midnight drive

soaring down into town,
not wondering, just going;

wheels pummeling on tarmac --
for no great a cause as this.

bottle green and yellow sour
shining and blurring souls,

symbols, signs -- indications
as the white lights advance.

nocturnal passage plans to take me
far away from the known,

and angels crave more attention
than the darkness out the door.

curve of concrete, blast of shine --
acid quickens to a sure split.

developing a dark progression,
it watches as the journey unravels

on my midnight drive.

suspended

suspended,
in space,
between the
iridescent glow
and the chilling
fog.

suspended,
in time,
the clocks
stuck in the
moment
whilst I tour.

suspended,
in place,
feeling the taut,
brittle,
tightness,
of the solitude.

suspended,
in phase,
looking over
the edge into
the future
as the past

suspends belief,
and the wind
reaches over
for the cold,
crisp,
water below.

Valentine's Day Poem

In August
I fell so Deeply
Richly
Soulfully
For you.

My
Unspoken feeling
Flooded
My Inner being,
To the point

Where the spark
Engulfed the main
Almost
Blazing
Too bright

And a strength
previously
Unimaginable
Lovingly
portraying

A lunatic
Lost in your
Purity
your Luminous
Inner beauty

To show a Completeness
(that can never happen),
a Construction
Moving,
Progressing.

You know that a thousand
miniature moments
beats a single
gesture

(we are much more than amateur)

Although the Fragileness
Founded with
Potency
Of mind And body
Is pounding.


Still.

so deep

That look you have,
That look that stares deep
Into the soul

I can’t help but wonder
What you are thinking
When you stare so deep

Trying to make contact
With something, or nothing.
Anything that might suit.

she had never felt

She had never felt
So lost and so found
In the same sitting

Reality seems far away
When is seen and what
Is heard are

So diverse

Lost, in an encounter
With herself although
She doesn’t know it

Yet.

Her wanderlust comes to settle
Away from the ice
And the falling bricks

Found, so alive and so a mess


Wondering

them

those eyes
travel
across souls
meet
lost terrain
expect
vivid futures.

She's an angel

“Angel,” she pleaded
Across the dense whim
Of the machine

As grit fell on the black
the lightning hit hard
Across the broken whole.

“Angel,” she sobbed
as I crossed to save her
But when I went --

Working back on myself,
Like an unrelenting madness --
Oh she was long gone.

heroisch

he came from the Second City,
its broad shoulders nudging him
forward onto the longest journey

they said that he were wicked,
but never listening to them (after a while).
just exploiting the offerings of a

rather cold place. The cold cut him,
with toes he couldn’t feel anymore
he left, but burdens go wherever

the wanderer takes them.
tied onto the back from suburbia
wondering what would become of,

eventually he took to rebuilding himself,
from the top down, learning to grow whilst
terrible burdens remain upon him

the community without the Kaas,
like the city, (all about reinvention),
cold cutting the feet, toes not felt any more.

he had a warmth, a dream in his heart
and a song in his ear,
he knew realities too advanced

for his years. his next turn,
a reverse migration. mapping the railroad
on the wanderings south.

he went for independence, and for a love
that was supposedly selfless
but when that developed into obscurity

he continued to dream,
his nomadic journey brought him
to the idea of the west.

the truest fresh start available
in the young, innovative state,
where flesh meets organization.

you have a lot

you have a lot
more
of my soul
than
either one of us
ever
intended you to have.

dear memories

people roll in and out
of one's conscious life.

much like how the tide
moves onto the beach.

holds onto your toes,
grips you; and pushes you

firm into the granuled ground.
it chills and refreshes,

calms and enlivens,
but then-- as quickly

as it arrives-- it is gone.
Leaving with only dear

dear memories, of what was,
and what now is not.

people roll in and out
of one's conscious life.

much like how the ocean
swirls around the ship,

sinuously, kneading the sides
with a soft and firm caress.

supporting the load, watching,
providing danger and exitement.

pushing towards a destination
and at the same time restraining.

then the winds die down,
and there is calm and all is gone.

dear memories of what was,
and what now is done.

i walked with a zombie

felt that air on my face
and the palm wine on your breath,

the okra is good,
but the pepper soup is so much better,

i can sense you my spirit child
you want to be so free

reeking havoc on the very people
that have led to your doom.

