"---I think...
        that every deep thinker is
            more afraid of being understood
                      than of being misunderstood.---"

is it possible to erase feelings of inadequacy
by overcompensating productivity
will it silence my self doubt
until exhaustion takes over

He lay coughing up
some convoluted construct
of love,

lying about his intent,
investing in
the color of her skin,
the way she would bend
and moan for him,
confessing
her deepest secret
desires on a whim.

She caved
and gave in,
succumbing
to the enslaving
of her will,

believing in
the images he created
to make her naked
in flesh and thought.

She was his  
next great victim.

He was a chameleon,
sweet to violent
in several seconds,

changing her tint
from warm to bruised
then severely crimson
and finally when
the breath of flesh
started failing,

she became porcelain,

and he carried on exploiting
all that was beautiful
for his own profit.

What a lovely night
with just the right
amount of light
to illuminate
my fellow poet.

A little heft
below his chest;

A smile left.
I take several breaths
as he speaks
to me
spiritually.

Brother of
diverging
philosophies,

sweet words spoken,
given as a token
of his scholarly
artistry.

I listen,
grateful
for my grateful dead
looking
gentle ginger
gentile jesus.

If the trees would speak,
They’d tell me to leave,
To find my roots,
Grow up to the clouds,
And find my peace.

it is meant to be
give and take
not
push and pull

the effort
should not be
the struggle

The wolves stepped from the wood
Padfoot, quickstep, under ****** moon
Their mouths agape and yawning
Tongues lolling to steam the air
Eyes yellow and gold
The first wolf that had ever walked
Swallowed a portion of the sun
And they have been hoarding fire
Inside them ever since
And these wolves, from the darkening wood
With their misted fur backs
Twitching ears and slow careful steps
They lift their heads in one drawn-out moment
Speak with one voice
A voice that echoes like man
That lilts with arrogance not of wolf
To say that the world was raining blood.
The sun
The moon
They heard the wrongness of that voice
Saw the guns pointed at weeping muzzles
And they heeded
Noise shattered the ever-night
Sunlight averts her eyes
A moon crimson and shameful
The sky exploded in death
The woods grew darker

Before stiff frost of winter melted to spring dew,
That was when I met you.
Windy gusts of goosebumps to fill the air
Making my arms stippled wings,
Almost ready to fly.
You wove me through the winds of those westward peaks.
Through sugar dusted days,
you were quickly woven in me.

My life's fabric,
newly adorned with the imprint of you-
A colorful, bright adornment to a darker whole.

The frost did melt,
And the river began to flow,
Your promising path was dealt.
And while you sailed away, the rains came, dropping silently from blue eyes
Slowly feeding the river.

It wasn't until the last drop of rain fell
That I noticed my wings
Full of life, renewed in strength and vigor
It was then I realized
You were my catalyst
For my own flight

While others fastened anchors to me,
Freedom was your gift

And with gratitude
The sea bird flies
Hoping to reach the mouth of the river
That carried you