boasting of the god of love's attentions,
this magicweaver lures her prey--
conjures forth her whim
seeking quench of fickle thirst within
attempting avenues of guile
numerously failed, and baits another heart
to suit her object's mate,
whose favors hail from Shiva
unto dominion everywhere,
  except at forest hut where Rama--
with Sita --honeymoons in exile
having snapped the cosmic dancer's massive bow
to win her for his wife, yet bound
by family word to wilderness
  in elder-shade of mystic eagle
guarded by their builder,
brother Lakshmana, in whose absence Kamavalli comes
to woo the godlike archer for her own.

little bells on anklets ring--
from creeper snagged
as if in venery yearning,
urgent vines would find their way to rest on skin
and squeeze in verdant rooting underform
prancing by, playfully demure
to enter subdued greenery
of Panchvati's gated yard
to catch the stoic Rama's eye
in invitation flashing for his gaze:
a sculptured form of flawless grace
nubile teeth shining from the forest dark,
a smile unassuming of callipygean sway
beneath the flitting lashes of her iris' swell

baffled there he stirs to praise her openly
as perfect--
despite his inner-goddess-for-a-wife he keeps inside--
with tripping words
welcomes and blesses this new girl,
exalting her with blushing queries,
sylvan surging rush to know
interrogate her mystery,
rapt in wide-eyed wonder verging beatific breath--
but learning of her lineage...
begins to plot their deaths.

banter light,
flirtations with a hidden, cosmic weight to pun against,
his praise asserts its hold
pretending bachelorhood;
his kindly, transauthentic voice resists
and in a sympathetic, skillful tone, promulgates
a drama to entice her eager mind--
ironic fancies of domestic bliss
flow from Rama, subtle jests
become her plight obsessing
into darkness embered with her lust
to truly claim him as her love,
her grandiosity defused in simple
entertainment quipping of their castes
and then with sudden burst entranced in luminescent rays of stunning rustic glow
from cottage comes his wife to claim her presence known.

the blow is dealt: Manmatha lays Kamavalli's fate: to self-disintegrate

jealousy to deafen gods, in cave retreat
to nurse her spite, surrounded in a dance
of serpent flails to sate her woe,
and only feed in ouroboros knotslip pulse
a lump-filled throat of gulping incite forward zest salacious
pungent flare of earth identity of fang and blood
the cry to shudder down a wolfine howl
in blast of animal, from screaming womanhood
the swoon precipitate-- vast height, abysmal fall
on being spurned by one who led her on
into delusion wrapped in sham an alter self
she met in bed a thousand cravings razing sanity
into a hate for moon, for elements themselves,
railing at Manmatha's haze infernal globe within and out
projecting Rama's face transfixing her inept
in wracking convulse whine of every cell,
her being sweating out imagined arms,
palms of his to cup her, lift from hellish pit of stifled longing never known 'til volcanically regrown--
in new love's throws an innocence of honest
selfhood found in him, bizarrely enemied in Lila's
killing spree of ego-dolls of lotus costume tracing all
searching through his fresh phantasm for her quelling salve
his diamond ******* targets for her soul
his broadness engirthing her to moan until her last in ecstasy
unknown asura-brew untold invented only now forever lost,
the moment fondled vastly gone,
his chest but gossamer instead of flesh
the emerald shoulder glimmer fake
the boundless confidence exuded in his
tender skin's encapsulated sinew strength
merely thought on causing pelvic quake
repeating there an apparition for her nearly endless letting out
he comes for her a demon double of her making
demi-god creator-demon vision for her writhing,
abandoned to the ambrosia torment he provides
wailing at the cavern sky her prison boudoir den
enscaled with slither pile coat of snakes, masturbatory wake of swooning still again

through to dawn..
in which psychotic break decides:
Soorpanaka births herself anew--
possession of her goal, or suicide.
the dewy spectra shines reflection of the choice;
rave committal forms its mould--
exhaustion hatches colorspray of plots,
braving mutilation to abduct,
lies and bribes surmounting each before
in ****** propositions to her ever widened bed,
else demonic armies loosed,
infatuate Ravana's heart
with illusory snare of golden Sita's rumored wares
to get her man alone and hew derision
with her desperate charm, by cantrip or war
spawned from deeper lairs of a broken,
fallacious heart, toward matrimony
or destruction bent













.

