the ratings will go through the roof..." nick spoke nervously into the phone he held in his good hand. the other rested at his side, burned beyond use. one of the commandos whispered in his ear. "sir, we have his location.... yes... yes sir..." he hung up the phone and turned to the commando, "scramble the troops, we're going hunting..."


"N-no... not this again..."  Baronyx muttered in his sleep. "I wont... i wont do it..." it was the same nightmare that had plagued him for years. he was what the Two-legs called an Exotic, one of the few hundred dragons left in the world, and a showpeice for the high paying two-legs.
Baronyx had been captured once and forced into slavery as a circus act and performer for many years before he escaped and burned an entire city with his fiery wrath, killing some ten thousand two-legs in his path and sending a message, "don't cage a dragon..." ever since he had been plagued with nightmares of his experiences while enslaved. "stop... No!" he ****** awake and roared in fear. the full moon's light shone on his sapphire scales and temporarily blinded him until his green slit-eyes adjusted. his mate, a green scaled dragoness named Lyra licked his cheek and put a comforting claw around on his shoulder, "its the dreams again, isnt it ***?" Baronyx nodded and stared outside of their cave den.
He glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, Tali, her young yellow scales getting a tinge of green. Baronyx sighed and said, "she's growing so fast... she'll have your scales..."
Lyra looked as well, "and she'll have your eyes, baron." they watched their child sleep a moment longer before Baronyx stood and stepped outside the den. "i'll be right back." lyra nodded and lay back down with her eyes closed. he spread his wings and with a powerful downstroke took flight. Baronyx closed his eyes and glided into the wind currents and to the cliffside where he went to clear his mind and sort out his thoughts. his claws clicked across the hard rock as he landed and tapped rhythmically as he walked to the edge of the cliff and hung his claws off the side. a wild wolf howled in the distance somewhere behind him. something in the air was different tonight and Baronyx felt uneasy. he lay his head down and snoozed for a while, oblivious of what was happening at his den.
- - -
Tali screamed as
Two-legs with metal-spitters swarmed the den and threw heavy nets over her and her mother. "ma! ma! whats going on?!"
"tali! just stay calm.. just stay calm." Lyra roared in protest as the two legs brought lightning-sticks and began prodding at them. "don't you dare touch my daughter you *******!" she shouted even though she knew they wouldnt understand her. to her surprise though, one two leg stepped forward and said, "we won't touch you or your daughter if you tell us where the Baron is."
"i'll never tell you, monster."
the white man chuckled, "from my point of view, you're the monster. and you'll be a wonderful addition to the show..."
- - -
Baronyx heard tali's scream echo In the dark forest surrounding the cliffside. "No!" his roar resonated farther than tali's scream.
at the den a few moments before, the two-legs had caged Tali and Lyra and had set about stabbing at lyra with the shock-prods hoping to draw Baronyx back to the cave. Lyra kept her cries quiet and had refused to satisfy their wishes. the two-leg in charge snarled. "Enough... last chance, dragon. Tell me where he is!"
lyra growled at him, "i'll tell you nothing, worm."
"fine, suit yourself." the man turned his back to her. "lets see if you're daughter has the same resolve, shall we?"
"no! don't touch her!"
"i'm afraid its quite too late for that, dragon."
"tali i'm sorry!"
he turned to Tali and jabbed her in the side with a shock ****. tali groaned and gritted her teeth but did not scream for the man.
she growled at him said, "that tickled." tali grinned at the man with her sharp fangs fully exposed.
the man glared for a moment and then smiled cruelly.
"temporary pain doesnt have an effect on you... maybe something more... permenant will bring him to me. bring the iron!"
two-legs carried a white hot brand in the shape of a greek Omega. the man pointed to tali and said, "on her throat. make it burn."
more two-legs had muzzled lyra to keep her from screaming. the iron cut into tali's scales and burned into the flesh underneath, forcing tali to scream as loud as she could, even after the iron had been taken away. she collapsed on the ground and the tears spilled over her eyes as she continued to scream.
they heard a roar passing over them all as Baronyx rushed back to the den.
"well done, everyone. the prize is near. get your guns ready but DO NOT FIRE!"
* *
baronyx flew faster than he ever had before. he growled  as he swooped down toward his den and saw the two-legs. he screeched in protest as cables wrapped around his wings and limbs. forcing him hard into the ground. "Nick you *******!"
the white man grinned, "so we finally meet
Again, baron. and you have a nice little family i can use to my advantage now."
baronyx looked at tali and Lyra and loosed a mournful moan deep in his throat. "what do you want, nick?"
the man stepped forward and replied, "i want you, back in my show, just like old times. or i'll torture your mate AND this lovely little child of yours. sound like a deal?"
baronyx shut his eyes and nodded as a tear trailed down his cheek. "just know... when i get out, everything will burn... just like old times..."
(add on 1)
The white man and the other two-legs shackled Baronyx and his family with heavy chains and electric collars that would shock them randomly. they were put on a train car headed east and the collars were taken off. Baronyx immediately examined Tali's neck, the brand already scarring over in a whitish pink Omega. tali's voice was hoarse and tears came to her eyes. she buried her head into her father's chest. "i'm so sorry tali, lyra... this is my fault.." the family embraced as they knew there would likely be very little contact with each other after the train stopped.
the train traveled a little while longer and the family shakily said  their goodbyes as the air brakes hissed violently. the doors shrieked open and they were met by Nick. immediately. baronyx pounced on top of him and roared. they stared eye to eye for a moment before they heard the clicking of the two-legs metal spitters. baronyx kept his eyes on Nick and said quietly, "touch her again... touch EITHER of them... and
I swear, no amount of metal spitters or electricity will stop me from hunting you down and tearing off your head."
as baronyx stepped back, nick stood up and replied, "i won't harm either of them, hell, i'll give them whatever they want, as long as you do as you are told, Baronyx."
baronyx thought this over and after a few moments said, "i have one more condition, i want full access to them. whenever i choose."
nick chuckled a bit, "we'll see... we'll see... it all depends on how you perform."
baronyx nodded. "then lets get this over with..." the white man beckoned some two-legs to lead Tali and Lyra to the cages inside the massive pavilion that stood before them. two of the men brought the brand again and put the Omega on Baronyx's throat much like they had done with tali. he gritted his teeth and let the tears come but did not cry out or roar. when the pain had subsided, he asked nick, "when do i start?"
nick looked up at him with a sinister twinkle in his eyes, "right now."
*
Nick and a handful of two-legs escorted baronyx back onto the train, but not the same traincar. this one was blue and had ornate gold lettering on each side. once baronyx was inside, a string of lights came on and he saw his old armor plates each polished and the dents pounded out. he took his helm and stared into his reflection.  "i swore i'd never touch this stuff again..."
an intercom system beeped above him and nick's voice filled the car. "Baron, you have five minutes to suit up. the game starts as soon as we arrive."
baronyx sighed and donned the cold armor one peice at a time. he looked into the mirror on the wall and turned away in disgust.
"for tali and lyra..." there were a few peices left, the ones he never wanted to see again, they were sharp talons that fit over his claws. in the show, he had to use these to **** his opponent. nick's voice came over the intercom again, "arriving at the arena now, the press is fired up for your return, baron. DON'T disappoint them."
Baronyx growled and said a silent prayer for his family. the train screeched to a halt and the door opened. baronyx stepped out onto a black carpet and was assaulted by blinding camera flashes and the deafening roar of the crowding two-legs. over the crowd, an announcer shouted, "Its the Baron! he's back and looks better than ever!"
baronyx kept walking until nick stopped him for the game briefing. "you'll be going up against a group of wyverns, so you should have no problem killing them." the wyverns far outnumbered the dragons, wyverns being the dragons' slightly smaller, less intelligent cousins.
nick began walking away when baronyx asked, "what do they get if i win?"
nick turned, "they?"
baronyx bared his fangs. "my family. what do they get in return for my win?"
nick thought this over for a moment before replying, "they will eat, sleep, and live in their own hovel. and depending on your performance i'll let you stay with them."
baronyx growled, "then lets get this over with."
*
Baronyx was led to the arena doors and he waited patiently for his introduction and call to the game. he looked around at the all too familiar sights, the fight screens, the scoreboard, and the dim light that would signal his entry into the arena. it would be a few minutes before the match and in the meantime, he thought of all his old strategies and gameplans. "i wonder if tali and lyra will be watching..."
nick came out of the shadows and said, "remember, their future depends on what happens next."
the light turned green and the doors opened, spilling light into the room. when baronyx's eyes adjusted, he saw the all too familiar sight of the ****** arena, mangled corpses being dragged away from the last battle. "the baron! he'll be going up against seven wyverns from the northwest territories." baronyx roared as loud as he could as he stormed into the arena. the wyverns on the other side cowered for a moment before charging him. the first one lunged at him and was caught in his
Claws. baronyx looked into the wyverns eyes and saw the fear, the terror of a beast facing his own demise. "for them..." baronyx tore the wyvern's throat out with his claws and threw the body at the next assailant, bowling him over.
the next wyvern was impaled by baronyx's tail and tossed aside to bleed out on the ground while he set about killing the others in various other ways. when the bodies stopped twitching, baronyx's armor was coated in blood. the crowd was silent and he became worried. he looked to the trainer's balcony and spotted nick, who gave a subtle nod of approval. baronyx looked at the timer: one minute seventeen seconds. it was a new record, the shortest match in history. the crowd roared and applauded long after he was led out of the arena. "an amazing, record setting performance by the returning champion, the Baron!"
baronyx was met by the press' cameras outside the arena. Nick's two-legs stripped the ****** armor and allowed him some room to move around.
The camera flashes continued to blind baronyx but his mind was elsewhere. nick finally showed up to answer the press's questions, while baronyx glared at the group of reporters. after an hour of questions and his agitation reached its breaking point, baronyx growled at the reporters, silencing them. when they didn't move, he bared his fangs and roared, forcing them to make hasty retreats and fleeing the conference. once they were gone, nick turned to baronyx and sighed, "thanks. i thought they'd never leave..."
baronyx stared down at him. "we had a deal."
"so we did. and for that breathtaking performance, you will stay with your family in their hovel."
baronyx started walking towards the train, "then i have to go."
*

