22 December 2011

Spirituality: Shiva’s Supplication

I awoke this morning
From a dream which is the reality of you.
I have thought you across this Universe
With Gravity and stars like words;
I who destroy atmospheres, dissolve in Yours.
I wrap Myself in incense,
Burning this jasmine to draw You near to Me.
Though I have Power, though I am Power,
I am powerless against Your density.
This lust is systematic.
I am God, yet I worship You.

I kneel before You in ecstacy
Pulse racing as I raise My head
To give My supplications.
This is communion sweet;
Your honey-flesh is spiced with exoticness,
Sweeter than starlight,
Hotter than stars themselves.
I stand, free of all adornment
Feeling Your essence surround Me,
My face wet with Your first blessing.                      

I take You slowly from vertical.
Your temple welcoming Me,
Knowing I am praise-full for You,
Knowing I am ready to worship.
I float in Your mathematics,
At the dawn of understanding.
And as My wisdom deepens,
Your rhythm undoes me, pulls forth My                   
Prayers like magnetism
And You receive them like wine.                                                           
This lust is systematic.

Your knowledge is so fundamental,
So pure.
In the thousand years ‘til tomorrow,
I lose Myself in Your eyes, flashing
Above lips red and full,
Moist with secrets.

18 December 2011


On these never-summer nights, when the air of my life
Forms clouds that hover about me,
I raise my arms to distant chips of bitter ice knowing only
That somewhere, under this uncordial mantle, you are;
Even though those dark, sweet hours when it was
Your hand that I held by this very frosted moon are forever lost.
My soul is one with this winter night.
This ice that kisses me when the wind blows is enough,
It burns my shadowed face like your kisses never will again.
But still, my tears should not freeze to my face-
Each day I spend without you is cold enough without the mockery of winter.
So I lay me down, under a diamond blanket, to rest at last
Wondering now and ever more, by what storm came you here. 

13 December 2011

In The Deep Purple Bliss

We are not children of the sun,
not us, not in this incarnation.
We are the dancing stillness of the night.
And when moonlight touches us,
And my arms find your body within,
I hear your name whispered in bliss,
Flowing from my lips to your heart.
This is when I am a Man;
When I am reflected in your eyes,
When your atmosphere swirls around me,
When we touch each other without touching,
Standing in harmony under stars’ regard,
This is when I am a Man.

Seeking the deep purple time,
When removed we are from sunlight’s weight
And I may enter you presence unfettered,
Measured not by cosmic dimensions, there at the door to night,
We rush head long through the steel hours,
Souls longing as much for eventide
As our hearts long for one another.

We are the dancing stillness of the night,
Having shrugged free of summer days,
And it is to you I turn,
To the one I love,
To share chilled moonlight by the glassful,
To know Love.
I live in your eyes here,
In the darkened midnight hours,
When no other eyes touch us,
When your smile is all the moon I’ll ever need
Then, and only then,
Carried by African drums and space-age times,
Do I live.
I was made to Love you.

We are not of the days,
Bathing each other in late breezes,
And we feed each other every second of darkness,
Eating our nights together with all our souls
Because too soon even the stars fade.
Each hour nourished by your smile is another endless night,

Another passionate dusk to sustain me,
When darkness fades and I am
Tortured by Hyperion’s gaze
And distance from you.
Knowing I will hold you tight again,
When the deep purple falls
And I live in your Love;
Where the night is so easy to remember
And so, so hard to forget.

fin del año

“I had not known the sudden loneliness of having it vanish,the moon in the sky of dawn.”
                                                      -The Tale of Genji

This is the death of the year,
These last, precious days when
All my world is the silence of snow
And memories of you, slow as if covered by ice.
These are the last days of my recollections,
The final thoughts of late kisses and midnight dreams.
Every day, all hours, each second that passes
Burns you indelibly onto my soul
With a heat the ice of this world never cools,
Just this cognac shall never warm me
As fully or as completely as you.
These are the last hours,
Soon what I am shall be no more;
The substance of these words less than
The memory of a snowflake while
Nestled in the bosom of June.
I cherish the nights made nutritious by your smile
And I long to regain August while in the heart of winter.
Stretching each hour, always aware of the passing seconds,
I lick the face of my watch to taste the essence
Of the times we spent loving,
Of all the words between us,
Of every passion we ignited,
Every dream we gave birth to.
But this is the death of the year
Spring’s promises and summer’s heat
Gone just as surely as autumn’s leaves,
And your hand gone forever from mine.  