I am the lust of the universe
longing to know itself

I am the thoughts like a cascading stream
water pummeling the rock of my soul
molding, shaping, forming, conforming

I am the peace of the bamboo forest
a society of shoots
shades of green solitude
standing together, clunking hollow,
serene, transfixing parallel angles, mesmerizing
obscuring the gaze beyond, reflecting within
drops drip and fall with a shake

I am the child throwing sand into the ocean,
jumping from the rushing water
challenging fate with a raised fist and a laugh to do his worst

I am the dancer in the waves
lifted by the tides
pirouetting in the current

I am the red stone cliff on the sea shore
sovereign stratum carved
growing with green, lush yet hard

I am the buttressed black lava rock
standing in the water, remote and mysterious
accepting time and erosion, jagged

I am the new sun rising red
arising from the mountain mist swirling on the ocean
ascending from the clouded horizon
a grand illusion of motion, perception, the seer

I am the beach wood
fallen from the trees standing
as sentinels to the ebb and flow
laughing in silence with the wind and the sound of tides whooshing

I am the surfer
riding the energy of the earth
slicing across the liquid wall face

I am the flag of men
unifying and dividing

I am the sand welcoming water and feet
soft as creamy butter

I am the mother and the son
replenishing, trailing, following, playing, watching
sharing belly buttons

I am the butterfly gliding on the Kona wind
wandering immortal

Is it just I who gets that anxious, squirming
Sensational feeling? Like creativity suppressed—
But by what? My faults? The fates? My own self
For I cannot convey how positively debilitating,
Paralyzing, transfixing—
I don’t want to live in subdued twilight,
Sedated by my own ideas of inabilities,
But who or what, or what in me
Can prevent even the faintest of hindrances
From annihilating the depth of my inspirational understanding…
I’m yet to discern any of the undetectable barriers
Or is it that—metaphysics?
So engrossed, preoccupied, wearied by what
The idea that there’s something
Anything at all, preventing the finesse
As here I cogitate
Dimensions past me...

She's a strange one
And sometimes I think she likes
To play dumb
And sometimes I think she likes
To play the broken little bird
And she can twist whatever words
I dare to utter
She gives you that look, like butter
Wouldn't melt
Like all that time you spent
With her means the world
And she's a transfixing girl
She can make your heart feel alive
She'll make your soul feel numb
And I'm telling you, she's a strange one.

I love the majestic ugliness of the Eucalypt;
Aesthetically more appealing in its twisted, gnarled appearance
Than any uniform northern conifer;
Infinitely more adapted to the unforgiving antipodean climate
Than those idealised European deciduous living monuments
Still transfixing our collective view of how a tree should be.

Those dropping leaves allowing scenes beyond;
Those tendrils of bark denoting Darwinian fitness;
All tug at the heart of we new Australians,
Conflicted, as we are, by sensibilities born elsewhere,
But borne, nevertheless, into an Ancient Eden.

Did you see it?
That brother can do it
oh yes indeed he can,

like a young trout at dusk,
in a sweet still lake,
like a pouncing cheetah,
from many yards out,
like Wille May in the outfield,
for a soaring high ball,
like the most monstrous of great whites
rising from the dark depths & exploding
out of the ocean seal prey all clenched
in its merciless jaws,

like a cobra after transfixing its quietened mark,
like the most glorious of lithe pole vaulters,
like the most dandy of sweet young gymnasts,
like the great bull Magic Johnson springing over all & slam
dunkin' that rocketed ball as the whole court is helpless & the
people rock & its more points on that board,
that brother did it

just tore that Southern Hate right on out
of their White Pride hands,
brother just plain did it.

