a whole town goes dark
all cars stand still
lights are out



silence . . .

then, something rushes by
nothing

or is it?


looming out of the jet-black inkiness
knees shake in cold moon
the sudden-roar of a impossible jet for five seconds
tinkling of three pedal-notes in the distance
a child's laughter calling from behind a deserted playground
sinister swirl of seeming-piranha inside the dark sky-folds
a half-dead bulldozer on the rim of a quaking river
murine-teeth ferret in a SUV-carcass long abandoned by instant-gratifixes






after..

birds chittering about the secrets of the night
while leaves embrace the wind*




S T, sun - 22 sept

the inkiness of night
creeps
from the rising moon,
down through the air,
turning all it touches to black.
a shroud impermanent,
but putting the world on pause
until it disappears
(as a cloud of smoke after air is blown through).

the rays of light
beaming down from that giant ball of gas
should fuel me, make me productive, producing, creating, loving, learning.
but instead, i toss paper *****
filled with cross-outs and ugly words,
mental ***** and unrefined ideas.

maybe it's because i need a little inkiness.

that night has to seep into my head and
darken from the inside out.
the words flow out,
exhaled breath,
soaking dusk light like a sponge and releasing it on the page.

things might need to be a little darker
but there's no shame in that.

Pulling barbs from deep within your heart
Feel your soul be ripped apart
And all the miles of chain you swallowed
Must be thrown out
Screaming as they entered in
Your ears, your eyes, your mouth, your nose
burning down your skin
And the pain thickens in your head
Like blood pooling on the ground beneath the dead
Dripping down into your sight
Inkiness  
as all the grime from past clouds of smoke are washed away
In a Tidal wave of grace
your ribs are bruised and crushed
In the Violence of Love
Ready to take the poison hidden in your bones
Dig Deep!
Let your old, iron stomach throw up
all the nails
whose place is in the wounds of Christ

The scream starts in my heart, but exits through my head
Every day I rise I remember that from the head down, I am dead
The things I thought would be poor sport, the wheelchair and work
Have turned to nothing more than **** and poo, and sometimes in the bed
My life changed in just one moment when I saw that specialist
But now I forget quite how I felt in that exact moment at best.
I lost the will to live when I found I could not do the things I loved
To walk upon the beach, to climb and see the coast
To swim, to run, to make love and be with the one I loved
So now I must sit and mourn and try to not look forlorn
There are those I love the most, who have given me hope
And those who slid away, trying to forget the other me
But when it comes down to it, I have to do my best on my own
I’ve been told I have to be strong, or that I am strong
The truth be told, I have no opportunity to be anything else
For who, if not me, will care to push me where I need to go
Life is ****** if not ****** well tough
But me, I don’t have to accept it as anything more than a game
And so I propel myself through the inkiness of night
But I see the light ahead, as I cannot afford to fail
And as they say, life goes on and I will refuse to be left behind
So I am strong and hard, but inside there is space
Space for my feelings, space for my cares
All in a box I’ll not ever reveal to someone else

My mind buzzing in a kaleidoscope of hexagonal memories.
I am reminded of when I was a child
My mother and I would drive for a hour deep into the
Evergreen woods to a small cabin,
Where an old man lived.

He harvested honey.
The beekeeper man.
I never went inside with her when she would go to buy
A jar.
The car riding idle, shaking while I wait,
I hear the hum of a thousand bees in the distance.

I imagine the hexagonal honeycomb
Home to hundreds of bees
All working simultaneously to bring me
But a single drop of paradise.

When my mother returned to the car she would hand me a Ball mason jar
Full of the stickiness of my desires.
The label slightly gluey from the beekeeper’s hands closing the jar.
I can feel the warmness of the honey seeping onto my lap.

The inkiness of honey dripping
Down my wrist.
Sweet, savory,
The flavor thick in my mouth
Each drop of amber seeping into each
Taste bud.

I always noticed the picture of this face,
An older man smiling.
A full grey beard and mustache.
There on the label he became alive to me,
A picture of the bee keeper’s head attached to the body of a bee.

