An absence reversed
Beheld
Belonging
Fuming lush greenery seemingly
Between the frothing
Soup and lather twinkling
Speaking
"Tradition may act dishonestly"
All and sundry
Trails along merrily
For traditionally
All is how it should be
Belonging to one and only.

Binding
A trade between the thin lines
A baking sheet made sprayed messy
Artists in threes
Shakers of mountains for invisible ease
The truth is simply
Things done traditionally
All-in consuming historically.

Flesh
Released
Is fresh
Relief
Hidden in the fabric's sleeve
A gaping passage of air and breeze
Racing electricity
Breathtaking silk from worms
And worms eaten by birds
Tradition
Sewing the dresses of Empress the third.
Halt
Her plea worth salt and sugar
Still
Like the skater's
Minted odour
Hope
Distances the valleys low dipped to the everlasted rivers
Where a time arrives for eternal celebration.
The embellishments of
Unwavered tradition.

Necklace of rope around your neck,
Cold sparkled your tears,
Mingling in our kisses,
Drawing out fears.
Blood crows' broken beak,
Moonlight mourning the free.
Your glimm'ring eyes,
'Ere eve of death,
Last thing mine heart aches to see.
Strange things happen here,
Under the Hanging Tree.
"String me up!
Lest apartheid influence separation,
String me up love!
Sing me songs of silence, kiss away segregation!"
My voice unwavered,
Decaying church bell tolling twelve,
Cold, cracked fingers fumbling rope.
Moon lighting the way,
The wind whispering,"hopeless,"
Frigid lies hope.
Shuffling of feet in the woods,
Edge of moonlight creatures stood,
Watching the Hanging tree,
Where the dead told his love to flee.
                                                           ­       -**Firefly

you place me on your shelf
right next to all the rest,
a commodity priced according
to which and whom are best.
you shove me to the back
so others may not see
the person who would sit
and reclaim you piece by piece.
I am a bitterness unwavered by the winds
I am an ice storm unstoppable in its onslaught
I am a tornado festering on the countryside
You are a man made up of
turned shoulders and lowered eyes,
a man who would much rather store things
than to see them in use.
Your fingers may peruse
the cylinders of my being,
it may be graced by
the loveliness of your cold touch.
However it is fleeting,
and I grow cold from disuse.
I am the item on your shelf
I am the mirror casually ignored
I am the gramophone screaming its discordant hymn
I am the void rearing its sickening maw,
waiting and watching for my prey
to wander helplessly into my gaping esophagus
I am the bat wing, leathery and clinging
to the cartilage of the world.
I am the item on the shelf,
high above the world,
looking down onto the ants
who scurry and shimmy to try to ascend.
They will not ascend
because God didn't make ants in order to fly.

Miles of indigo ocean floss the urchins from its rocky teeth
cracked, aged, sturdy

like our captain
unwavered by the changing tides
wrinkles deep in his eyes
skin dry from the salt of the blue.

The ship a knotty brown, pointed like a tri-corn hat. Roguishly handsome like it could Woo the sea.

Our captain sang stories
of the ship's past lives before its soul
settled into our vessel.
His adventures hearing mermaids
Lured under to their beauty.
Most men be tranced by their call
lost forever in their seaweed chains,
not this Stone-hearted Charmer.
With swiftness of a thief
his smirk toss the sirens under his thumb.

Johnny Two Leg sticks his knife into the lid of a large barrel
prys it open.

Maggots wriggle under the dark of it's planks.
Rot cotton forming in their crevasses.

"Another day another barrel" Johnny sigh to himself
lid clanking against the deck.

This will be the crew's rations.

Sing songing men with their plenty red wenches toss back tankards on board.
Their song isn't flashy,
not even practiced,
they just want their tales to be heard.
A chorus, or chant repeats between stories.
Some simpler, some scary, some tall.
Each member of crew taking turns with their voice boxes, scratching the black liquor walls.

Johnny Two Leg plunks the barrel center of the crowd
a loud cheering erupts.
The poor boy who was staged on a chair belting limerick of his most recent love affair has his stool politely kicked, knocking him prone,
causing a nearby member
or four to laugh.