It was just ordinary colors in my wife’s clothing but it was similar and it was the effect of
Touching another item that I had purchased for her when our lives first began together it was
soft plaid again like when they say earth tones but this was light purple pink and green it was a
Pant suit and with her white turtleneck blouse she was a knockout in this single memory a life is
Flipped through pains joys indescribable happiness how she made me feel as she stood there in
That mall for some reason white always brought a special glow to her skin transfixing the heart
Not speaking registered adorable there are grand moments of romance but there to is the most
Precious visitations through the simplest means everything stands still and lets her stand
Out and shine God saw it first when he created the majestic pine then underlay it with brown
Soil the exactness of perfection I already wrote about how she looked on the back side of Oahu
Again the shade in the foreground white sand the carpet the preferment the palms created
Overhead and then out to the water’s edge the bright sunlight the turquoise surf edged in
White she strolled barefoot letting the waves roll in and splash over her feet and she had on
These bright red shorts and a white shirt with a red emblem on the front she was stunning
What a blend of paradise and the embodiment of love post card picture perfect a touching
Breeze caused her hair to flow out and away my heart rode on this dream wave truly Venus the
Goddess of love was in attendance again my heart was applauding without outward expression
It was in private conversation with my soul the swells in my heart rose as high as those rich
Green sea side cliffs it was renewal it was remembrance why I loved her so then at the country
Club back home in California at Christmas she wore this sheer black dress we had our picture
Taken in front of this great tree that was flocked she wore her hair in a perm perfection beamed
From her face she stole the show the dazzle of Christmas lights my heart rode the chilled cold
Night wind when we waited for them to bring our car it was the feeling of waiting for a carriage
Over head the stars twinkled in the crisp winter night air I just included you in a short journey of
How it feels to love my wife why because we all need to find our way back to the central and
Most important place in our life it happened for me just by the sight of a familiar color this also
Pertains to the immeasurable treasure that we have here in our homeland what can prompt us
To revisit and appreciate all that we have in marriage in God and country this truth is and will be
Told in different forms of sacred memories just open your heart and mind and enjoy yours

With bowed heads we genuflect before the wicked grin of the guillotine.
In my mind's eye I go to parlay with the Grim Reaper.

He is seated before me- cloaked in obsidian shadows
His ivory bones offensive against the inky darkness
His scythe glints in the candlelight
its thirst for blood and flesh almost palpable.
His laugh comes as a rumble of thunder
Punctuated by the cracking and shattering of glass (and my sanity.)

He leans close across the table, transfixing me in terror,
staring directly into my soul. He who has no need for breath breathes -
and the smell of earth and death and decay and rot and ruin
tells me that my pleas for pardon will not be heeded.

Snapped back into reality, I close my eyes in defeat.
Suddenly- the angry serpent-air
hisses
and is parted.
Garish crimson stains ivory cobblestones.

Silence.

They crest the white foam in perfect formation,
With purpose and strength they flap as they glide,
Fixated ahead in assured navigation,
Each trailing the other with nowhere to hide.

Then all of a sudden with no clear command,
They veer on some path and head for the sky,
Soaring the waves like a mischievous band,
Riding the thermals with a predatory eye.

No longer a pod but single torpedoes,
Spotting their quarry they launch with intent,
Diving at speed like rapacious mosquitoes,
To feast on that glimmering shoal now hell bent.

Again and again they dive to then surface,
Their sacks full of loot hidden from sight.
Transfixing, majestic, nature's true circus,
The curtain then falling as they once more take flight.

Florida's Pelicans, a marvelous sight,
Gregarious and cheeky with us so entwined,
Once hunted and culled as merely a blight,
Now in our hearts so fully enshrined.

The shadows of the trees speak to me with a fearless futility
A chant to step into the transfixing traffic with a tripping twist
Fall beyond the black burnet of their being and see the beguiling burden unfold:

The sky encroaches tightening its grip, making the mind slip
Painted with a varnishing brush dipped in tenebrous charcoal
It drips a tear that plummets a ripple on the skin

A betrayal of the collapsing concealment
A desolate obsidian smeared beneath the eye, across the hand
It heeds the damage of a veil of soot and the pallid bruise of the soul.

A tangled cloud unravels from the pipe like the hum of a spinning fan,
A nocturnal whisper. Its sheen of banishment masked by the drown
Of sirens as two carnations drift down the charcoal water of a river.

