I only feel myself being pushed
            over several feet
        and then being spun around.
I see a bright flash of light,
   but I've lost my sense of direction.
My instinct tells me to stomp on the brakes,
   but it is too late.
What should I be doing?
It's too late for what?
As I slowly regain my senses,
The sound of metal scraping against metal
   plays continuously in my mind.
And, when I finally hear silence,
   I swear I hear the ****** of headlights
      falling to the ground.

Love is not a one-way street.

i still dream of morning's past,
which i'd hoped would always last.
though i no longer sense your skin
and rarely am i invited in,
for me, the greatest sin
it that you still hold my heart.

I'm an active volcano.
Sometimes, I slowly expel
My ash and steam; then again
I erupt to litter all
With my fiery core from hell.

Sometimes I poison the air.
Other times, I castigate
Those, who would subvert my goals.
I demand sacrifices
Of innocent and guiltless.

Bring me virgins, more virgins.


Maiden's Answer:

Dearest sovereign of this mountain land,
Your humble servant, accepts your hand.
To save ken, friends, and our countrywide,
I gladly consent to be your bride
For, in a sense, I'd become your wife.

I'm vestal, as the day I was born,
My integrity is not wayworn,
My righteousness is a source of pride,
But I shall promise to be your bride,
If you may grant my one small request.

Your strength, your wisdom, are beyond compare.
You have spent an eternity there.
So, I must ask a simple query,
Before I promise us to marry.
Might you be overcompensating?

a secret is a wild
   climbing vine,
      which consumes
         slender cracks
      and early mornings
   with scandent possibilities:
      first of familiarity,
   then affection,
then intimacy.

a secret needs
   very little
      to support it
   neither water
      nor food
and only
   a modicum of  truth.

i want to be the one
in whom you confide.

have another glass of wine
and spill your secrets.

She says complex, confusing, tough, involved, and hard to understand.
I say messed up.  Wrong thing to say.
She says arduous, intricate, perplexing, abstruse, and difficult.
I say fouled up. 
She begins again, but I interrupt and insist we get some sleep.  
I then watch her set the timer, so she can brush her teeth,
   for exactly two minutes.

a single leaf
attached by a thread
flutters with the wind

why does it not let go
and join its brothers and sisters
to blanket the ground

does it believe it will
recapture its vital force
with the return of spring

or does the tree hold on

my yet un-born baby daughter
dances **** in mother's waters
a wild child, she, who loves to play
while i must hold the world at bay