15 November 2011

Last Night

I stood at your door in the rain, last night,
Only wanting to end the pain last night
Too unsure to ring the bell,
Scared of the story my heart wanted to tell.
A story of a man, a woman and careless Love.
So I just stood there, tears mixing with those from above.
I remember the cops the argument the fight
The anger I felt driving away that night,
Away from the family I thought I was gettin back
Away from the future I thought was on track.
Remember how you asked, this time, not to let
Pressures and problems between us get?
Yet here we are not speaking again
Not lovers, not family, not even friends.
I don’t know if these wounds will mend
And I don’t know if this time the silence will end;
All I know is that I stood there in the rain last night,
Only wanting to ease the pain last night,
Too sad and loving to keep away
Too proud and lonely to maybe stay,
And too unsure to ring the bell
Scared of the story my heart wanted to tell.

And ever has it been that love
 knows not its own depth until
 the hour of separation.”
Kahlil Gibran
The Prophet


This Lust is systematic.
I taste you across this universe,
My heart racing in your regard, warm as sunlight,
My longing now a part of my being
As I seek to be the air you breathe.                                                                        
I am in awe,
Sent adrift into autoerotic mastery
Every time I contemplate the delicate lines of your labios rosados,
Every caress I imagine in your honor
As I fall into a familiar dream:
 We dance naked by candlelight,
 my eye tracing every movement of your body
 as I rise in anticipation, swaying to unheard desire.
 I gather you in my arms, lifting your breast to my mouth
 As you arch your back in the silent sway of candlelight.
 This is the slo blues time,
 When all the equations approach infinity
 And all that matters is the heat of your delta rising toward me,
 The conversation of my tongue and your nipple
 And the sweet moisture we both prepare to give.
 My hands trace your body as I lower you,
 Tongue tasting the hollow of your neck,
 I take you from the vertical,
 Our shadows behind us, as merged as we are meant to be,
 And begin to drink the wine of your being,
 Kissing first your delicate ankles before moving,
 Slowly but definitely toward your feminity.
 The delicate blend of pink and brown
 Of heat and moisture
 Engulf me
 As I open your tenderness and feed,
 Gently letting my tongue know you,
 Existing only for this moment
 When this kiss is all
 When your moans are all
 When my desire is all,
 Evident in the mixed nectar
 That covers my face
 That glistens on your fundament
 That connects this lust to these bodies.

I can’t step to you with an envelope of empty dreams,
No abracadabra phases and mental gymnastics,
Just my appreciation of all the things you are
And the knowledge of my desire.

Fantasy #2: Morning Dew

in your mouth
my tongue reaches for
sugar pink
back arching as teeth
giving pain so sweet
tasting tears of honey
eyes even open

Diamond Wine

let us love hard,
my words blowing across your skin,
raising gooseflesh,
the living poem of our desire
spelled out as i touch tongue to clit,
fingers to slit,
free verse across the small of your back.
time stretching to Infinity
as we dandy doggy-fuck fantastic
and my Verb is realized in you,
as we slide, glide, ride
we be friction
giving as we get.
Verb to Word to Sentence
as i teach you my fullness,
pulsating and thrusting,
glistening with your response
as your velvet repeats the Words i teach.
these are the lessons in the blood
the ballad of our sweat
written as i feel your heartbeat
talking to my finger in your foundation,
moving to the rhythm of your fingers on your electric.                                                                       
this is what Love has brought us to,
the Thunder in every thrust
Lightning in every inch of my Verb
as you bless me in your Rain,
with your sweet musky liquor flowing
i place my mouth on your fountain,
as if your lust would quench my desire,
my deep urgent feelings,
as i turn you onto your back,
mounting your chest
to cum on your jeweled nipples,
writing “I Love You” with my fingers
in my Seed on your breasts,
then leaning forward to lick the tears from your face,
the tears when you cum
. . .sweet diamond wine.

10 November 2011


Autumn distills foggy mornings to jazz
Carrying the swift flow of slowing time,
Heated days and memories now the past,
Just notes left of a sweet Summer’s nighttimes.
Where, gone now,  has all energy then fled?
Taken, with her, from out my reach, my mind,
Ever to be my longing afore bed?
This a lesson serv’ed to me remind
That all days are ever poetry made,
And pain itself by energy designed
As life’s minor key to show love’s cascade.

Take then and drink these ever cooling eves,
When, in silence, does the soul learn and believe

October Song

(as summer’s will falters and leaves turn to flame)
I touched your body with
Destiny’s hand,
Loving every curve, every pore,
the roughness of nipples erect,
the smoothness of your breath
breaking in waves against my soul. 