"If a man is a song, is he really dead?"
booms our captain through the bustle. touching Johnny Two Legs back,
giving a smile as he walk past.

We form a line as he hand us vials from the barrel

thumb the frosty glass
pop cork unleashing purple mist tendrils that spiral round like a serpent's tail

look to our captain in devotion
who holds his vial out proud.
Johnny Two Leg stands prouder,
glowing for the captain.
The poor boy stand bright eyed, clutching.
Together we swig back the poison

give our souls to the next vessel
be it castle, sword, or ship.
They'll sing about us
of hearts calloused harder than oceans teeth
voices louder than the reddest haired *****
passion hotter than the fires of hell.

When their lungs grow tired of our song, remind them
'fore we faired the sea under their new flag
we breathed oceans of wisdom
devout to this Knotty Tri-corn Rogue.
May his story never die.

Connection comforts us with a warm sense of familiarity,
a piece of home we look to find and know,
in all of these reflective eyes that stand before us.
Some have searched their entire lives,
as though a sea of people have moved through them
because this constant searching for completion in another is a set up
for heartbreak if we can never truly dwell within our own flow.
If we believe another is all we need to make us feel
we will always be looking with eyes that forget how to close.
This love shall be false
nullified by our own lack of wholeness.
I´ve felt angry,
betrayed and hurt within the seas of such love.
All this unnecessary aching due to my own foolishness,
We are the only ones who make ourselves suffer.
We betray ourselves through a lack of self love,
through our own sense of incompletion.
Because I no longer know the meaning of lonely.
Just uncontained with all the love inside of me
unfulfilled by the door un-opened from within.
It´s our choice
we decide to not feel.
Many times I was foolish,
believing love had given me up,
resigned and blew away
just like the echo that journeys
when the wind moves in the trees.
Those winds carried many of my ideals
and I was just yet to open to this unlimited supply
not matter what or who goes by...
I hadn´t noticed until I closed my eyes
that Love stood unwavered
just waiting for me to re-open to myself.
The branches may´ve altered
leaves certainly died,
re-gathered
re-grew
but my trunk
always my core.
As Love is a door
that´s opened from within
and then lends it´s opening
to be explored
to be entered
with you.

Was out past Southend,
about eleven thirty five,
Saw a whole troop of girls,
dancing very much alive;
I struggled to my feet,
slapped a smile across my face,
Turned my sallow gaze
toward their alcoholic grace.
I said "evening ladies," and
I just tipped my hat, but
Hell, no sorry luck for this
shabby-legged cat. They ascer-
Tained a certain thought and
laughed into the night,
Quite the effervescent attitude
for the solemn moonlight. So with no
Pennies in my cap despite my
earnest little ditty, I just got
Right back on the train and rode it
straight into the city.
The conductor with his cyanide in
silver coated capsules, takes a
Tricolor mandolin and
plays it to relax you. A
Beggar on the chairs emitting
insight by the glass, and a
Banker saying prayers for our
little midnight mass. Be-
Spoke attire from far away to
dress your tired frame, and a
Medal and a badge with which to
decorate your name.
Tracks of steel and sterling pounds to
take you where you please, with
Speed unwavered, flying through with
masochistic ease. I got my
Map and made it through, to
Angel up on high,
Got off the train in pouring rain,
with nurses passing by.

I was once alone in triumph
An emotion unwavered by my poise
Balance was never something
We adhered to

If I could reach into your calloused heart
I think there’d be no disconnect
To why we felt so tied
to the same bloodline.

And I’ve been unwell
For too long now.

don't let the world change the way you think
but make contributions to the world
make people believe in something
whether a god or a diety

(oh what irony
to stay unwavered
but stumble a weaker link)

don't be afraid
    to bleed brains on paper
    to plead pains unwavered
string sounds slowly
string sounds quickly
do so daringly
rhyme no caringly
    do not balk upon the blind eyed judge judging unwonted
    spray inky gouts
dare defy doubt

I'm not gonna go insane
Although sometimes I can't promise that I won't
The clock on the living room wall has never  bothered me until I noticed the relentless noise it projects
The first tick u hear the harder it is not to anticipate the rest in high quality exasperation
It mocks ur mind and makes u cringe
The constant ticking is equivalent to an insanity filled syringe-
The worst poison of all
-But I'm not gonna go insane