Women are all such beautiful creatures
Transfixing us with their sensual features
Beautifully crafted for the eyes of man
We are hynotised by the wiles of a woman

We love the way that you wiggle
Especially that ****, adorable jiggle
And that way you know how to tease
Every man becomes weak at the knees

A lady bewitches us at her own leisure
We become slaves to her very pleasure
For what would we ever do without her
Our species could not go any further

Seeing her in her splender, we rejoice
We respond to the sound of her voice
And with that kiss she will give
It gives us that reason to live

So for women everywhere, we celebrate
For to us very men, you are our fate
We crave to feel your own loving touch
That is why we love you so very much

It ain't easy...
Transponding...
Transfixing...
Trance...

What will those geese do when I see them again?
Will they still look at me as the tiger?
I sang to them.
What do they think I'm Leonard Cohen now,
Just because I sang Like a Bird?
What they should know is I ain't no tiger,
They're gonna have to go farther up the food chain.
I could **** a goose.
I could massacre their whole clan before lunchtime.
And now I just sit in my bedroom as the sun rises behind walls of thick cloud...
And they honk.
Maybe they're bored...
They ought to be calling reinforcements.
I would probably never hurt a goose.
Most likely not.

"Dear Diary"* I wrote at the top of the page. I've turned to these wretched pages because I have no one else to turn to.

I have been wanting to runaway for sometime now. I have an estranged sense of nostalgia towards places I haven't even been to.                

Did you know that you shattered my heart? That a shard of ***** lacerated my ribcage? & so I've concluded...

That perhaps one day, when I'm 22, I will cut my hair short and runaway to new york and try to find a big sweet apple they've always talked about.                 

I will disregard my birth name and I will end up telling everyone I meet that my name is Aphrodite, but I am not greek nor am I a lover. I'll write poetry. The good poetry and the bad poetry. I'll write poetry the way you called your quits, blank eyed and confusing. And may the next person to make my heart glow, be just as kind as you, minus the volatility, equivalent charms.  
Laugh as sentimental as 100yr old harpist.
Smile as transfixing as a dim star, on a moonless night
Eye's as beautiful as the sun..

But just as the sun, I never could stare to long.

Learn, absorb, wonder, discover, but where?
Yearning to be where I wasn't before
Look for warm, lively, or simply for fair?
Bitter and sweet, unknown wonders in store

Passion, beauty, burning into my heart
Sleek silhouettes of towers capture my soul
Gorgeous grandure beckoning a new start
Hidden marvels calling me for a stroll

People, joyous and seductively free
Joy of life vibrating through old steep streets
Mysterious Douro, transfixing me
Majestic wild ocean your shoreline meets

The wind through your alleys whispers my name
Portuense, setting my heart aflame

html, body {
width: 100% !important;

/Detaching and relatching,
ever-shifting retinas
* singe the .7mm LCD,
* tattooing their reflection
* onto a surface of light.

Transfixing and addicting
* but cold, barren, and void.

Push ourselves inward,
* never mine the diamonds or the coal./
background: transparent !important;

/This inane information tundra;
* atmosphere of global consciousness;
* comforting blanket of the uncanny.

Sedated meditation works
* towards rattled harmony./
float: connected nirvana.

/Plug-in, shoot-up
* Log-on, nod-off*/

display: none !important;

}

Sat in the room at that back of the house.
Where all my secrets hang out.
They're hanging about.
Somewhat strung.
Hiding inside my vacant head.
T.V. flashes colours of psychedelia,
Beatles concert in full swing.
Hopped onto the merry-go-round.
Tagged on for the ride,
Thought I'd scrawl a word or two,
Before more memories invade my sorry head.
Sad because, you're gone.
Now, only tired memories hang out in my troubled head.
You know what baby, one day we'll both be dead.
I'll still have cupid's ******* arrow transfixing in my heart.
Until the day, my mortal coil sprung, at the setting of my silent sun .
(C) Livvi

Two ultramarine diamonds
Glazed like hailstones
Transfixing and adoring
With the courage of a thousand monarchs
Peering with an immortal persistence,
Like the twirling whitecaps of the sea
And how they never forget to kiss the coast goodbye
Petrifying all nerve endings
In every gap
And every adjacent membrane ofaxons
In every gland and cell
Recepting molecules of hunger and thirst
Set aflame by
Pummels of my infant and eager heart
Both silhouettes swaying in greed
Yearning, longing,  speaking,
Pleading with a meek caress
For incessant spasms of arousal,
A stifled sob made of silk
Hushed by the storm of a lull
Sapphire globes fasten once again
A duet of mercy
Cupping cherub faces
Tracing trails of promise with settled fingertips
Down chilled spines
And frozen echoes
Tangled in a warmth never wielded