hand in hand
we ran down the cliffside
wind howling
the waves crashing
crimson hair
dancing in the breeze
we sat for a moment
lost in the beauty of it all
thinking that the ocean
hugging the shore so calmly
before violently
breaking at it's feet
is much like how
our love feels.

There are days when the rage I prayed to dissipate somehow finds its way from the deep secluded corners of my brain and throws itself violently onto the blank pages of my notebook.

It's always on those days when I hear the Oceanside call my name but I refrain from seeing her because I am far too occupied with chipping myself away at this deadend job that doesn't provide the way that I need it to pay.

It's always on the days when I can't reach her shore that I ***** myself to this imitation of peace. To all the things I want but know it will never satisfy the need to feel that cool ocean breeze, the smell of seaweed and that saltwater against my feet.

There is no place in the valley for a boy who fell in love with the ocean and left his heart at sea.

Like can't you see that the only time I feel whole is when all the broken pieces that make up me is standing on that cliffside. Apart from filling out my blank pages and pouring my heart out onto these stages, that cliffside will always be home.

There is not a day that I'm away that I don't sit and think about the power of the waves. Do you ever think about the power of the waves? How they come in, crash and carry all of my burdens, pain and frustration away. God I just want to get away.

I will always sit up on that cliffside in a mystery as I gaze out upon your vast deep blue see and wonder how in the midst of my chaos, that you are somehow my peace.

As the sun just begins to set, Eevee sits perched on a cliffside awaiting her lover Chimchar's return. She knows he can handle himself but she cant help but worry about him. Anxeity rattles her brain constantly so much that she can't sit still. She begins pacing back and forth across the cliff. Suddenly, a bright light flashes in the distance. Catching Eevee by surprise, she nearly stumbles off the cliff but regains her balance and quickly turns her head to see what caused such a bright flash. A pillar of flame had appeared in the distance not too far away along with lightning strikes. Immediately, Eevee knew that Chimchar was in grave danger. She hastily slid down the cliffside, weaving around rocks to avoid injuring herself. Rattatas and Caterpies noticed Eevee sliding into the forest and attempted to ambush and capture her but Eevees adrenaline increased her natural reaction time and she jumped over Caterpies string shot and the rattata got caught in the stringy mess. Landing nearly perfectly, Eevee made her way through the dark forest, letting her adrenaline drive her on her path to save her dear Chimchar. Meanwhile, Chimchar was in the thick of battle with an unexpected foe. The legendary bird Zapdos had heard of Chimchars quest and decided it needed to put an end to the puny monkey. Jumping from treetop to treetop, Chimchar was barely dodging Zapdos' lightning bolts while
simultaneously attacking it with his whip-like flames, nicking its wings and interrupting its flight. All of a sudden, Zapdos fired a Tri-bolt of blue lightning, blasting Chimchar off the rooftops. Chimchar landed ******* the charred forest floor, writhing in pain. Just as Zapdos was about to land what seemed to be like the finishing blow, Eevee bolted out of the forest and snatched her Chimchar out of the way of certain death. Chimchar - surprised - gave a quick hug to his dear Eevee before jumping into a cluster of trees and blasting itself into the sky, grappling Zapdos' tail. Zapdos flailed and tried to throw Chimchar off but it was unsuccessful because Chimchar had scorched its tail. Then - both plummettng towards the ground - Chimchar cloaked itself in white flames and grabbed a hold of Zapdos' body. Eevee dove behind a large tree just before the two foes crashed into the ground, creating a large explosion. Twigs and pebbles flew through the smoky air as Eevee jolted out from behind the tree towards her lover Chimchar only to see him lying on the ground next to the lifeless body of the so-called legendary bird Zapdos. Throwing herself down onto Chimchars body in distress and overwhelming sadness, she subtly noticed Chimchars arms wrap around her. Eevee stopped crying and hugged her dear Chimchar so tight he struggled to breathe momentarily. They both noticed Zapdos' wing begin to twitch so they both looked into eachothers eyes and decided it was time to go. So at the end of another successful day, in an almost picturesque moment, the two lovers Eevee and Chimchar walked with eachother into what remained of the sunset.

The wallet where the hidden secrets are to be believed

The boy, a lap climber of some renown,
Age, could have been six or seven,
Had a favorite cliffside to ascend and ride,
When done, down to earth, slide.

Up he would go, on a treasure hunt,
A game to play, called pickpocket,
On a forest of a man of coffee smells and a tickly goatee,
Hamburg born, a man who actually wore
a homburg hat on his head.

First the glass case, the snappy kind,
From the snap, crackle and Pop days.
Inside a cloth, good for emergency cleaning of
Runny noses when it was crying time.

Into the crevices and pockets, he dug and delved,
Jangly keys guaranteed to somehow disappear,
A silver and gold fancy pen and pencil set,
A money clip, folded papers he didn't understand.

But the bonanza, the jackpot was the wallet,
Finding pictures of himself, asking the goatee,
Slyly, smiley, all grown up likely, kiddingly
Who's that?

Between the pictures of him and his sisters,
Was a weird discovery, five twenty dollar bills.
His money was in a clip, so these twenties
Had no earthly purpose being there.

There is nothing more unstoppable than the curiosity
Of children under the age of ten,
So a grand inquisition of nagging began,
Centering on the age old torture tool,
Why?

Goatee said someday you will see men,
Lying on the street, some with hands outstretched,
Some, hands beneath, hidden neath their legs.  
They won't smell as good as you,
They may even be a tiny bit *****,
with no bathtub to play in.
When you should see such a man,
If he asks or not, our job is to give him
One of those special notes.
When its your turn to have wallet,
You will understand better.

Dissatisfied was the explorer,
The words did not fully explain,
Why this money was different from all others?
Upon these five bills, were hand written bold
Three words, which he could read.

God Bless You!

Goatee smiled and hugged me that hug,
Where you can't breathe and its a-ok,
But please be quiet now young one...

This poem a total fantasy.

Someday Izzy and Alex will be forward scouts,
Investigators and detectives with prying frying fingertips.

If they get to Poppy's wallet,
Between the pictures of them and the West Coast team,
There just maybe, five folded twenties,
Magic marker signed, but not by a Treasury official,
With words of a similar ilk.

If they should inquire what's the point,
Poppy might answer them with one particular
Poem.

