Firewalker

You are my dark side.
Unpredictable. Relentless. Addicting.
Never very far from dreams. You step out, but never really stray.
A mystery. Hidden behind a guise of wisdom and intellect.
You let your disease seep out, the toxicity present, the illness apparent.
Then bury it as quickly as you bared it.
Who knows how one feels in an emotionally broken mind.
Or if one can feel at all,
in a numbed
and shattered
heart.

Fear the feral heart.
For you know it may consume and sear and meld you back together...
with the greater threat of
shattering you
all over again.

Bast's Delusion

I used to tame lions.
Reign with courage and compassion. Move forward in exultation.
Exhibit seamless pride.

The glisten in my eyes has dissipated.
Pupillary eclipses emptying into black holes.
Owl round without the wisdom,
gateways into the void.

Less strength, more endurance.
Less ability, more tolerance.

Wandering
aimless and alone,
beating back intuition
while inviting demons to dine.

Wondering
whether the horizon
all along
has been a desert mirage.


I can force my unconscious animal into submission
through bodily punishment

I can stall the rushing hormones,
I can stifle and quiet the mad desire,
I can collar and leash the beast

with sleep deprivation
and caffeine catalysts
fueling the flesh with poison laced frankenfoods
gagging the mind with liquor comas

Run the temple into ruin
torn up and temperamental
collapsed from exhaustion.
Haphazard redneck repairs
to grind away another day.
Slave drive the body
always forward, always onward
with a limp
and a slouch.

The lust stops
but you can't tame a feral heart.

Of Dear Friends and Daughters

The world feels mad
but perhaps
the madness is mine.

I love her being
but she is not me.
She is generosity,
and kindness
but also gullibility to modern sway

or am I merely a rebel
feeling strongly the causes
that aren't really there.

She seeks out beats
to which she can bounce and energize
where I seek melodies
with which my soul can harmonize.

I'm an addict
to the power of experience
to the goosebumps and chills
to the grip of desire, the sight of fire
to anything that makes the heart churn.

Whether flesh, or manifestations of mind
teeming life, or decaying fate
daydreams, or the blurring boundaries of memory.


I saw an elegant woman on a street corner.
Flowing pink skirt reminiscent of Desperado,
long waves of dark hair spilling over olive shoulders
pure white blouse, off white high heels
and a young girl clasped in hand
with her own flowing dress
studying and mimicking her mother's stance
lifting the heels of her own flat shoed feet
attempting the grace
the class
the elegance.

I thought of my own daughter
how she will never witness the perfect heeled posture
never mimic the chic stance

for I am what I am
and it's so far from that.

I can pull it together
fake it for an evening
but never hold out for long

until I'm barefoot and burning
fleeing down the sidewalk
or the city street
hair tumbling from it's captive bodice
eyes seeking the glisten of starlight
over streetlamps
vanishing in the shadows beyond the edge of civilization
leaving a trail of torn lace and ribbons
a divergent path to moonlit enlightenment.

If there is nothing else to mirror,
it is vitality.
To seize the essence of mortal existence
relish feeling and create reality
become the song
become the paint
become the scratching pen
or merely the feet upon the earth.

She will be dirt beneath fingernails
lacking coloured enamel
calloused feet and unkempt hair
that does what it does, without battle or restraint.
She will be her beautiful blues
that make the entire face
without assistance of polish, or powder.

She will be sensual
and strong willed,
as fierce as her mother.

Yet with less sensitivity,
mischievous eyes
and devilish laughter
foreshadow a whole new breed
of Dangerous.

Naturally alluring
and vexing,
she will be both
a God sent blessing
and a demon devised curse
to the rest of humankind.

Cloud Spirals

I have stepped back
to admire the cliff with a steady stance
instead of teetering recklessly
upon it's edge
fantasizing the fall.

A Life of Tiny Miracles

As I tried to ride my way to salvation

on the hips of man

I never would have dreamed

that it would come in the form

of you two.

I swayed my hips in the natural dance

of our ancestral mothers,

I felt the infinite soul-web

ebb and flow

with every mindful breath,

I heard the human animal moan

escape my lips

as I laboured through the tension

of deliverance contractions

and I encountered the sacred 

in the newborn eyes.

My little marvels,

my beautiful mayhem.

Bringing constant adventure,

lessons on rolling with the punches

and laughing through chaos.

Challenge,

and triumph.

Smooth gliding,

and rocky rolls.

Temporary foes,

and permanent allies.

Torment, tears,

and true love.

Evolving my existence

into vibrant health,

wiser beauty,

greater strength,

softer touch,

gentler speech,

and blossoming compassion.

Teaching patience and acceptance,

how to slow down to feel the sun,

speed up to chase the wind,

and explore each day

brimming

with tiny miracles.

Dancing Petals

It's all coming back together
stars aligning
a cereus bloom in the night
of the mind desert.

Collecting the bones,
arranging the skeleton,
and daydream meditating
the song
that will bring it all back
into perfect composition.

Analyzing all the mundane
yet powerfully appropriate occurrences
the perfectly timed messages
unspoken in silence from La Que Sabe
guiding, preparing,
revealing the often overlooked pieces of the puzzle
the textures of the stories
the tendons, ligaments
and soft tissues

trust
let go
and most importantly,
focus.

The dusk is falling
stretch the sleep from stiff wings
trust the atmosphere
and drop into flight

towards
the beauty and bliss
of the soul's
moonlit pollination.

Feral

The time has come for gathering bones.

Bare hands knuckle deep
in dirt and dust
sifting
searching
fingertip feeling
blind eye seeing

disturbing all that has settled.

She has been long lost,
but I have found her trace.
Soon I will be singing over bones
and near-death ashes

to resurrect.

In this glorious reawakening,
bullsmoke nostrils will flare and billow furiously
carnivorous eyes will gleam in bloodthirsty madness
the ancient thunder will find it's voice and howl
moaning the pitch black birth of a new moon.

The song will steady into chant,
breathing movement into restless bones
and the corpse will steal flesh
to grow herself anew.

Hushed silence
and she is risen,
stretching
smiling

then sprinting wildly
and disappearing
swallowed by the darkness
that peels back
and bursts forth
into a million shrieking bats

to reveal
the surreal
midnight sun.