Vaguely I recall a dream
ripping out handfuls of nose hairs
the black bristles like bundled corn stalks
filling my palms

Madame can you tell me
what it means?
its all blavatsky to me
Yes, I'm looking deeper
into your magic crystal ball
its shape so revealingly smooth
scraping the barrel both ways
feels worn but still slightly good

how much will this coffee cost me?
Does the girl behind the counter know her *******
are poking through the green cotton shirt
tightly hugging, transfixing
with afro nose ring red ivory skin
handfuls of round large lifted ******* protruding and
mystically speaking to me in tongues, sha la la la,
with the pull of gravity,
the pull of generations triumph and **** animal fuckery
I look for the clue,
for the answer to the why of the hard ******

for to hold this shining example of proportion
to taste her and feel her with every bit of my own
it feels like I would give up everything
leave my lover,
break laws and oaths
yet here I am tempered by the moment,
eyes on a dollar going into the tip jar, i hear her thanks
my girl placidly rocking in a chair outside

"."

sweet home girl brings me succulents
in a dirt birds nest
now sitting in a sunny window sill beside
my mothers mothers christmas cactus,
one alive one wilted
I sigh at the thought of explaining the poetic meaning
regarding photos in frames
and look into the colored glass arranged
in blues and greens pinks and white
clear mother of pearl sheen glittering crystal
scarlet begonias and pink plumeria
among a coastal green auburn mountain river valley
leading to the sea

the fragrance of the cold hardy mimosa tree bloom at night
revived my spirit
after fainting from the heat
disassociating amongst the crowd
packed into stadium bleachers
receiving blasting electric guitar scoots and boots
third octave wails
John Mayer

get this
before the band takes the stage
as the lights go out
a grown man screams full throated war yip
into the back of my skull

I might have slipped into a concussion then

fitting the dose

a man brings me a beer I tell him I don't want
and won't drink, but for a sip
and for a moment I think I'm poisoned
sick from the gas or the slipped mickey
my skin leaks into a cool film
and on the precipice of the shake out
crumpled into the fold out chair
somehow I'm breathing
standing and escaping
into the flouresent halls
and into a white tile bathroom
in a mirror my skin a whiter shade of pale
than the clogged porcelain
on my way out into the streets,
touched by the warm summer air
a louse attempts to fill me in on marriage,
flagellating himself for some unseen ex-wife

I tell him to leave me alone
and the simplicity and elegance of candor
disarms him long enough
for the burracho to grunt
"Never get married.....you look like you should be left alone"

Earlier in the day
I walked into a head shop
to buy papers
the guy at the counter asked if I had ID
I don't
He said he can't sell without ID
smirking with a thumbs up
I dropped three doll hairs on the glass counter
and put the papers in my pocket

Love always, until its sometimes, then its never

but then again,

Cue Kipling

There were stitches up her leg
watching her walking slight ahead
crossing the street as the skin slowly pulled apart at her seems
transfixing crimson drops
they would fall slowly I thought

I blinked

Just a tattoo nothing more
the blood was gone, I looked away

She turned the corner, I waited for the bus
I watched the edge of her skirt disappear around it
like the coat tails of the white rabbit
looking down, eyes closed
what would that be like...?

A rabbit in a waistcoat skirted the edges of my thoughts
the wind teased cool fingers at the back of my neck

Feels like flying doesn’t it…

A disembodied voice chipping away at my daydream
I ignore it, instead conjuring a hole under my feet just like Alice

What is? my voice answered for me
another chip breaking away
I started down the hole

The wind… when it blows like that it feels like flying

I wished the voice would leave
I wouldn’t know I’ve never flown…

Neither have I…

I could hear the voice smiling
a crack of light broke through my daydream
I turned away from it catching a glimpse of blue coat tails just around the corner

Why is it like flying then?
another chip…

Why isn’t it?

Go away I thought bitterly
the bodiless voice laughed softly
cool air teased my neck, back of my shoulders
I heard the bus pulling up to the stop

Be seeing you then?