I'm paying
for the careless laughs
I cast
at my poor mother in the past
when she would cringe
and turn away
as we sought edges
to enhance our play.
High trees and rooftops
cliffside walks -
whatever would extend the view
beyond the grim grey
granite grip we knew.
The humour lay
in knowing we were safe,
that these short frissons
were a break
between long stretches
of mundane and easy comfort,
free from pain.
Perhaps, we thought,
it does her good to gasp and shudder,
shout and blame -
she knows
that nothing's gained by shouting "Not too close!"
That just extends the game.
And then we're home
and she, once more, is sane.

That un-won wisdom
taunts me now.
The thought that fear was rare, somehow
that each new feat
of daring was a treat
the spice and colour
in a mother's life
which otherwise was dull.

Then, suddenly, my children,
you appear
and now I fear
that everything's
a crumbling clifftop
a wind-bent,
beetle-brittle branch
that you are twisted
in the fickle hands of chance
Your precious whims
your pale, glass-fragile skins
are buffeted by everything.
All ice is thin -
the wolves are real
it was not just the wind.

And even here
upon the edge of morning
misfired wires
inside your precious head
could make a storm-tossed life-raft
of your cozy bed
I stand beside you, out of reach
though long prepared
to meet the reason I am scared.
You curl and shrink
turn glassy eyes towards the wall

while I await the blow
that, thank God, doesn't fall,
this time
my youthful self
has found a cliff to climb
above a rocky beach
and cackles
at his mother's panicked call.

i remember that first night

how desperately you craved
to feel my lips against yours.

how worried you were when i refrained
from surrendering to your deep inhalations.

thoughts of uncertainty clouded your confidence
while your sense of comfort waned and ebbed
as my will held like a cliffside
against the ocean of your lust.

let me calm your worried mind now darling

it was not for lack of desire
that i held my lips pursed.

it was not detachment
that held my hands shy
of a passionate embrace.

i was lost in the shear comfort
of your presence.

your warm hands on my chest
felt as though they had been there
my whole life.

the weight of your leg across my hips,
so familiar that i was left confused by
the brevity of our acquaintance compared
to the depth i could see so clearly
in your glistening eyes.

it was in adoration for this precious moment that
i held myself satiated.

it was this same feeling that held me in fear
that our first kiss would not be the
electric explosion of beginnings
that we would hope to fuel our infatuation,

but that you would feel dissatisfied by the same ease
and placidity i felt.

i kissed you
in that way i felt i had for years and
with that practiced knowing hand
i pulled your lips in close.

they sang a story so old and meaningful
that i found a joy akin to returning home.
...
and since then

every moment shared,
every touch experienced,
every kiss given and
every kiss received
is a small unravelling of a truth that
i had long since forgotten:
that home is where the heart is.
...
and you have mine

ol king crab kingo the highwaymen**

cumma walking down that hallways street
oll king crab king o the highwaymen
he got swagger boom swagger
he got boom bap pow
pow
pow
-
i seen im runnat comb through his hair
i seen it move back
i seen it glitter-glisten under em bright lights
onna ceeling
-
i seen im touchin
mercury aphrodite
i seen im touchin onna ladies
hera n persephone
he been touchin onna ladies
backadatruck
backadatruck
back seat
pull em uppa cliffside
pull em uppa cliff
bring em inna that backseat
5 minutes in heaven baby
you know it
-
ol king crab dont go to school
he appears
he come-and-go
touch-and-go
in-out
he just visiting
dont need no work
dont need to work
get nuffa that at home
-
ol king crab drop out
not too much trouble
he never drop in

get a job drivin a truck
aint no better way to live
then watching those glitter-glisten lights
on that highway
run that comb through your hair
do it one more time,
do it for us king crab

yeah, just like that
-
down that road he go
b back l8r
b back
b back
down down down
hot stuffy old car
dice onna mirror
just like a movie

luck pair of dice
such a lucky paradise
inna truck

down that road

fulla nuthin

fulla nuthin

fulla NOTHING.
-
Ol' King Crab he *****
he chew
he *****
that how to live
that how to live?
yeah, son.
in back o tha gas station he *****
back inna gas station he chew
tobacco gum tobacco

he take em ladies by the hand
them ladies aint outta worry
king crab outta worry
watch whose hand you take.
-
Listen.
Don't let him take you by the hand.
Don't let him TAKE YOU.
DON'T LET HIM TAKE YOU BY THE HAND
-
ol king crab gettin
****** inna back of the gas
station
pullin outta driveways
and outta women

watch whose hand you take on that open road
you lose yo head

I would shed my skin
Leaving dust and bone by the cliffside
And bare myself to the world
Amidst the storm of lightning and thunder
I would hold lightning in my hand
And grip it tightly as it struggled and squirmed
Uncaring of the black blood soaking my hands and the ground
From its burning arches of light
Until I finally set aflame
And leave you to watch,
gripping the fabric of your sleeves
As I jump

from the precipice

to fly

And



drop

soundlessly into the sea
lost
in the roaring crescendo
of life
itself

As water had birthed life and nurtured it
One day I would emerge
Unrecognizable to your tearful eyes

But Gods aren't meant to be beautiful
And angels strike mortals with madness
And turn the impure blind
So as I return
Having been dipped into the lifeblood of our world
I spiral into the sky
"Goodbye" unable to leave your trembling lips
And tears falling unbidden
The only words I know now
"Be not afraid"
I took with me into the sky

So I leave you
With no understanding
And only the atrocity
That I had become

Every step I take
Brings you closer to the cliffside.
At home, their pictures crowd my pillow,
Whisper like nymphs.
A corroded coin
Apologizes, abandoned in our arid cup.
I turn to face the towering metropolis
And let my ninth staff illuminate the smog.

Imagine going to a cliff
And jumping off to die
Hoping that you somehow grow wings
And that in a blink can fly

Now, shut your eyes
Do it again
This time, you make the leap
Is the cliffside still as steep a one?
Is the water just as deep?

You're a writer and you do this jump each day
When you post your words and rhymes
You put yourself where all can see
And can comment on your crimes
You took the leap, you're airborne
And sometimes you will soar
At other times you'll crash down to earth
Where you started long before

Now, go back to the cliffs edge
Write some words and sail away
You're out there high in the ether
And if you're good that's where you'll stay

Commitment to your writing
Accepting what the others write
Make you go and keep on leaping
Until you know you've got it right

You're a writer and you do this jump each day
When you post your words and rhymes
You put yourself where all can see
And can comment on your crimes
You took the leap, you're airborne
And sometimes you will soar
At other times you'll crash down to earth
Where you started long before

Go now, jump...make it a good one
One where you feel the wind as well
where you can see into the future
And where only you can tell

Each poem you post is gone now
You make the leap each time you post
A poem is something living
Unwritten ones are only ghosts

You're a writer and you do this jump each day
When you post your words and rhymes
You put yourself where all can see
And can comment on your crimes
You took the leap, you're airborne
And sometimes you will soar
Now, go, create and you will see
That you can with less fear than before.

I
--
The LORD is asking, “Do you trust Me, child?”
And surely He is worthy of all trust,
but visceral reactions oft’ seem just
in keeping soul’s anxieties well riled.
While panic, shame and dread stir doubting winds,
obsessive, tight, compulsive thoughts pour fuel
into this downward spiraling boil of gruel
where toxic interactions breed more sins.
So for relationships I feel unfit,
and now old interests die and pleasures wane,
as each new hope in Earth’s good brings fresh pain,
where dark depression’s presently my bit.
Yet in this wilderness I hear God call,
“Child, look to Me. I am your ALL in all.”

II
--
I meditate upon the word of God
to heal a mind that’s broken from the fall,
and lying in morn’s bed I now recall
the former paths of fullness I have trod.
I clear the course of tangling debris
that fogs perspective’s distance-viewing sight
and clogs the narrow way which lets in light,
so with God’s truth I’m able to agree.
I gaze toward the future that is sure,
to glory that is promised out of trial.
I push through lying voices of denial,
rememb’ring my inheritance secure.
So healing first begins by sizing scope,
for in true measure I can grasp true hope.

III
---
Long sheltered in the recesses of mind
on pedestals that overshadow truth
are lies which I have entertained since youth
like tape recordings stuck on forced rewind.    
There‘s something of appeal in misbelief,
some comforting, perverted, dressed-up face
which keeps foul strongholds rooted into place
and lets such rotten seedlings harvest grief.  
But I must choose to undermine their message,
uncovering deception’s hidden lairs
whose cultivation grounds for growing tares
leave roadblocks to integrity’s safe passage.
God’s probing, piercing words—what precious gifts!—
can excavate, expose and extract myths.

