Breach

Overwhelm yourself with choice

Laugh at the absurdity of habit

Break through the wall

Don't wait for the dust to settle

Run through the breach

Make way for what is to come 

The Fool

Immovable choice

Cower in fear 

Victim of your own mind

Feeding possibility

Denying action

This fear will cast your fate

Grab the torch

Set out in darkness

Eternal You

Of all the lives I've lived 

your face is the one I still remember

Through passing centuries

your voice still haunts me

Left with only memory

I relived those moments

until they became a story 

I can hardly believe

People wonder if such a tale

could ever be real

I cannot let them know

You live on as myth eternal

The Poetics of Savagery

I'm not used to living in the future.

It's a strange feeling always being 

just farther enough ahead of everyone else

to have to think of when and how to reach out.

It's a modern problem of communication.

Put it down and Pick it up

Don't live out your drunken author fantasy.

Broken lives, shattered hearts,

enough alcohol to kill you 

or force you into grateful sobriety.

Do you want the fame or infamy

of those scoundrels and ne'er do wells?

Of course you do

but no amount of drinking 

is going to make you talented.

You have it or you don't.

If you don't 

you can always 

work your fucking ass off.

It doesn't guarantee anything

but at least you'll go down swinging.

Perhaps your estate may be posthumously

swimming in funds you lacked in life.

Pay your dues.

Be humble regardless of any success.

You're no different than

the kid ripping tickets 

at the movie theater.

We're all the same stuff.

I can't stop you,

and honestly, even if I could,

I'd let you drink yourself to death.

Use that free will of yours.

Put down some words on the page.

You'll feel better when you do.

Put down that bottle.

You'll feel better when you do. 

Be Your Own Master

Take the reins with a firm hand.

Let the horses know your strength.

Dust will be your wake.

Dawn to sunrise,

chase the horizon.

Grasp for it.

Her Cabin

I saw the rain drop upon the lake.

Her father said we should eat inside.

We took the chicken and corn

off the hot coals and placed them

on the wooden table. He had once 

told me that it was a hundred years old.

The people who built the cabin 

had made it. Looking at the dark

and sturdy wood made it apparent.

She placed the plates and cutlery

down and I set the corn and chicken

at each setting. We sat to eat.

Flowers on the table. Colorful bits

of pottery, plates, and knick-knacks,

all decorating the cabin. She wasn't 

here. Yet she is. Eternally.

Enfold

I vaguely remember my childhood.

The rush of the city, cars, 

voices in many tongues.

Every convenience a given.

Our lives were of impatience

at that which was not immediate.

It was sudden and quick.

I have forgot my age

but I can feel it in my hands,

see it in the strands of grey.

Concrete overgrown by green.

We resist our nature

as we are subsumed.

The Whip

Do not gorge in front of them

Do not let them know of your hunger

Masters will exploit those

who know famine and scarcity

I know you hunger

Do not let your belly burst

Majestic wings

Child of Joseph

Landing on the petals

Drink deeply

Children of the Earth

Only one knows the whip

Without A Trace

I haven't forgotten the feel of the bar,

the stool, the countertop, the glass of whiskey,

the stubby brown bottle of shit beer.

It's carved into my memory of that time-

remaining clear as an empty tumbler

with a splash of melted ice.

The games are still playing on the tv,

the regulars still sit at their stools. 

Everyone still bitching 

about work and politicians.

Those goddamn bastards.

Who cares about memory

when there's no trace

of the day before.

The Mirror Becomes The Door

Don't be useless to yourself

Even if others have given up on you

Be of use to yourself

Face that bathroom mirror

Look into those aging eyes

That lined face

That greying hair

Ball those fingers into a fist

Grasp what there is to grasp

Take it

Take it

No one can give it to you

Open the front door

Old Crow / Well Whiskey

I don't want to hear 

all the beautiful

flowery language

used to describe

the beauty of life

the brevity of it all

the precious time

  we have left

Give it to me straight

like a shot of whiskey

brown and mean

and burning

my throat

into a rasp

Raymond

Ray is dead and he has been for years.

Gravy. He called the last few years 

gravy. He was Good Ray in those 

gravy years. Not the bad Ray that 

burned his life down over and over.

The Ray that needed a drink first thing

in the morning, the Ray who cut stories

past bone down to fatty marrow.

Ray knew the sourness one can inflict

in this life. That gravy was sweeter 

than any sourness ever was. 

The Sacrifice

I cannot let myself believe she has become

what I have seen her become.

How can I stand up to the murderous evil

that flows through her?

If I deny the reality of her I am a deluded

fool who will fail.

To save her I must end her and accept 

that is my fate as well.

Princess, why did this path rise up

towards us?

The Orphan

Days of the week, months, years, 

these are things that no longer matter

much to me. I had to let them go 

when I let go of my name. Faces,

voices, laughs, are distant memories.

Feral in appearance, I struggle to 

keep my mind together enough

to remember I was one of many 

of our kind who lived. The tried

earth carries on, though, it is weary.

Everywhere I walk I enter into 

another cemetery. Water tastes so

sweet when it touches my lips.

I was an ungrateful child. All of us

were. I rest in the shade of a tree. 

The heat becomes waves I can see.

I feel the wind touch me. Go further,

Child. You must. Yes, I must.

Prophet

Out of time 

Floating in limbic space

Do not grasp what you cannot hold

The heated eye of Ra

gazing down

and consuming all

Scorched earth

Bleeding soil

When does the scar emerge

Breathe in deeply

with eyes closed and release

when ready

Open Hand

I am remembering a beautiful place

that no longer exists

yet I carry it 

with me

A pond filled with life

Trees as regal as any royalty 

What is it I have taken

that I now hold?

Even then 

I could never grasp it

in my fists

Surrender the Chrysalis

Know the tides will come in and out

That is their nature.

Know that your tides will do likewise.

What memory comes to mind?

Was it being a child

and losing a tooth?

Is it sitting in the ashram-

a visitor looking for the path?

What must be surrendered?

A caterpillar can never stay as such.

Holding Open

There is respite 

in the places where comfort

has been found before.

Go when you need it

and as often as you like.

Don't be afraid 

of diluting its power.

What are you listening for?

It is there.

What are you looking for?

It is there.

Have you closed your eyes

and looked behind 

the irises?

Open your hands.

Here is your sign.

One Day of Struggle

This is the problem with being sober-

you feel everything.

There is no substance to be ingested

to elevate or subdue

the rising tide within 

the heart and mind

Simply an OS and the body

I miss the excess

and the feeling 

of artificial light 

raging through me-

pushing me through 

darkness and light alike

I run unassisted

except for those I lean on

when I feel the brakes

doing their work

I am still learning

to be myself again

in a new place

that might as well be

a continent never seen by man

I change my mind-

I don't miss the excess

The Beach in the Forest

A wave crashing down upon my heart

Washing over my mind

Flowing through my eyes

and down upon my cheeks

I listen to it over and again

Hearing wind through trees

Seeing water lapping sand

Another wave crashing

More water flowing

Rivers surrounding

my eyes

Approaching Natural Rhythm

to wake 

and not rush

natural rhythm

of rest 

sunlight 

in your eyes

wake

yes

wake

Scarification

Sometimes I forget

I am living in the future

by three hours

It's not much different

except when it comes

to how early or late

it is for my family

and friends

Please remind yourself

that when everything

is ripped apart

allow time for healing

Don't rush through it

Let it all come back 

scarred but whole

Summer Rain

Blue towel drenched in rain

Drizzle and pour

Drizzle and pour

Is she still watching us

from her place at the table

I sit here now

from where 

she sang