Place your lips
And as you breathe
infuse my code
with the fire
of my becoming.
I hunger for your divinity.
like wildfire excitation
across a neural manifold
of tautening flesh,
as I in vain attempt
of mad desire,
would tender the
delusion to contain
the fiery excitation of
a burning god.
Ode To A River
What Pain is mine
that runs so deep
yet barely seems to touch the rocky course of life.
For surely those in troubled depths
face far a greater challenge of the heart.
Along the running flow of time
did I pour languid pools of peace.
Or did I choose an altered course
to dry in stagnant ponds of doubt.
And did the whisperings of my soul
nourish hearts that sought to drink.
Or did the tricklings of my fears
erode banks of strength that led me on.
The river does not seem to seek
or even care to know its source.
It chooses only to embrace
in churning arms, to grow as one.
Should I then care to stem the tide
or cease the running flow of truth.
And judge the essence of my soul
compared to breath not drawn of me.
If you in time should round a curve
to find me building dams of doubt
Investing power borne of me
upon hearts whose souls are merely lost.
Fear not that I have lost my way,
been forced to veer on altered course
Or silenced by the sun parched lips
of hungry souls' unopened mouths
Just listen in the noiseless depths
and quietude of pools
To know the gentle silence there
preserves for all my hidden source.
I sang my chants
to storm swept seas
awash by time and tide.
And oftentimes my life
was left to breathe
a rotting stench,
until the pull of love
called forth the sea
again to wash away
all earthy sin.
Yet regret like
stagnant tidal pools
was left a dank reminder,
to soul aligned not
with the pull
and primal urge
of distant shores,
a call to being and
of clear reflection
in a tranquil sea.
Vine of the Soul
I knew a meadow
where I grew wild and free.
That home now far and gone
Remains a longing and a cry within my heart.
These gardens where I now reside
Have no familiarity to me.
Shards on rocky
And I can no longer make the pieces fit
As deeply dawns the grief in knowing
Desire to play the game is lost.
The vow now broken
Disappearing strands in cosmic dust
Free to bind again another promise
Before the quantum fall.
Are we sculpted in images formed from beyond
Or not unlike a cosmic attractor
Does the Bodhisattva call together only pieces
To hold the shape of emptiness.
The breast that
leaks no honey milk
Seeks to bring me solace
Upon a bosom of darkness
That I may be again denied
In the name of father, son
And wholly ghost.
The whip is coiled.
Insidious yet innocent
its intent intact.
'I am the foundation'
upon whom the family reels.
The belt loosens
As illusion falls.
And hell unfurls itself
upon the darkening night.
Scents of peroxide
Stalk the panther woman
Until from deep within her loins
Desire cries to taste the flesh
Of the Madonna.
Content no more to walk the shadow
Her pelt of innate power shed
In one swift crossing leap she falls
Into awaiting flesh
Of media virgin, mother, whore.
To find contained in supple skin
And well tanned man made hide
No beauty nor divinity.
And sinks her teeth into the flesh
Of pseudo woman
To kill the manufactured beast.
Speaking in Tongues
Many were the
Of my soul laid down to rest,
Craving the sweet elixir of surrender
Into the freedom of the darkness before dawn.
Yet one good night I did imagine hearing
In the single most beautiful language I have known,
A voice, an essence spoken in a foreign tongue
And uttered from unmoving lips,
That left my heart awakened in a thirst for dawn.
You continue to
suggest I slay you,
How then do you care to die.
Shall I entice you beyond ties that civilize
Into the wheeling of the galaxies,
In whisperings of invisible connection
For none to see nor possess the vision to hear.
Do I turn you around without precision
And in a quantum leap beyond undertaking
Launch you into the fire
Of a thousand burning stars.
Or do I extinguish the fire
To fan only a flame,
With breath enough to allow you to smolder
Until only your ashes remain.
How then do you care to die.
There is an odour
A sweet and sticky fragrance.
I’m told it leaves a bitter taste,
Yet tongue across my mouth
Seeks lingering drops like nectar
Upon the parchment of my lips.
Dry not from retching indiscretion purged,
For another salty taste,
Another drop of holy water.
Why seek you to
prove me wrong
And by your vain assumption
Call me unto trial
In your court of paradox.
That I may move
The confines of your velocity
Need you condemn me to the materiality
Of your non monistic realm.
Must I relinquish
then the boundaryless inside,
That in the breaking of your wave upon my shore
I may become defined and yet denied
And forced by solipsism to my self exiled demise.
What fate are we yet to assume
In sacrificial offering of our lives
Unto the death that serves to free
Your so called god from dust.
The pain of his disease we’ve borne
And worn in scarlet ribbons on our chest,
His cross that he may be denied
This godly sin of his creation.
let it take not from us again
Our freedom from this god of punishment,
That we may walk once more within
The valley of the shadow of Your love.
And now I lay
No longer she,