IV
---
I apprehend these truths in David’s psalm:
“I’m fearfully and wonderfully made,”
and all my days of life are firmly laid
within the sovereign care of God’s own palm.
And yet another voice keeps creeping out.
“You’re too unfit for blessed community,
hence from belonging full immunity
is your dim lot,” says paralyzing Doubt.
For ‘gainst the Word that says I‘m rightly hewn
rub all the bristling edges of myself,
but would one set forever on a shelf
a Bösendorfer piano out of tune?
No, value is a function of creation,
and He who made has promised restoration.

V
--
Restoration’s anchored in redemption,
and my redemption‘s grounded in God’s love.
Nowhere in far reaches man has thought of
could mind unfurl the breadth of such conception.
Sloshing, hesitating in the shallows,
I wander close to shore in Love‘s vast sea.
Then from the swell I hear a coaxing plea
to dive into the deeper wake of hallows.
What‘s this weight that pins my frame from racing
toward His unknown billows of delight?
Do I not trust that He will clasp me tight,
help me bear the fiercest waves I’m facing?
What guile of devils am I heeding here
which keeps me bound by paralyzing fear?

VI
---
Disheartened by my want for firm resolve
to swim toward agápē’s unplumbed depths
for int’macy with Him who paid my debts—
the only One from sin who can absolve,
I wander, wond‘ring what I’ve missed to see
within my comprehension of Christ‘s love
when He would vacate majesty above
and suffer cruelest death to set me free.
They stripped Him, flogged Him, spit, pulled out His beard,
then pressed a crown of thorns down on His head.
They nailed Him to rough cross to leave for dead—
Creator of the world now by it jeered.
In love this traitor by her King was served:
Christ Jesus bore God‘s wrath which I deserved!

VII
----
Considering what labors Christ performed
to buy my freedom off sin’s slav’ry block
that of His fullness, with Him, I could walk
in resurrected life (not just reformed),
can I not trust that He will see me through
each trial, tribulation, sorrow, loss
when He would not forsake me at the cross
but carried all my grief and suff‘ring too?
And just as death‘s cold grave could not contain
my Savior but gave way to watch Him rise,
whatever loss my path has to comprise
shall work for me eternal glorious gain.
So while my courage may still be in lack,
the settled thing is there’s no turning back.

VIII
-----
Wading through fresh tidal pools of mercy
along a piece of coast that‘s not too wide—
among the crags and caves where stragglers hide,
hoping to evade crowd controversy—
I know I‘ll have to move on before long.
But in the warm meanwhile of the day,
I kneel to rest; and as I start to pray,
my heart begins to open to a song—
a gentle, soothing lullaby I’ve known
sung to the tune of ‘Eventide‘ as hymn,
reminder that this life is fading, dim
but that in Christ I never walk alone.
And as I raise the words, “Abide with me…,”
here comes my Shepherd, walking by the sea.

IX
---
What now is this waylaying, sin-sick soul?
Diversional winds from cliffside descend.
Where‘s pressing fire my devotions attend?
Brain‘s robbed of sanity, sleep, self-control.
Jesus comes near numb heart in distraction
and bids me again to clean deadwood out.
Jesus, I‘m desperate, drowning in doubt!
Help me expel what‘s needing subtraction!
Discipline, prudence, wisdom, contentment
can work to restore both body and brain,
while worship will lift locked heart from restraint—
its untethering from woe’s resentment.
I won‘t, without wisdom, taste truest Love,
yet Love holds true keys to wisdom above.

X
--
Mottling mind’s hazed subconscious sockets—
bedecked by ego’s restless crave for fill—
infections grow to permeate my will,
ladening, with dross, affection‘s pockets.
Foul seepage soon coagulates to plaque,
forces clefts which weaken my foundation,
foments psyche’s stormed disintegration
till half-light’s flushing falls to midnight‘s black.
Yet amid murk‘s rotting, rank confusion
with ev‘ry faculty succumbed to rift,
My Shepherd plucks me fiercely from the cliff,
tending thorn-torn blight with Love‘s ablution.
Healing, though, requires my surrender—
all cooperation I can lend 'her.'

XI
---
Jesus asked a question at Bethesda,
the pool by which an invalid was lain,
for thirty-eight lost years left in his pain—
twisted, timed, tormenting, teared siesta.
“Do you desire to be made well?” He asked.
“I’ve none to help me!” was the plaintive cry,
then Jesus spoke miraculous reply
that to get up and walk the man was tasked.
That’s not to say all healing will be found
within this present life of ills and woes,
but still I hear Christ probing through the throes
if I am truly willing to be sound.
Or would I rather lie on crippling bed,
an invalid of spirit, heart and head?

XII
----
Shuffling through some past miscalculations
surrounding toxic breakage of the vines
that ought secure the healthy bound’ry lines  
guarding interpersonal relations—
rememb‘ring my susceptibility
to ego-shuttled, codependent err‘rs
which strain to manage others‘ own affairs
and so invert responsibility—
I ponder if I‘ll ever grow to learn
proper seeds for sowing mutual trust
with vital tools for gently sanding rust
to help stave off a bondship‘s breaking-burn.
One thing I know, that trusting in the LORD
steers love‘s impetus to carry forward.

XIII
-------
“I’m not enough and yet too much,” I've read.
Succinctly that describes my current angst,
and I can‘t justify to war against
these arguments which whirl around my head.
I’ve been told, “You’re just a little intense,”
by many people, not just one or two,
and this they voice clangs manifestly true,
as gaping holes defect my bound‘ry fence.
Voluminous in content and in force,
bestowing as prized gifts what isn‘t sought
or wanted by those for whom gifts are brought,
I falter in my need to change set course.
And where it comes to giving what‘s desired,
real competence seems found to have expired.

XIV
-----
Someone wrote, “true soul mate is a mirror“—
like limelight they‘ll reveal your unseen faults.
Where no one else delights to search your vaults,
“soul mate“ renders time to be apt hearer.
It matters not, was said, that they don‘t stay,
so long as they‘re an agent for reform—
the one who makes you desp‘rate to transform
by breaking heart and making ego fray.
Danger lies in nuanced underpinnings.
I thought I‘d found my soul mate in abuse
and used “he needs my fuel“ as excuse
to take a twisted game to extra innings.
Here I’ll grant these crazed imaginations
were at core demonic machinations.

XV
-----
Casting down romantic schoolgirl notions
that sin-drenched bonds might fashion souls complete,
I drag bewitching grails to Jesus’ feet—
spurning now to drink past guile‘s potions.
As I linger longer in His presence,
I‘m freshly bathed from marring guilt and shame,
reminded I‘m made whole in Jesus‘ Name—
partaker in the fullness of His essence.
Identified eternally with Christ,
secured by His unfailing love through grace,
one day I‘ll walk perfected face-to-face
with Him from whom true life is all-sufficed.
And as I muse, I taste true heart‘s desire—
rekindling, renewed with holy fire.

XVI
-----
Attitude is prime, determinant hinge
on which the door of restoration swings—
deciding what response subconscious brings
and on which morsels mind should bestly binge.
Plenty is dependent on perspective.
Mountain, plain or valley alter sight 
and size by which is measured present, plight.
Simply switching lens can be corrective.
In Christ, Ephesians tells me, I‘ve been raised,
seated with Him in the heavenly realm—
positioned by the One who steers the helm
that Father, Son and Spirit would be praised!
Worship, like a rudder, sets the outlook
to keep me highly grounded in God‘s Book.

XVII
------
Why should I to the worship of false gods
surrender my outlook frivolously?
Idols grab first gaze notoriously,
rob joy as will‘s defenses yield heart‘s nods.
What then? Can I suppose I might steal back
a measure of exuberance through more
skewed genuflecting to gilt calf before—
itself beleaguered, plagued by woeful lack?
Now heed, wayfaring soul of mine, what‘s true:
Creation‘s bounty-goods will make you slave
and with sweet Siren‘s flutes your mind deprave
when to them you lend focus Christ is due.
Lay firm your eyes on Him—pure, restful bed,
cover, fuel, completer, Fountainhead.