I have a dark side
It's just on the inside
Which is why you probably can't see it

The other side of my skin
is the foundation for
a world with no stars

The world would be so different
if I could see it with my body turned inside out
Everybody would see my sadness
the inkiness of my veins
The tears in my blood
making it runny and
my organs aren't sunny
because my heart is the moon

But if everyone else
could see the world with my body turned inside out
maybe they would see that I'm more beautiful on the inside
than I am on the out
Because my organs:
My inky veins and My runny blood and My moon
are more attractive than everyone elses

Or maybe they're not.

Probably not.

My moon just likes to imagine they are.

I see the lights in the distance of the ocean
                                                       All I can think is if I can reach them
                                                                  maybe I'll be at peace
                                                   But that would also mean I would drown
                                                         Fully clothed and scared of water
                                                                  I would never make it
                                                           But would that be a bad thing?
                                                                  To die reaching peace?
I think that would be good
The black inkiness of the water
The solitude taking me away from
   a problem I have always faced
To die with the quiet peace of reaching
I do not think that that would be awful
                                                                   It doesn't look that far
                                                                 But I know logically it is
                                                            Everything in life looks like that
                                                       I stand at the verge of the great abyss
                                                               Just as I do with everything
                                                                              With life
                                                                             With love
                                                                        With everything
And yet I walked away
Is that a sign?
Will I give up for the fear of death or failure?
Will I give up yet again?
Will I quite because I fear being lost and alone?
All I am is afraid
All I have are dreams
Yet I fear the unknown, the chance of death,
the possibility of failing
                                                              I can't walking into the water
                                                        Just as I can never follow my dreams
                                                                    This life is impossible
                                                               Of course I can never go far
                                                          I dream but that is all it will ever be

There’s tonic water at our bedside
And crumbs in our sheets
And that word still feels sticky in my mouth

“ours”
Like candy coating
Cherry red and saccharine
Like happiness my body hasn’t matured into

I’m a river’s mouth
Spitting out melancholy
Dripping from my lips

There’s music in the foreground
And your breaths are muted under the sheets

While I stamp this sadness out of me
With the press of your warm mouth
Wet against mine

Letting this inkiness run out of me
Staining the places hidden
Under your skin

I’m writing out nineteen years of
Cigarette smoke
That I didn’t have to inhale
To get trapped in my heart

Across your shoulders at night
Hoping one day
Your hands will wring this out of me

It’s early in the morning
And you’re up spinning ambitions
Into something I hope I witness
The cobwebs of

And I’m naked
On your side of the bed
Watching your shoulders rise and fall

Under the humming
Of our overworked heater
Falling asleep to the promise of
The way you look at me

Let me be yours
For at least one more turn of hours

your shine

bogged down

by the inkiness

of space

yet you are still radiant

and I can see you even from here

shine bright my love

Yesterday died late last night in the darkness.
Today was born in the small hours.

It lay there quietly gurgling
Alone and vulnerable in the inkiness.

At the break of the sun
That stabbed then tore the horizon,
I knew it was mine.

death seeps
from every corner
the inkiness
of the night sky
suffocates me
trying hard
to squeeze me helpless
tears of resistance
flow
and the pain
is overwhelming
an imagined knife
cuts my heart in two
   then three
    then quartered
eventually left to bleed
out inside of me
leaving me feeling
lifeless
and numb

the once small spark of joy
and goodness
doused
before ever becoming
whole.

Rain pours down on my broken core
my nerves pulsate from the soak
still I quiver, though I dry myself
in the warmth of the sun
darkness besieges within
as the world passes me by
my comfort lay in the blackness of the ocean
lifesaver that has its absence
only fleetingly

I find solace with the sea creatures
I am lulled
they greet me with an enduring glance
no pretense in my sanctum
voices of my sphere
who empathize with my pain
and, as I exit for a time
I deem unsavory
the colors of the detached world, onerous
I totter after my soak, rattle with unease
my repose is dark, as I yield to the inkiness in peace