Carrying my truth.
I stand by my views,
watching through
my weakening gaze.

After a raging storm,
making peace with myself,
I vanish into the air,
my convictions fold with me.

Without simple answers,
wearing the new lens,
I see another world:
not clearer,
not wiser,
not safer,
…
just slightly shifted.

I can feel it,
smell it fragrant on the breeze
watch it in the leaves of broadleaf trees that bend to give me shade
taste it sweet upon my waiting lips
a kiss that comes to me
through every flower and bird and labouring bee,
not in gentle honeyed sips but fresh as new picked mint
every morning clear as day, bright as resting dew at dawn
I hear it whispered through the grass
summer is reborn

Measure your worth by your wealth.
Measure success in deaths.
He who is great
Will be he who subjugates
The poor, the pitiable, the powerless.

Carve your name in their flesh.
Carry your flag on your breast.
With each passing day
Force more others to say
That your way alone is the best.

Measure the truth by its traction.
Measure the weight on tipped scales.
Those who disagree
Will be those who will see
That in opposition, they fail.  

Measure your life by your lies.
Contrast and compare them throughout.
But whatever you do,
When your life is through,
Remember this was your only way out.

joining up the dots
memories knock

never ending recordings
demand attention to details

You are here
and once again I sink into silence
like a speck of dust in the light
reaching for peace

Your skin drinks moonlight—
my breath fans the quiet flames,
we burn, bound by stars.

I feel your light as my own, together we ignite.


Still waters awake
when your shadow moves with grace—
my silence sings back.

I dance in your calm, your presence stirs my soul.


I am born for you—
shaped from light your heart once called,
the stars hold their breath.

You are my dream made real, a prayer answered in light.


Let me be the wind
that fans your glowing ember—
your longing is mine.

I breathe life into your fire, our desires entwined.


Dust turns to gold here—
with each touch, time melts away,
heaven lies in us.

In your hands, even earth becomes sacred and divine.

he lives in an oblong trailer
at a trailer park.

every night he'd make a pitcher of margaritas.
salt around the rim of the glass.
crushed ice to the top of the glass.
the glass cold to his hand.

he turns the t.v. on
and the lamp on the night stand off
and sits in the easy chair
in the darkened room.

he'd drinks the margaritas
and watches t.v. until the station
goes off the air

and then watches the random dot pixels
and listens to the static coming
out of the t.v. speaker.

the flashes of light flickering.
and the blue light settles on his face.
eyes open, staring.

the darkness reached for him
and in the ghostly flickering,
he let it.