XVIII
-------
Wandering down some cobbled, crowded street,
I‘m nowhere headed, rapt in mindless thought,  
and as I saunter south I happ‘ly spot
a friend long-lost but fiercely longed to meet.
Just up ahead, he’s mixed well in the throng
but might be caught if I push through and race!
Heartbeat quickens. Oh, to see his face,
this one with whom I’m sure I must belong!
Yet when I actually seize him and he turns,
I’m devastated, sunk. It isn’t him.
Then moping northbound—dazed, dejected whim—
I stumble on the One for whom heart burns!
How strange, as I had grappled, chased and shoved,
that I’d been running from the One I loved!

XIX
-----
He‘s reservoir for which parched spirit begs,
familial feast cast heart longs to attend,  
elixir fractured psyche craves, to mend,
secure foundation ‘neath soul‘s skittish legs.
Jesus is hearth fire, garden blooming,
joy‘s kiss that welcomes prodigals with tears,
arms’ tender brawn consoling weak ones‘ fears,
shelt‘ring lullaby as nightstorm‘s looming.
Who else can scatter stars, strew mountain snow,
to whet beloved‘s taste for pristine grace?
What other love’s like this, that He‘d embrace
excruciating death to grace bestow?
And best, most faithful lovers of this earth?—
dull pennies next to Christ‘s resplendent worth!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

VOLUME II:
(** — XXXII) [Edited in 9/27-29/21]

**
----
Closing the door on chaining obsessions
requires some short-circuiting of thought
previously allowed to flow uncaught
and forge ever-deepening depressions.
Pathways in my brain can be rerouted
by changing interactions with my world,
observing what’s most easily unfurled—
presently what’s to five senses suited.
‘Mindfulness’ can be a Christian practice
and doesn’t have to rest on Buddha’s shelf—
“awak’ning non-existence of the self”—
or from unseen, eternal things distract us.
True mindfulness is found in gratitude—
joyful, eucharisteo attitude.

XXI
-----
A biblical version of ‘mindfulness‘
is found in 1 Thessalonians 5,
revealing as God’s will that saints should strive
for ever-prayerful joy and thankfulness.
Pond‘rous gratitude staves off resentment,
greed and pride. As was taught to Timothy,
what‘s created and giv‘n by God should be
received in sacred thanks with contentment.
Creation reflects God‘s bounteous glory
and demonstrates His loving grace and care,
so in same grace and glory we can share
each time we recognize Him in our story.
Ten thousand tiny gifts write each day‘s page,
and he who welcomes most is most like sage.

XXII
------
In restoration, elasticity
of mind is a factor to celebrate.
So please don‘t ever underestimate
the wonders of neuroplasticity.
New brainpaths form and old channels falter,
depending on what choices I might make.
Fresh experience of which I partake
will physically help my brain to alter.
Here‘s one great hope I must now remember:
What’s hardwired today can still be displaced,
and thoughts might soon flow on paths greenly graced,
as I feast my soul’s eyes on brain’s Mender.
Bent mindfulness toward Giver and His gifts
best brings joy‘s healing for my mental rifts.

XXIII
-------
Realizations that some obsessions
are desires to vicariously ride
the mindfulness of others who don‘t hide
their own keener sensory possessions,
aptly are aiding to turn my focus
from curiosity to understand
their thoughts, which often‘s led my heart-demand—
want to consume their minds‘ crops like locusts.
What I‘ve perceived as love, concern to know,
empathy for others‘ worlds internal,
might be more escape from mine external—
attempts to hide from life‘s real, present show.
Avoidance wears all sorts of vibrant masks
to keep me blinded to here-moments‘ tasks.

XXIV
-------
Viewing secondhand eviscerations,
as others spill their innards on the page,
may seem the safest way to heart engage—
surrogated life participation.
Substituting others‘ honed perceptions
where I ought learn observance of my own
will keep childlike experience ungrown,
smother creativity’s conceptions.
Social media’s pitfalls lie therein,
along with greater dangers lurking large.
Despite its many goods, there’s needed charge
that gorging on a good thing leads to sin.
Shutting website windows is like trailhead,
opening mountain path to higher tread.

XXV
------
I‘m learning to sit with anxiety
raised by self-denial of habit’s fix,
mindful how my heart solicits tricks  
to alternate for true society.
Discomfort speaks in volumes to soul’s ear
like smoke alarm alerting to a fire.
It tells me, “Quick, investigate! Inquire!
Please find the source of inner burning fear!”
Nervousness as friend might offer insight
if I can hear and listen to its warning,
objectively without the shame-filled scorning
that tends to follow panic-stricken plight.
Practice putting tension in glass cage
to monitor its undercurrent’s rage.

XXVI
-------
It’s time to preach a sermon to myself,
for fears are overtaking me in waves;
and spirit must combat what habit craves—
flesh seeking consolation in false pelf.
Scrutinize what’s underneath such worry.
Do I believe the LORD is still in charge
of details of my life and world at large?
Look to Him. Don’t yield to anxious hurry.
Do I believe He’s with me and He’s good,
a faithful Shepherd tending to each need?
Then look to Him. Don’t drown in fretting’s greed.
Christ’s sheep don’t have to look elsewhere for food.
Each wait is opportunity to grow,
for God has holy riches to bestow.

XXVII
--------
God’s character and sovereign wisdom hem
my life, as His responsibility.
No wrong will steal my true identity,
whatever slips or schemes might spill from men.
Christ’s Ruler over all, but do I let
Him fully reign as Master in my heart?
Do I acknowledge I’m His work of art
and purpose for His hammers, chisels get?
Intimacy and glory are the friends
to which His sanctifying lessons point
and meld together as love’s dovetail joint
whenever I surrender to these ends.
Soul, set your hope on grace to be revealed.
Entrust to God strain’s mysteries still sealed.

XXVIII
---------
LORD, HELP! Why is my mind so distracted?
And why then, letting it be drawn away
for half an hour, am I now okay
to let my compulsions be retracted?
Give in to let go feels like solution,
but know it only deepens the desire
for later curiosity‘s inquire—
grants no satisfying resolution.
Those thirty minutes mindfulness was lost,
yet could it be empowered by the fall,
as I look closer inside to recall
that giving way to habit bears great cost?
I won‘t grow discouraged by the setback
but seek to further understand self‘s lack.

XXIX
-------
Low-pitched, humming anxiousness was sitting
all day inside my torso‘s cavity.
Mindful sensing lent no gravity
to coax the stubborn squatter through outwitting.
Head was tired from too little sleeping,
so frankly seemed to coast and just make do.
Soul felt no fresh excitement by woods‘ view
and lacked bright energy for much guard keeping.
One moral of this story is night‘s rest
must become priority for healing.
Otherwise this shaky default feeling
will grow into another panicked crest.
Though it‘s no excuse to say I‘m tired,
it‘s clear reformed sleep habits are required.

***
------
Changing what’s practical opens a door
to transforming what’s spiritual, mental
and emotionally experiential.
Habit alterations might well restore
enough equilibrium of body,
restfulness, clarity, reason and time
to give me needed aid to better climb
above oppressive moods, both low and haughty.
“Early to bed, early to rise...”could be
one thing to make a world of difference
and welcome back some simple common sense,
to open up new space for setting free.
But for that discipline to take effect,
I’ll also have to curb the internet!

XXXI
-------
Every opportunity for worry
is greater opportunity to trust
that God behind the scenes is sanding rust
from parts of me where fear has made faith blurry.
Without unknowing-gusts to stir the pit
of nervousness inside my helplessness,
I might ne‘er seek my Shepherd‘s faithfulness
nor learn to wait on Him and with Him sit.
These are times of richest growing lessons
when I‘m reminded He is LORD, not me,
and that He works to draw in int‘macy
feeble souls to Him through stretching sessions.
Joy is knowing sure—head, heart and will—
He‘s ever whisp‘ring, “Child, come closer still.“

XXXII
--------
Recapping basic steps to take thus far:
Find sleep (which may mean need for melatonin
to counteract my haywire serotonin),
and overuse of internet I‘ll bar.
Then with restfulness bring mindful thinking—
keen noticing that‘s graced with gratitude
and sets a stronger skyward attitude,
buoys me up against fret‘s downward sinking.
More important still is meditation
upon the word of God‘s indicatives
which lay foundations for imperatives
to follow as prescriptive medication.
Most crucial element preventing fall
is fix my eyes on Jesus through it all!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have ye to thank,
all ye actors and poets and marvels
(and DCs and everything in between)
for I have lived with ye, and amongst ye,
and ye have gently inspired genuine genius
in all ye holes in the wall
and all ye pens and strings and voices.