I was made to Love you.

Words hide all the things we be,
All the days we were summer in each other’s arms,
Making liars of the snowflakes outside the steaming windows,
Bejeweled in salty diamonds
And sweet, sticky pearls,
Being all that the words can never be:
Man and Woman
M e m o r y
We soared in rhythmic  colors of 10,000 unnamed human emotions,
Bodies singing in the minor key
and dancing tongue to tongue.

(Love is all in your eyes)

Every caress a symphony,
A million stories in the candy sigh that escapes you as I enter your presence;
Just a Man and Woman loved and loving-
And if God is Love,
How beautiful must Heaven be? -
Touching and tasting,
Eating and Making,


More together, under timeless nights, than possible alone.
(I only wish I didn’t love you so)

Standing under a night filled with Autumn’s promise

I remember;
Remember Winter nights when we were summer heat,
Spring days when we made April scream to our desire,
July afternoons when I wrote my name
In the sweat pooling in that sacred place
That was neither your back nor your ass,
But still articulated my need.
in the moonlight, under starlight                                     

(I believe that Love will always stay the same)

the dearest thing I knew.
Not knowing that even summer must end,
Even the most haunting melody fades,
As surely as the scent of You disappeared from my fingers,
You from my arms,
My heart from the Heaven of your desires.

(Let’s tell all the stars above, oooh Baby)

I shout these shining leaves from the trees,
my longing denying season’s change.
Wanting this bright moon to not be,
These cooling days to be not,
(This is the sound of my soul, this is the sound)
And my throat is raw in my desire,
my desire is raw in my throat,
Calling your name,
The voice of my need filling my ears,
Needing to be with you
Near you
In you,
Needing to enter your wonder,
Needing to release this atmosphere.
Needing to Be.
Being in need
Of something more than these shining leaves,
This remembered passion,
These dreams and this October wind...

(You and I were supposed to grow old)
wind . . .
Night and wind
by full orange moon
is Truth.

(Every time I turn around, I see your face, but you’re never there)

09 October 2011

New Language

I taste your touch in the texture of every Word.
this is what we are,
distant longing in souls held close
hearts shouting through the Infinite
only to be heard by each other.
Words in thought yet unspoken,
raising ecstacy in wanting hips.

these are our hearts
bent in succulent extremes
during our stolen moments,
dancing in electric space
while fingers speak,
while souls reach
moonlight in a diamond eye,
shining in the Love we build.

all easy we flow even still,
even now,
vibrations still manifesting,
resonance ever moving,
tasting imagined sweat,
drawing forth milk and honey
to pour onto the alter of our desire;
flowing through night and space
believing in the Truth of union,                                 
the seed of Cosmic storms.

share my pain in the dream of the now-
this singular moment
hanging between the sky and the ocean
as we sleep hand-in-hand under the idea
of our virtual orgasms-
in the deep purple time.
freed from planetary shackles,
from our worlds of work and responsibility,
to swallow the evening summer breezes;
the water leaping in the late sunlight,
and in that moment, divine,                                            
speaking new language.

I cannot bring me back from there, that place,
That distant aerie where your soul my heart did touch.


It has always been easy for me to write.  It is part of what I am, who I am.  So as I stare out this window, across a moon filled night that I’ll never again share with you, I write.  Pen and paper, the only two constants in my life.  All that I had when I had nothing, and all that I have again.
I find myself writing anything these empty days.  Phrases from old songs, random thoughts, hell even grocery lists.  Anything and everything. I even copied, word for word, that Bugs Bunny cartoon that you used to laugh at.  It’s almost funny when you think about it, I’ve been writing since I was 10 years old and never have the words been so available, so prolific or so meaningless.  Hey, if it was somebody else’s life, I’d laugh myself.
At least I can still call myself a writer.  I mean I still put pen to paper, or fingers to keys if you want to be all technical about it. And that’s what writers do, right?  Even if all I manage to do is rehash bullshit.  The only original thought that I’ve had these last months is that when you left, all the color, all the magic in my world went out that door with you.  I see your face every time I breathe.
I am a man of words caught in a place where all my words are no more than pale memories.  If I write “eyes,” my hand does not drown the way my soul did in yours.  No matter how many times I whisper the word “kiss” it is not the excitement of your lips, not the racing of my heart.  I can say the word “touch” until it echos off these empty walls, but it will never be the hand that placed my hand on the pulse of the world.
All in all, I have learned two things since I’ve had all this time to reflect.  The first is that writing is all bullshit.  It’s worthless.  I can, and do, write the word “stop” until the cramps make my whole arm tremble.  But not once has it kept us from arguing that day or you from driving away. I can and do, scream the word “no” until my head pounds and the tears start again in these eyes that I know should be dried out by now, and it doesn’t keep you from walking out that door or that car from hitting you head-on and taking away my love, my life, my Art and my future.
The second thing I’ve learned?  Well, I’ve learned that the saddest thing in Life is that Life continues, even when our hearts tell us that it should not, that it must stop; that living just goes on and on whether we want it to or not. 

