lately lounging lazily
lavish luxuriant lull
loosely leaning leftwards
lightly lilting lyrics
languorous lively locals
LOVELY

green men in green light
stretched, twisted,
in the midst of occult rite
verdant figures of living dead

the abyss stares where the face should be
something quavers the soul
a caged being that must not be set free
to gaze within is to be the fool

gaze averted, the world begins to bleed
ascend, ascend, the turning gyre
the virulent green, a germinating seed
entrance the mind, bring forth desire

left                                                             ­                                                right
to my                                                               ­                                    on track
    own devices                                                          ­      to my future self,
    i tend to go                                                             endless possibilities
        astray                                                  ­            but only one choice
        i wander and                                                           and I wonder
            i ask the universe gleefully,       who will I be tomorrow?
            what's out there for me to see?        the answer is silence
                 and so I go onwards and inwards, journey of soul
                 i go downwards and outwards, a venture so bold
                     life branches and twines, a kissing canopy
                     unified in the end, I'm where I ought to be

and suddenly
the start is something like a trickle of mountain spring water
it's minute, persistent, almost prideful
the progression is natural
it's almost a flow
it's an onslaught
the sound of bed sheets pulled over
soft silken sweeps emit in intervals
and then dispersal
with the gradual suddenness of sand slipping through fingers
like the clatter of marbles dropped from a hand
the multitudes emerge
scattered like a dandelion
consumed by the wind
and extension
until the last pin prickle straddles the edge of consciousness and imagination
with a pause
it cascades
the stream of water, stronger now, a river
and suddenly
impulse

when it comes time you must
    leap

and landing doesn't matter
because once you
    leap


you've already started
and it's momentum
and it's discipline
and it's waking up every day
to
        leap


even further
to do the thing
because the only way to do the thing is
                                        to leap



do the thing.

your dark hair on my pillowcase
it snarls me from my dream
i'm pulled awake by this dark strand
and all at once I am ******.

your dark hair on my pillowcase
spills and courses an ebony stream
my eyes drift to your softly sleeping face
and I pull you into my embrace

your dark hair tangles in my fingers
coils and grasps my memory
eyes, hands, lips
just beyond fingertips

your dark hair tangles in my fingers
our amor cloaked in an onyx curtain
I count the flutters of your eyelashes
and I kiss your neck so that I can inhale your pulse

there is a skeleton of an idea
born from some barely formed imagination
abducted from its incubation
and slammed into the dirt
under layers and layers
it fossilizes
and bone becomes crystal
and silicates abound
and the impression is ripped from the ground
paraded amongst the public
strung up and put on show
but what has happened to the flesh and sinew?