I thank you for the endless memories
of conversations of unnecessary furor and consuming hysteria
of brilliant surprises from elegant unknown talents
of tossed salad people and places and history and interaction
of a night lost in glowsticks but preserved in pictures
of a time my time in between periods of blank walls
of a blinding bolt forward in presence of mind.

For was it you
who told me about your grandfather
a man so brilliant that a mere conversation with the dean
at sixteen granted him admission to Columbia?
who told me of Canadian interlocutors
intimately engaged, only after your party had left?
who told me of amazing cliffside adventures
in education and nature's nomenclatures abound?
who discussed my heritage against that of a concrete world
of exploding dreams and collapsing stars at once,
where you take a bite but might get the proverbial worm?
or you, against that of a simple hicktown
where tractors run tandem with buicks in school lots?

Might it have been you
who watched with me psychedelic documentaries
and named canaries after variations of drug store medications?
who gallantly tolerated my most obnoxious outrageous disgusting
interesting unaffected out-of-their-mind friends?
who took me to absurd spots at absurd hours to breathe absurdity,
then churted we'd go, back the building we'd known?
who brought me in groups to feast on uncomfortable meats,
but between the awkward and networked gossip pipelines,
were enjoying the food and friends and flattery?
who drunk on dreams, droned on into darkness,
and dripped into ears of a man in his cave,
a man playfully perplexing you by pondering preposterous?

It must have been you
whose beautifully woven music reached my ears,
enveloped my being, seldom alone, and even when solo,
scattered brains with banter and brilliance combined...
who, with an open door and wide smile,
welcomed me to the mind's great opera house,
and gave audience to my own logical saga...
who in the weekend's weak end became crazy dazed amazings,
lazing in listless lack of activity, or senselessly celebrating
sins and kinship, all ways seeking erasure...
who gave me so many names against the grain,
jrosay or nerp or j or jackattack or just plain jack,
your classmate hallmate roommate or just plain friend...
who sat and sang and slew, dragons myths, moods,
and hit and clicked and ripped and spilt, toxins, guilt,
and hurt and failed and walked with me...


at least i hope it was you
you who paved platforms and bridges to raze amazing
and left vast caches of spectacular aptitude
or you who spread brilliance like plagues defined loosely,
grossly self-aware in great stares of embarrassed arrogance
and defeated demons crying freedom and bleeding love
you gave worlds great engravings, new meaning
to be me in new worlds new dreams new things
nooses spread shredded across mind fields
you lovingly led leaders over languid anguish
dangled carrotsticks and heritage bringing peace
you found you finding a place in space in winding time
under universal roofing aloof of stinking sewage
found a truth around music and beauty

shopping cart hearts that gather dust and poetry
blissful obituary tears splashing across my memory
loco rangers of brilliant oblivion armed with toothy news
slaying my molded upbringings refreshing genius

fair chance soul trade and daylong flatlines
double barreled shotgun roulette
blank charge buckshot
noisemakers both

that trigger
firing
you
?

When nights grow long and lights fall dim
The pale moonlight casts a fine shadow
‘Cross the pathways in front of the grand cathedral
And behind the tree in Helen’s Meadow
To set our scene anew once more

Mothers and fathers draw children close,
Gathered before the friendly fire
The Tale bubbles forth from long-worn thoughts,
Words strung and sung to the oft-plucked lyre
Wise words from rough tongues to desperate ears

Just one warm home sees silence then
Its riches a veil to hide bleak sorrow
For The Tale long told holds secrets dear
To the hearts of yesterday and tomorrow
And pierces today's with a vice-like grip

The daughter of Walter stares into the fire
Its crackling embers a restless reminder
Of Grandfather Friedrich, the gods-fearing Knight
And Grandmother Helen - his quest to find her
And doom-laden journey it turned out to be

The rumours of dragons had plagued Olde Vorlund
For decades before the armies marched in
Their crests aflame with glorious colours,
Their fanfare a growing, melodious din,
A cacophany borne of love and blood

Atop his throne, bedecked in red robes
The mighty King Halred announced loud and clear
“Behold! A call to all men of Vorlund
“Hear this, mighty warriors from far and from near
“This offer, unique in its time, is for you.”

The men of Olde Vorlund gathered around
Their listening ears silenced anxious hearts
King Halred drew breath, his standard raised high
Anticipation and fear in equal parts
As he opened his mouth to speak

“Our kingdom’s treasure,” his voice rang true
“Is stolen by bandits from the Northern Wastes
“I call on our bravest to arm themselves
“And travel abroad to that cursed place
“To retrieve what is rightfully ours.”

The eyes of the gathered remained fixed on Halred
Not daring to dart to the left or the right
The danger, now felt here, of bloodthirsty pagans
Made fully grown men crave for fear of the night
Or torture in dungeons at home

REWARD, read the image hung from the Great Hall
Finding the treasure not only for glory
The warrior who would restore Vorlund’s wealth
Would inherit a title, lands and a story
Sung by bards at home and abroad

Eight men approached Halred, on bended knee
Offering service to the gods’ chosen leader
Armed and armoured by the best in the land
And gifted a horse from Vorlund’s finest *******
To take them far north and away from home

The names of The Eight are remembered in legend:
Grimwold and Stafn, the brothers in white
Falki, the trickster, determined to conquer
Friedrich, as calm as a cool autumn night
And Bekan, the selfish and greedy hunchback

Olde Vorlund women grieved as Bolli left town
While Dyri and Kali told jokes to each other
The Eight dressed and ready set north all together
While sweet lilting songs caught the ears of the mother
Of each man, a dirge drifting into the night

The Eight crossed countryside fair and rough
Young Kali was first to meet his end;
A bear thought nothing of gripping his head
And ripping his life away from his friend
And Dyri lost hope on the road soon after

The next whose clock struck was beautiful Bolli
A one-handed brute beat his head with a club
After Bolli took single-armed’s wife to his bed
Then cared not to carefully tidy his mess up
Bolli’s bed now has been made in the ground

The Five now remaining approached the Wastes
Expectant to loot and return Halred’s treasure
Bekan crept onward to rob from the robbers
The length of his life met the end of its measure
And Four woke that day without knowledge of how

Grimwold and Stafn, the brave pair of brothers
Led Friedrich and Falki towards Bandit Town
Atop a near ridge they hollered their war cry
Fear entered the village as they bellowed down
One half of the bandits retreated that day

The battle that followed was swift, fierce and ******
Six hundred the number that met death that night
Among them was Falki, whose creeping and sneaking
Worked wonders until he tripped into a fight
And lost both of his hands before losing his life

The brothers in white and Friedrich the younger
Cared not to stop fighting while the sun did not shine
By morning the sight of the town was burnt crimson
The blood of the bandits caught up with spilt wine
And burned-out log cabins in every direction

The treasure was gone, like it never existed
An empty town holding now one lonely crone
Who said that the treasure had passed three days’ north
Ulred the barbarian’s treasure hoard grown
Stolen again by that fearful monster

The Three from Olde Vorlund resolved to continue
Tracking the man with his ill-gotten hoard
Across barren plains and through thick forests
They followed him, tugging his faintly-laid cord
Closing to grasp at the glory ahead

After one noon they discovered a strong trail
Signs of a scuffle there clear on the path
Excited, the Three embraced and moved onward
Ready to face the Barbarian’s wrath
And eager to grasp what was stolen at first

The opening glimpse of their quarry shook the Three
The lone-acting Ulred was less than alone
A lady in chains paced in time by his side
A beautiful maiden he’d made for his own
A desperate soul for the Three to redeem

The brothers in white found it hard to resist
They leapt out at Ulred, their swords in their hands
His legend stood firm as his axe found its mark
And both fell at once, their blood feeding the land
The Barbarian roared in a victory scream

And Friedrich, alone, hid behind a grey boulder
Showing no fear as he planned what to do
Gathering his wits, he took one final look
And paused as his eyes opened wide as a flue
For his sight was not filled with Ulred alone

The great dragon landed, the ground gave a shudder
Brave Ulred stood firm, caught with no chance to choose
As Friedrich looked on, the grand lizard attacked
In minutes the strong man lay bleeding and bruised
And a firm stamping foot ended one more great saga

The dragon, distracted by the screaming girl
Ignored the great treasure hoard piled on the cart
In one taloned claw he grabbed hold of his prey
And flapped his wings gracefully, using his art
And leaving young Friedrich to claim what was sought

