remnants

remnants of arguments

and surprise appearances,

Sheffield revisited with a

click, a birthday gesture

happiness is anonymous

the way heartache is there

for all to see, but

no one has to guess 

eyes straight forward,

future through a windshield,

calm colors of sunset over

turtles in a familiar lake 

I never stop loving her, even

in the hardest moments

as her beauty runs away,

I can always find it

stay focused they say,

the angels in my head,

I'm a million nows from dying

and we have just begun

home to fluff the pillow

and find the coldest side,

enter sleep's dark tunnel

and hitchhike into a dream

bled

rip me open, drain me of

these poisons

you call me succulent and

I call you devourer 

tongue to flesh below the 

eyes of wolf and crow

black night, black thunder

and willpower surrendered

(Image by dieJodis on deviantart.com)

closing time

Sunday is closing now,

the light comes crashing 

down

we sulk and mope with

clenched fists

mumbling to our fastened

shadows

about what lies in the

hours ahead

there are a few (couples

only I believe)

still caught in this quiet

romance,

the last of their intimacies 

before the alarm

there's nothing quite like a

Sunday quiet

I'm resolved to just admire 

its ancient decay

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

not really praying

talking to god in vowels

but its too soft to make a

difference

most prayers are shaped as

consonants 

sharp-edged, crowded

or out of place

I'm not really praying though,

more like hoping 

( I don't like to

throw things at intangible

notions )

innocent wishes

fluttering in the air,

soft ducklings swimming in

a deep black lake

most of these will be

blown away

or drowned

for the rest of them

I provide my own securities

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

I, seeing you

(Image from morethanfleshandbones.tumblr.com)

photon bathed

primal,

instinct into delirium

I, unwashed of 

harbored things amassed

pulled out, pulled forward

to nude

with crimson flush

in petty flesh,

this liquid surge

both pulse and flow

the hottest melt

now cries, now sings

with radius reach

into out of bounds

  whenever we lie

  upon silence unfed,

  there ripeness bleeds

  as punctured fruit

(Image from designtaxi.com)

August

August, with its

morning breath

steaming up the

windows like a 

greedy dog

fierce cacophony

of hungry reptiles

below the humidity

of still hours

harsh sunlight and

swelling storms, both

falling upon you and I

so helpless here

sweating in obscene

places, the biting

beach sand, tree shade,

car wash relief, umbrella

slipping September a

love note, X's and O's

waiting patiently for

her to take my breath

away, or just give a 

promising wink

(Top image: mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

(Below image: exOskeletal-undead.tumblr.com)

journal-11, arrival

I had forgotten or dismissed all of the ingredients. jambalaya in the pot, zuppa di pesce, or what have you. regardless, what I'm saying is that something didn't taste right. so years went by and life rolled along and I got used to the hunger, never choosing to indulge. nothing seemed appetizing. or my palate changed. or I swallowed my tongue in my sleep. I really don't know

numb: its a feeling of not feeling. hold a flame to the skin or be kissed by a beautiful smile... but nothing. no reaction. its that absence

there comes a time of change. everyone has a spring season. I sat in my winter and got used to the cold. it felt awkward to dream of the warmth of sunshine. where in this pale surrounding were the colors the others played in? underneath or above or beyond what I saw before me? I heard laughter in a vacant playground. the whiteness stretched out for miles in all directions. somewhere things were blooming, I just couldn't see it

you have to be willing to be rescued when the chance comes along. what I'm saying is that spring is not a place, its an arrival. an acceptance. you allow the thaw. you look inward and outward to see the colors. you feel the blooming everywhere

I hold one persons hand now, and it fits right every single time. the hunger is gone because I am now fed. I taste completion. I feel the kiss and I feel the flame. these colors are new and they are all around me. they come out of nowhere, they come from within. I look at her and I constantly feel the arrival. I wish I could explain it more. perhaps... as these years go by

( my photo )

borrowed time

I'm walking up against 

the wind,

this is indeed my 

borrowed time

the cuffs, the lattice

the burning furnace

the thorny glade

the wired wall

magnitude of malevolence,

one tired hand upon another

cutting into this air

slithering through inadvertently

egress, the high transom window

and sight of sunshine

...