Anais, Anais

"talking a broken dream, with spaces, reversals, retractions, and galloping fantasies"

i found you Anais Nin,
i found you and i refuse to let you go.

i feel your hot breath on my cheek.
i feel the blood moving thru your heart as

i caress and palm your breast.
i dreamt about you last night--

i noticed you out of the corner of my eye,
i stared at you, i made you blush,

i moved into your soulful space.
i long to use words to make your heart race.

i know what you are thinking, what you are not thinking,
i can see you think too hard, as well.

i want to turn my back on you, let you move behind me,
i want -- oh, Anais, Anais -- i want to let you find me too.

for leah southwell-wright

I close my eyes and remember you
sipping the cold, heavy and sickly sweet
substance, that brought about your end.

I remember you,
like you were sitting here
in front of me,

I remember,
your sarcastic tone,
and your narcassistic and

strangely meek style.

the way you moved around the subject,
and moved around others.

you caused them to spin with confusion.
(and then some).

but you looked on confused yourself.
unsure as well as completely sure.

a social commentator, never a sheep,
a leader to the unleadable.

you were revolutionary.

a legend.

I would worship the ground you walked upon

(if you still walked).

The waves roll in and out

The waves roll in and out
as i lie next to a round circle
and a temporary turtle

musing

recent history,
dub philosophy.


-- you are

a Wanderer
and a Dreamer
a Shaman and a Seer.

my silent muse
and my outspoken listener. --


i lie still passive

(the waves roll in and out)

Waiting
Watching

for your next move.

The waves roll in and out

In and out
In and out
In and out

the crescendo builds

as the spray coats us in saline mist
and the birds descend
and the winds breathes soft promises
and the
and the


and then

asleep.

ella waltzes

ella waltzes
and the world spins.

wind blows paper, whilst remainders of light strike us down

displayed beyond; silhouettes
made of sharp and fresh and

the future passes above us, knowingly,
the past rests and moves in sight

we are still


calm.


the winds moves around and then within

and we in the present feel the cool,
friendly ground
pushing into
our backs
as the wind whispers fate

and as the sounds all around remind me
to

strike the keys and stop.

rest the fingers knowingly and with steadiness

meditate

feeling the white between the black,
and the remote coldness
(which holds us back but feels the most intense and particular down the sides)

and then it does
and then it does
and then it does just

stop.

deep dreaming

Chords breaking on discord
(sergei recites) down as I glide down

Finding myself
diving down
deep
deep
down
into the wreck
(like rich did)

I saw you-- with her --
Down at the very bottom

Paralyzed
(did you want it to be like that?)

Staring at her
Whilst she

stared back at me
With such hostile negativity
That I was scared, and also somewhat ashamed

To be watching.

I turned to head back
Just as the cleansing came

I swam up fast,
broke surface


Then remembered I had now lost you.

white guilt

My tutor called it white guilt
The guilt of the white man
My hands are so sticky, with the
Blood of sixty million and more.

But the sixty million is just the

Start

Start of our legacy to the world
My ancestors, the captain on the
Slaver ship, throwing over
Cargo

Whipping children in the fields
Teaching the uncivilized masses
The heathens
The darkies

So much blood on these hands
I shudder at the truth, the hidden
Truth that is not to be found in
Any textbook

Our wonderful country,
The homeland, the fatherland
We invented the concentration camp
So much blood

The sixty million is just the

Beginning.

cape reinga

trying to cast the spirits away
but nothing’s left.

his sad old spirit stayed where it was
a continuation of the memories
a continuation of the ghosts

a continuation of the remembering.

journeyed against time, against wind.
pushed to the edge of the edge
and for what?

for an empty promise never resolved.

the winds pushed them, held them on the cape
trying so hard to fly away, leave this world behind,
but the gripping hands held them back.

after fighting to get to the ends of the earth.

the ends of existence,
the rock face wouldn’t let them be.
paralysed feet, they held onto that hard rock,

unable to move, unable to speak.

she looked up to the white sky, searching for God,
clinging onto a hope that she wasn’t sure remained.
searching around I found emptiness.

the dirt roads carried them to our goal.

with a vehicle soon to wither and depart,
with the good mood, it withered and departed,
with the wish to live, it withered; departed.

like the spirits cast from the tree at reinga -
might love rise up and leave us in the dead of the night?

hawai'i

naked creatures drawing in the black
buoyant and green turtles
the long windy highway.

hallucinations at the top of mauna kea
angels demons cloud your vision
whilst rays open eyes.

pink, purple, blue fly by
hard lava flow rock
another crater in history.

red hot sticky passion
playing in the waves of the ocean
papaya brunch, itchs tea.

faint stars but bright planets
heaps of aloha to cleanse the soul
enough warmth soothes spirits.