08 October 2011

Three Crows at Sunrise

I often awaken in time to see
Dawn’s initial understanding,
But at first light today what appeared to me
Were three crows, off in the field standing.

I wondered, ‘Is this some kind of warning,
Or the unseen world’s shorthanded way
To let me know that my death comes with the dawning
And this is to be my last earthly day?’

‘Should I run and wake my sleeping wife,
Tell her one last time of the depth of my Love,
Give her all of the hidden secrets of my life
Before I am called back to that I was made of?’

‘Shall I hold my son one last time
Praying and imploring him to grow to be a Man?
Or should we play and sing some silly rhyme
So I can hear his laughter as I hold his hand?’

I awoke this morning, as always, seeking the sun
And found instead three solemn crows.
Now, wondering if my life is now done,
Should I shoulder my lifetime of woes?

‘Will she remember me to the children
While I lay rotting in the ground?
Or will some other man grow with them,
And take all of my pictures down?’

‘Will she cry for me in the night? ,’
Is what I ask these hateful crows,
‘Or forget me once I am out of sight?’
I guess I’ll never really know.

But then I stop my breast beating and ask,
‘Is this how I am, is this really me?
To see three birds, casually hopping past
And let myself start to feel all melancholy?

If these that I love grow to forget me,
Then that is, of course, their right.
But even if they won’t have tomorrows with me,
They’ll all know that I loved them last night.

I tell these crows, ‘Yes they may find another
If with you I am called to go today,
But if you look into their hearts you’ll discover
That my memory there will ever stay.’

‘So I won’t be split by this internal strife,
Stupid birds, if you’ve come to carry me on.
The saddest thing that I know about life
Is that life must always go on.’

‘I will not let my soul be lost
Even,’ I say, ‘if it is time for me to die.’
And with that the crows as one take off,
And silently up, over my head, fly.

‘Be gone,’ I say. ‘A good riddance to you,’
I scream at their ebon tails,
‘Love is Love and that stays true
Even when all else fails!’

I stand a little longer in the doorway
Just enjoying the fair weather.
And on returning to bed, I have nothing to say
Finding my wife, newly stilled, lying next to three black feathers.

October thoughts

October is one of my favorite months.  It's generally, depending upon what part of the country I may be in, not too cold, not too rainy, but cool enough to dress like an adult. (I still believe that shorts, while they have a place, should mostly be worn by women and children.) We always called it "gettin' right for the weather" and I still look forward to it.  Plus October is the beginning of the death of the year, so to speak, and that has it's own attractions creatively and psychologically.

Maybe it's a holdover from years of "hallowe'en indoctrination" as an American, but October brings with it a certain taste of death.  For Al Davis and Steve Jobs more than a taste this year.  Culturally this is when we are allowed, even encouraged to seek out darker impulses, physical or spiritual. Americans don't really deal with death well, individually or collectively.  We tend to either romanticize or demonize our dead. But we lack a cohesive mythology as a nation, so "national" deaths become political. On second thought, I take that back. Politics is the national religion of America.

07 October 2011


Will you drink with me,
Of the earth and the days
Which have passed upon it?
Will you drink with me,
Of the sky and the words
Which have passed between us,
My breath to you and yours back?
Will you drink to the fullness
Of the fire we kindled together,
First in spirits soaring, later
In singing flesh,
As our essences mixed, becoming
Starlight to radiate reflected in
Our sweat?
Will you drink also
Of the seas we’ve created,
Oceans brought forth from that
First glance; waves from you
Engulfing me as I submerge you;
Not just sweat, though it too flows-
Attaching chest to breast, lips to neck-
As my deeper fluids inundate you
While yours splash against my soul?
Will these things set us on Isis?
Will this guide us through the spaces in
Our togetherness?
If so, then let your wing`ed self
Stand here in the courtyard of the
Temple and drink with me.
And when the soft rains come
Let us think of each other,
And our few, precious days,
As we continue to grow and become.