Breathing in the RapidsBreathing in the Rapids (2006)
All that has gotten better
Seems to be my demeanor
I'm still swimming upstream
Sterile salmon spawning
Yet I have stopped fighting
Currents best left alone
I breathe the spray
Water and air
Burning and giving life
While also slowly extinguishing it.
Misty mornings come and go
In a haze of dreams and petty things
We never seem to know.
How can we? What's in store
Beyond these unreal fleeting moments
What chances for redemption we might seek
Before we see another misty morn.
So we ride the ride, pay the toll
Forsake control, catch the falling grace
Hold up the lame, strive for fame
Ever stalling the answer we must give
When dawn comes calling.
Inside a razor
Outside a Terror
An idea, a concept, a notion in error
Diving into coals
To cleanse or to dry
By and by we'll come to see the phoenix rising
Outside a maiden
Inside a crone
A nest made of ash and bone
A soooty with with liquid eyes
Is only one of her disguises, and yet
By and by those pools ripple with the laughter of mermaids
Inside a prophet
Outside a harlot
What was it? No one can recall
It was something she said
And yet her words slip like absinthe from your mind
Something you can't quite get
Your mind around and yet
What was it?
No one can recall
It was something that slipped
Like absinthe from your mind.
Neptune's LoverNeptune's Lover (2001)
Floating in a sea of
gothic dreaming, green and purple hues
grasping at the edges of my mind
in the same way you slip through my fingers
like Pele's black sand.
I float, at once serene, frustrated,
somber and devillish,
neither genie for wishing nor
stoic forbearing. I float,
among the mosses and rocks
in the moat around my cobwebbed stone heart.
If you hold very still when you float
and don't make a ripple,
you can feel the way the current pulls.
As I am pulled by the channel I slip from the tickling
of the reeds and grasses of the shoreline.
I fall into deeper water.
Pausing in eddys, catching my breath
reminding myself not to drown,
Have I reached the craggy rocks of Dover Beach
or the wind-chiseled cliffs of the mighty Pacific?
I peer at the untested waters on the horizon,
wincing with longing and hesitation,
I have thrown away my charts and maps.
My mast is broken, my sail in shreds
I go where the current pulls me,
curious and hopeful, and
Edge dancer, world shaper
Pagan, Priestess, Witch
Deram weaver, soul sweeper
Hunter, Lover, Bitch
Sky rider, depth diver
Trickster, Shaman Priest
Life giver, death dealer
Carnal, Holy, Beast.
Speaker of riddles and permutations
Breaker of archetypal molds
Universe scattered in a million pieces
Glued and broken eternally in
Infinite interactions, all forms temporary
Living dying creating compensating
A sexual creature desires something deeper
Every atom from a different source
Every Jesus, Every Jezebel,
Every Buddha and Kali
Wakes each day, drinks coffee,
Breathes a sigh and moves on.
Is it aware of the holy molecules
Latticed through sacred eye, mind, hand or heart?
Edge walker, risk taker,
Where to go from here?
All about the grieving pray for gravity
To save them from the sky's caress.
When where and who and why collide, what's to follow?
Tomorrow always becomes yesterday,
And now, as we walk within
Still Turned OnStill Turned On (1993)
When we have finished, my ruddy wet cheek
Split like an apple, tomato, a peach,
She whipsers to me. I hear your golden laugh.
As I look softly, your smile is for free.
My old nemesis, she tried to visit.
I crumpled her up and therw her away.
I do not know why. Impulsive and free,
I break from my bonds, my past, my pain.
The mist of the sea. The eyes of the moon.
The lust of the rose. No embrace escapes her.
Offer me not love, eternity, faith
Instead give me smiles, each one a precious gift.
In this hour we find eternity.
You and I may touch, once and forever, now.
Falling Homefalling home (2005)
pigments get splattered
makes a pretty picture
captured, a moment frozen
torn tongue, shot of lick her
a baker's dozen frostbites
signals the coming winter
icicle in mine eye, it is only
a splinter quickly
before the dew turns white
showered in colors
stained in love, her bloodshot
eye of the storm, lonely
A singer mute, artist blind
eternal muse, trapped in time
dressed in archaic wherefore of rhyme
writ in blood on a sunset,
sipping wine in serene repose
only she knows whither
the mewling hours go.
My sadness inside is quiet.
She is bound and gagged.
Her every move whispers,
Echoes in this cavernous hall.
These soft rustles are all that stand
between emptiness and myself.
And being filled, in the end
is an illusion, a momentary settling
before the current flows onwards,
a brief struggle to be both vessel and fluid.
One must remember
the only ever after
is a hole in the ground.
Yet one is not alone in this solitude, look around.
Great people, fine people, finer than I will ever be
Suffer the same bleak empty chambers, silent mornings,
encrusted wounds and deconstructed desires.
If only switching identities were as easy as switching
tenses or syntaxes.