But Friedrich cared not for the infinite bounty
For what can great wealth be when won at such cost?
He mounted his steed and stared straight at the dragon
They started at speed before the trail was lost
And Friedrich prepared himself to die that day

The dragon swooped low as they approached the sea
Protecting its prisoner by skirting the cliffs
Diving away, it took stock of the cliffside
And headed directly past massive sand drifts
Into a cave set below a large rock

Friedrich dismounted and leapt down the cliffside
Bare hand by bare hand he descended bravely
Arriving at the cave mouth within minutes
He paused for a moment, considering gravely
How he could save his dream lady at last

Grabbing dark moss from the base of the white cliffs
He covered himself, dressing up as a bush
He crept into the dark, every movement so dainty
Each step requiring his body to push
And holding his breath to protect his fair maiden

The cave was so deep and the tunnels so winding
Lost in the dark, blindly following the trail
At long last he saw her, ******* in the corner
The dragon had left her in his self-made gaol
And Friedrich strode up to her, one aim in mind

He released her so quickly, she collapsed in his arms
“My saviour!” she whispered in gratitude and love
In great need of rest, she pulled Friedrich close
And one night of passion settled from above
And Friedrich and Helen became one that night

As morning drew near, Friedrich woke with a start
The dragon was back and was roaring with rage
He woke up dear Helen, took her onto his back
And ran back to sunlight to take centre stage
To face down this great beast who threatened his wife

He pushed Helen upwards and onto his horse
Determined to fight off the awesome monster
From the top of the cliff he saw only one option
As the dragon looked upward
Friedrich looked down
And he brandished his axes
And leapt off the cliff
And struck true through the dragon
Saving his Helen
And plunging to death

Helen stared at the scene that unfolded below her
Distraught at the death of her only true love
Then she picked herself up and resolved to complete
The mission her Friedrich had finished part of
And she started her mount towards Ulred’s grave

She returned to the spot where the dragon had grabbed her
And looked at the treasure that Friedrich had sought
She picked up an apple and carefully planted
A tree to remember him of whom she thought
He who gave up his life so that she might live

The Tree of Friedrich still stands to this day
In Helen’s Meadow, not far from the sea
And their memory remains in tales and song
But words are not all of this couple we see
For that passionate night led to more than one seed

Helen took all the treasure and raised up an army
Who stormed Olde Vorlund for all it was worth
Then as Queen, nine months later, a new son was born
And the bloodline of Friedrich continues each birth
Ruling the people with justice and mercy

So here ends our tale of sorrow and hope
Of a brave young man who gave up his life
And as children today think of all that he did
They forget everything that they feel causes strife
And remember that love, faith and hope rule the day

some of us walk insistently,
instinctively, and instantly to
and upon the edged path,

this physical nexus & abstract mental locus,
a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail,
drawn of men, by men, for men

(yes, men are people too, still)

enthralling views,
down to the riverside,
where eyes intuit the
beauteous aroma of
precious precocious
precarious precipices
and the near-stench of
mortality

amidst
wafting scents of inane undesirable need,  
hints of destruction, or,
alternating eager relief,
like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness,
making weakness in the knees, all too real,
trembling with a delicious accented edge of
a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread,
an all enveloping consumption need now!

to
crave what we fear,
to fear what we crave
our cravings are craven,

this twisted sense, annuls
our common sensibility, yet,
titillates our pleasured imagined relief,
releases, our unsated, even better,
our insatiable curiosity to tremble,
an entire body enjoined by vibrato~
enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred,
this danger choice releases something primordial,
escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed,
it has its very own designation…death wish

multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses,
and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby,
I travel the esplanade près de the East River,
where even if calm is the sole visiblilty,
undercurrents and the unpredictable passage
of container wakes and the larger freighters
will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel
to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts

but even more tempting, the balcony,
a hop, skip and a jump unlocked,
mere ten steps, no need for a running start
why it’s the “height of convenience,”
he ruefully winces, and not even any
TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences”

Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable,
Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even
feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream

“Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.”

It's fifteen years
since I let Jack fall.
I am unforgiven
by a wife who wasn't there,
who didn't see what happened
and who will never understand.

And nor will I, of course.
That slow-motion slip
from crested cliff to vanishing
replays before my desperate eyes
each night,
and each night I am as frozen
as on that wretched day.
A harmless walk gone awry
and a family forever shattered.

He was within my reach.
Another day I would have caught him,
effortlessly.
Another day I would have walked cliffside,
keeping him to the thrift-speckled verge,
soft and safe.
Another day we would have walked a woodland trail instead.

I don't know why that day
was the day I was distracted,
the day my reflex failed me.
I don't know why my brain misfired,
conscious enough to watch in horror
but not to propel me forward.
Sometimes we catch the cup as it topples,
sometimes we watch it spill to the floor.
Moments of blissful skill
followed by moments of dumb helplessness.

It was no cup that fell that day.

To her, though, there is no general flaw.
There is no explanation in biology,
no hormone or synapse to be blamed.
There is only me.  Her husband.
Jack's father.

There are no two sides to my coin, now.
There is only the man who let him fall.
She stays: she is dutiful.
But I could catch every falling cup,
remember to lock every door,
make never another mistake,
and he will still be dead
because his father was a careless man.

Ten years before Jack fell,
I,
a cautious man, untutored in love,
saw a beautiful girl
and inexplicably threw caution to the wind.
Another day I would have turned aside.
Another day I would have stammered my invitation,
lost my nerve.
But for that mysterious moment
There would have been no Jack,
and we would never have experienced
a limitless, all consuming love
which all the pain in the universe
can never staunch
or dim.

I want to live like Starfish
simply giving my right arm
and noticing after I make the sand-angel
yet still resembling a furious nuclear planet 93,000,000 miles away
to forget a piece of myself and live as if it was always lost

to stick up my nose at lost extremities
'cause that's gotta hurt worse than heartbreak
bleeding nothing but the air I breath
like the currents and jetsam and shores
I am but a system of the sea

I wish to chase the tide
to make my worries be of the moment
letting seawater be my blood
ebbing and reviving as the brine tickles my insides
every roll of wave my heartbeat

yet blustery winds blow; rattling the depths with tempestuous intent
finding hidden fury concealed underneath my cracking skeleton
maybe these things are stored in a lost limb
and can satisfy some gull roosting in the cliffside above
eating my feelings for me

I wish my potential
were undiscovered depths
where seaweed grows like ivy across shipwrecks
turning former "value" into a house for the stars
maybe a couple with only four legs

The sea is a disaster of churning
LCU's buck like horses
From behind is heard the guns of destroyers
run aground in the shallow channel
Sixteen men shiver though the air is humid
Fifteen men know
they die today
Guns erupt from the cliffside
geysers of flame and water erupt all around
Craft is tossed
moving at snail speed
As death slowly approaches
Tongues of flame flash from pillboxs
the first man falls
Useless helmet fatally flawed
The boy begins to giggle
he tries to light a cigarette
his thumb refuses to flip the wheel
The ringing ping of ricochets off the hull
a rhythm of massacre
tears of a soldier singing his deathknell
Bow meets beach
gate goes down
Into the surf the soldiers leap
Clothing and gear turns to wet suits of armor
that do not protect from anything
Everything is screaming
****** bits blasted back into the sea
from ruptured flamethrower
Waves crash crimson and ******
pink foam forms
sickly **** of slaughter
Men cut down like wheat
the horror not complete
until Kraiss and Goth
order retreat
By then
three thousand men
lie dead in the waters
To the victor the spoils
blood and death like no other
The end begins
on the red shore of Omaha.