I'm walking with the 

wind now,

this is no longer 

borrowed time

the hatchery

the abundant cloud

the river, the highway

the umbilical love

relevance of release

into the transformation,

the perpetual firelight

the significant ease

the expanding awareness

all flight, free 

as feathers

(Image from fineartamerica.com)

vegan ice cream / at the creamery ( 2 versions )

vegan ice cream

an easy afternoon

delighted in her presence,

a simple day on repeat

our secret connection

casual and carefree in a

downtown ice cream shop

they just find you sometimes,

these delicious flavors of

cherished togetherness

or once in a rare while 

you seek them out but they

morph into something better

its been so long since I've 

had this taste or made this 

effort, I had to devour it

watching her enjoyment with

fondness and arousal, her

beaming eyes and lapping tongue

I didn't search for these things

that are good for me, delectable

like vegan ice cream, like her

but releasing fears and

taking chances brings 

welcomed surprises

if you let it

...

at the creamery

an easy afternoon

delighted in her presence

a simple day on repeat

casual and carefree in a

downtown ice cream shop

they just find you sometimes

these delicious flavors of

cherished togetherness

(Image from @thegreenerycreamery on instagram)

glass shards

even these pieces of me

scattered on the ground like

glass shards, the whiskey bottle

aversely reflecting the moving

hours of the sun. a warm tint 

of creamed yellow and bronze

tastes of sharp drunkenness but

not intoxicated by the heavy proof.

I pick them up, every one of them

jagged stiff flower petals of sorts.

if they're going to wither and die

it might as well be in the palm of

my hand

memories of broken selves,

shriveling

(Image from pxhere.com)

warrior

a thousand times

the weapon meets me

with obsidian-sharp 

edges

unshielded, vulnerable

( there's no choosing 

what comes our way )

a thousand times

the weapon penetrates

I'm learning to live with

the wounds

(Image from echoarchery.hgsitebuilder.com)

journal-10, moonrise to sunrise

nighttime starlike creatures in the sea. the bioluminescence washing ashore. flickering their own sultry pattern. until an uncelebrated death in the sand

confessional quiet. and the pews are empty along this shoreline. there's no penance being handed out because there are no sins being committed. these hours consist of innocence and reflection. the release of cluttered minds and deeper troubles. limp evacuations. letting go and surrendering. ( I walked into the shallows and let loose a heavy vomit )

Venus rising. so powerful. risen. magnificent. rippling glow across the ocean. cool breeze yellow-white. faintly distinct below her stature. and good morning Mars and this crescent moon. a diagonal trio. just... breathtaking

( O sun... no... not now... please don't ruin this )

I'm a modern mess. collapsing. rebuilding. in love, in pain, in confusion. in the way of the fishermen who have arrived now. casting their bait into the surf. setting their rods into their holders. I walk below their lines. taught filaments slightly bent with the morning winds

I need to leave. this is no place for me now. all of the hours of darkness and glow have gone. and the trio is fading into the blueing sky

(My photos 2/27/2022)

like fossils

(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)

its a long life of 

guessing and hoping

( what bends us out of shape

while tending to the light )

I have a headache full of

powder, a soft sentience...

I hope one day my words

mean something to you

finding them like fossils

brushed off and cared for

fulfilling the alien need as

I wander along in time.

(Image from stocksy.com)

embraced

solitude has a hold on me. I hold it back. 

slow tempo of the guard now pacing. I open up. my sternum split, ripped apart.

invasion of privacy. self-stranger trespassing on the grounds. the alarm blares. dogs are barking. their vicious readiness scrapes at the dirt, foams at the mouth. agitation in multiple dimensions.

there's no running here    except in circles, spirals, coils. the lost one finds the missing one   who finds the one who left   who calls out to the one who went searching   and is now the one who is lost as well. 

I see you're confused (says I to I)    let's be different today. let's not try to figure everything out. let's jump in the mud-middle taking deep breaths and swallow. 

embraced. and I don't know where I begin, or where I end.

(Image from overthink.tumblr.com)