Life's schedule works like clock work
Nothing ever changes
Each second follows just like the last
Each day fresh and crisp with unwavered blandness
And there is nothing I hate more than consisitency --
But don't worry I'm not gonna go insane

Each day is followed just like the last
With a strict schedule layed upon your desk on shown on your lap
Weather is predicted,so is this game
But really trust me Im not gonna go insane

Oh who am I kidding
I'm teetering towards crazy
The fixed ticking is too much
But I don't want to be a victim of familiarity

Promise me one thing
Before that ever happens
Make sure my life was lived unanticipated

Like a clock stutter
Or an unexpected storm
A broken pendulum

Id rather die young
Then sell my soul to a life full of deja vus

***** me with suspense
**** me with adventure
**** me with spontaneity
But for Gods sake don't **** me with repetition

The performances gone,
  all memory survives

A spirit most willing,
  whose body still tries

All motion much slower,
   directed regret

Intention unwavered,
—times ravage beset

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

The tulips still dance when the air sits still
A calm breeze implores them to bow to the sun
The trees stand unwavered, awaiting approval from the big beautiful burning ball in the sky
Stained by warmth, a soft subtle sailing wind Embraces them
The dance, carries on

If life lies, why do I try?
If death dies, do I fly?
An unanswered question
Actually two of them

My hope is unwavered
My hope is also dying
Contradictions arise
This logic capsules

I relentlessly continue to crawl
Slow and unwavered
Forgiveness being my destination
Yet the extremes my emotions have endured
Scorched and barren
Your constant reminders of my failures you continue to prey upon,crumbling my Hope's and dreams
Within my own personal ancient ruins
As I forage for scraps of acceptance from you
My humbleness shatters
The tiny sharp shards piercing my stability and ego
Until all that is left are
Rotting bones
From a corpse
Which possessed so much love and passion.
And here I crawl

How could I forget
When I met you
You were drinking Soju

I had the same Korean market earrings
Shifting in my ears
Magnets swinging sober

Drunk on approaching you
All sunken eyes and crooked lip
But this was not our fate
I’d call this having the upper hand

In that moment, we could argue it was me

All wicked and intentioned
Closing bar as I tend to
Always last to be called on or kicked out
Call it what you will
Just, call me

You call it confidence I call it chaos
You claim I caught you when I spoke

But let’s be honest
It was always you

You radiate a warmth I’ve never needed
Until now
So now,
Who’s really got the upper hand

Put my money where your mouth is
Because I can’t live on “what if” notions
Too much agony in uncertainty
Too much going with the motions

You
A believer in “just going for it”

Me
All calculated and miss-calibrated

I’m prone to keeping wary company
Keeps me grounded
Keeps me satiated

Know I’m reckless and unwavered
I’d hardly call it well intentioned

More like there’s more to fear than losing
More crushing soul in desperation

And we both know I could stand to feel something

Observer to which I promise
Promise to you appreciation
Sweeten me with voice
Voice thoughts so admirable
Though I am unwavered
A buoy still with the tides
I wish to one day value this
Vanity, if you will
As much as I value complexities
Morality and coping
Intelligence and capacity
And when you, observer
Promise me appreciation
I will let comments so sweet
Ruffle my tides of mind

It’s always in one ear
Then out the other
Never truly hearing me
Never really saying something
Just stand politely and agree
Do what they say and hope it all passes

As dark falls
And no one is around
It’s okay to lock yourself away
Crying the day away
Just until you fall asleep
Ready to restart and hope for freedom
Freedom from the demon dwelling

You think I’ve got thick skin
But it’s this thick skull
Just here to protect
Force away all that have nothing to say
Keep what stability is left
Just before it crumbles

Just gotta bury myself deeper
Let the breech come
Sieging what sanity was left
Driving myself mad
Only becoming my own worst enemy
Just don’t let me drown in my sorrow

You just sit there clueless
So unnerved by the brutality
To the possibility of fail
Yet here we stand
Just trying not to cry
Taking them deep breaths

But these intrusive thoughts
Just hacking away at the last of my heart
Trying to force me into numbness
Unwavered by the dangers of finalizing
Arms going limp
Unable to speak