Poetry
Spilled from my mind
Like water
From a Tennessee cliffside
In the Spring,

But lately
I've been sober
And the poetry
Has stilled itself
Like water
On a Tennessee cliffside
In the Winter

These arbitrary measurements are killing me. Swiftly flies by without ever catching a glimpse of the sky. I go on and tiptoe through a temple where no one knows me, and then later regurgitate my soul in the form of poetry.  I have a big heart, but my ill mind sometimes controls me.  Other times I force myself to climb along the cliffside in an attempt to let the past free, so I won't be squeezed by thoughts unsettling.  My synapses are meddling, but I can't blame them, for truly it's my fault.  I have to re-train them, but first I must open up the vault.  
Long-lasting actions sadden, while the hands move in a circular pattern always towards madness..  I must leave this palace.  Mental waves of malice, where'd I put my chalice?  So much on my plate, that I pushed it aside and decided I didn't care to eat.  I won't accept defeat, yet I don't wanna face it.  If only I could just embrace it.  More than just to taste it, I swallow pseudo-panacea, a potion that sets more debatable mistakes in motion.  
Steer me to the ocean, let's get lost at sea.  No sense of time to abide by, thoughts roam silently.  Waves may rush violently, but I'll be one with the water.  I'll be in the current, flowing with the current so no longer will I falter.  Alter my perspectives, and brave foreign lands.  The only task that matters is the task at hand.  It's all my demand, and so I say time means nothing.  What's true is right now, so everyone can stop rushing.  Find the temple inside you, and turn work into play.  I will forever see you in my temple, friend, namaste.

The waves of the ocean crash against the cliffside rocks
The trees and the dirt behind me in the background
The water wakes colliding
The strong winds tossing my body
The sea water spray floating in the air
I think I am in my special place

I am mad
Not just mad, I am furious

People all around me lie
And cheat and steal
But worse they judge
And assume, and stereotype
So I am mad

It is the privileged
It is the privileged who judge the most
In their white castles perched on a cliffside
Their ignorance and lackluster
But they say ignorance is bliss
So I am mad

“Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness”
That's what our constitution says
Yet how can these be ours when those who are unaccepted
Those who are thrown out and tossed aside
Are forced to change for those who dominate them
So I am mad

If only
If only every Black, Asian, Native American,
gay, bi, woman, and person could see
That you are who you are
And not who you are told to be
So how am I to accept myself
If a cab driver I once had rolled his eyes at me and made me squirm in my seat
For wearing a pink wig and all black
So I am mad

I am mad
Because I can not be who I am
Because my curly hair is “too frizzy”
Because I respect the rights of others
I am mad

I am mad that I still have to be mad
I am mad
Because there were so many before me,
Yet I still have to be mad
Mad that the blissful ignorance is far too ignorant
Mad that a quiff-haired, white, christian boy tells me that having a pedophilic and sexist man as a president is better for the well-being of all than a woman ever could be
So I am still mad

I will stay mad
Mad at the ignorant
At the arrogant
At the system for changing once proud groups of people
I am mad
And I will forever be mad
Until I can look a KKK member in the eye without feeling like my life is at risk of ending

We stood on the shores of forever.
The transient waves
lapping at the Cliffside
Grinding granite
to bare sand and
granting mysticism to
           Perception.

Grand piano typebars snicking
to the roar of bonfires
burning the taste buds off our fingers
            Our tongues busy in rituals
          gifting freedom from base function
              to commune with Passion.

Newfound Oldschoolism
        stuttering confidence
                and alcohol imbibed clarity
screaming Ginsberg at Apathy so that sand might best stone

                  Spinning dizzily
in Rockland in Moloch in Purgatory
Dying vicariously under the table
while illiterate Jazz read
our right accusatory
                                 for falsifying veracity

Sitting in jail cells in
San Francisco for setting
         the sky aflame.
        And it is aflame.

Inmates burning with
unspoken tomes spoken
Who in madness spun truth
        in whipped tongues, begging
        for something worthy of Censure.
Who Rapture took under wing
        and proclaimed “Child!”
Who ripped open the sky
        to play with father time
        while mother earth ran green
                   in envy.
Who were acquitted on appeal
        to dance in the moonlight on the
        shore once more together,

        Who found lust skipping stones alone
and welcomed her to join us
Hedonists wearing it like a
badge on bare underbellies
rubbing orgied in reverence
       Running fingers through coarse
hair windblown and sparking
with electric sensation.
       Exploring, pioneering
quivering legs and chests
beneath and atop us.
       Inventing love while sinking
quickly in slow sands
while smooth hands grasped
for the fleeting finite
      Whispering sweet everythings
without words for they
would be wasted here.
      Pulling needy lips away
to idealize Communism
as Bourgeois swine wallowing
in prosperity and sweat
of our nightly deeds.
      Complaining of lost chances
and brevity of copulation
when we’ve defeated the bedsprings
      and Fantasizing of the bed, car,
floor, park, studio, and once
on the hood for good measure
      Forsaking sleep to defy
the mandate of the setting moon
      Praising the glinting ******
of Adonis and Aphrodite
in mutual longing
as the sun blinked into
existence through the window
until in merry acquiescence we
     dozed, dreaming
we had set San Francisco aflame
and lit our cigarettes on its
                embers,
While we slipped little squares
under our tongues and GoldenGatePark
turned alive and welcoming;
Gleeful mourning at the loss of self
        at the University
Rambling on about enlightenment
        full of pretentious humility
Establishing Anarchy in our veins
        so we might be closer to god

               And god lives right there
               in the shack atop that
               hill, handing out nature
               to the masses
sitting on benches, fried to comprehension.
       Proclaiming that the world
was bleeding glory to bewildered
               passers-by.
       Breathing in fog and smoke
to join oblivion quickly
       Bumping Kerouac’s ashes in
the selfsame alley
       Piling intoxicants to run sleepless
through the streets
                                       wild-eyed

Dragged out of gutters
        covered in nothing
               the morning after
                     finding our clothes
                          draping streetlamps
                     and leaving them
               in testament.

Yearning for that heavenly connection
         and finding it
             together.
Scaling the walls of
        the mind to
find mountains at
        the summit and
        climbed those too
and clamored past
        the clouds
and the stars until
       We found worth at the edge
of the universe.

                                             20 September 2010

Twas a ghost who wandered along the seaside
And each day she cried
With the rising of the tides.
A fitting metaphor
For her sorrows along the shore
Where she jumped to her death,
And exhaled her last breath.
She suffered alone in misery.
Drowning oh so pitifully,
Figuratively and literally.

She wasn't long for this world.
Even as a little girl,
She'd make herself hurl
And blame the Earth's twirl.
Her darkness wouldn't leave
So oh how she grieved
Over the reality she perceived,
Which was brighter than it seemed.

Her story haunted me
And her memory taunted me.
So I sought out the ghost
Who wanders along the coast.
I found her near the  rocky cliffside
Where her physical being died.
With gray clouds in the sky
And sorrow within her eyes.
I had to ask her why,
Why'd she leave me behind?  
In a world so bitter and unkind?  
She kissed me on the cheek
Said, "Sorry lover of mine.
I did not belong to you,
Nor this time.
Instead  I will wander for eternity,
Eternally a possession of the sea."

lets release unnecessary tension
i am not surprised that you arrived here
we all reach this shore eventually
and we can only remain indefinitely
so come now we must speak freely
and release the ego’s defenses
now is a respite from mind
as life is blind
and fire is destructive
unless you learn to contain it
for then it transforms into radiant virtue
like a serpent and a vulture intertwined
a flame that never yields
i speak of a thousand rivers
who each have the power to heal you
let's swim naked in amazement and wonder
let's contain the cosmos in our smiles
let's adventure on the path of sacred warriors
and breathe beauty from our noses
slip slide along the coast line
life is like a zip line
and its fine if you smack into a cliffside
cause you'll get a brand new set of fingerprints
i am a complex sentence
i am an unformed question
you are the iris’ extension
you are bliss
you are lifting up my world
and i am peeking under your carpet
i swear i had lost my mind
but you found it reclining on the couch
i swore that there were no more secrets
and you revealed my insecurity
life is a queen
and in fragmented dreams
she keeps me clean as a star

I can see the fog horn hasn't been lit
Staring at the wall of white
I hear voices of my friends, in the trenches
I can't help thinking,
"How could they all make it?
With you here, trying to fake it?”

It's icy cold in the winter
And it gets colder as you get thinner
As you pull yourself into doubt, into grief
I was in danger of slipping

Always in danger of the cliff before my feet
I've been sitting here on the ledge
But it's time to walk along the lonely ridge

Someone once told me, you've got to know your cards
If you see a bridge, well, it's your choice whether to burn it
But burning's not so easy when the match is in their hand
I tell you friend, I ran along and fell
The future has always been tomorrow, forever
But now the future's here in the palm of my tattooed hand
I can't see it, but it's glowing so brightly
Maybe I'm blinded, but it's as dark as an abyss

I see mist is floating towards me
Holding closer, dreams ignore me
Will I ever escape, will my boat come in,
Or did it sink?
I sit and think, again.