My daydream crumbled away into reality
I opened my eyes still looking down

No…
the only answer

Hmm… that’s too bad

Another pause
I looked at the bus doors opening to admit me

Well goodbye then… Alice…

It was smiling again
I shivered, turning to put a face on the voice
Dress it in something more then the sound of its smiling

No one, I stood alone with the breeze kissing my skin and smiled a little

Goodbye… Cheshire cat

His eyes were stars in the night sky,
with constellations swirling as nebulas formed,
a mix of the most beautiful, vibrant colors
that collided with each other,
creating a black hole that ****** me in
and captivating me,
transfixing me into stillness.
A statue.
Those eyes paralyzed me
like the ice his eyes were made of
and the stars that created their beautiful glow.
His lips were like scarlet velvet,
soft, full and perfect.
They kissed me with the utmost gentleness
like they were handling a china doll
and as if I was fragile and breakable,
a glass menagerie.
They curled into a smile so sweet and so genuine
that he made me smile no matter what mood I was in.
His hands were unimaginably gentle.
Callused but smooth;
the hands of a guitarist.
They caressed my cheek ever so lightly,
creating an electric spark where his hand once had touched,
an ever so small electromagnetic field.
His hands held mine,
a perfect fit.
As if they were made only and purely for mine.
Him.
Making my heart stop for a second
or turning my heart into a propellor,
breathing in, out,
in,
out,
so fast I feel dizzy.
His humor, one of a clown,
his kindness, one of a kind.
His cuteness, like a puppy,
and his protectiveness,
a part of him that I am very glad for.
He can make time stand still or speed up
until the days and nights run together,
one after another,
one after another,
so quick...too quick.
He is forever on my mind
like a song stuck on repeat,
a broken record repeating my favorite line
of my all time favorite song.
Like a Black Veil Brides song
that someone won't turn off,
yet I don't mind,
because I like it,
just like I like you.
You are he
and she is me.

The purity must be cast aside to see God equal in all people.
For all are unified in station and wealth in rank before God, none more righteous nor more rich than another.
In this case God enriches all of us in our lack and withholds in our fortune.
For none is self-sufficient without Him.
Purity is more about the strength of desire.
It is easy to remain pure when its fires are not enflamed.
What does purity and righteousness hold?
It can only be detachment from the world.
The "world" meaning that which takes us from our Lord.
Is it right to delight in purity?
It seems so empty in a world with so few single women my age that doesn't have kids nor does drugs.
I actually don't even know one. Really.
I'm pure for myself then only?
To delight in my righteousness to only belittle the feeble?
To stand as a noble eunich with the ****** 40 & 50 somethings?
If I'm pure, I have no home in the dust.
I have no friend to share in purity.
Purity is outward.
How do I perceive reality with outward orientation?
Pure ways become my mantra.
Not just chaste eyes, but a pure body.
I become enslaved to worship my own body.
My outer body has no significance to me.
I smoke cigarettes to fight my eyes from transfixing on it.
I postpone workouts until not my body but my energy is in need of vitality.
I tattoo my skin to break the idol of the body.

There once was a poem
Of which was spoken
Then taken away
Never to be heard of again

Jowl pressed against
Oven rack
Eyes placid
as a holy cow
Breathing whispered line

Giving
Taking life

Incantatory orbs sworn
Coursing forming
transfixing
The torpid
Into tor
One last time

One more
Poem
Hers
And hers alone

Conjured up rungs of rack
Her impromptu ledger
Bowed
By the weight the weight
Of galloping mouthed axes
Running full speed past
The rush the crush

Into the margins

A clever trick!
Gone from us

Handful of whitened knuckles
Inside usurped fist ******
******* no more
Open to the magnificence

She had had
All there ever was to be
For a time

Water white like ghosts falls
into glass. Upended,
sickly-thick liquid encircles –
a new, easy-access-brand elixir
for an old kind of contamination.
Burning more than should,
corroding boils and poxes
as it slides, falls, digs deep –
scoring chasms and lines
while falling – unanticipated –
a novel redress for an ancient affliction.
Internal temperature rising as fast as
awareness falling, composure sedate
but sentient, growing distantly fearful -
even though the snake oil accompanied
guarantee: “Whatever ails you.”
Wonder, I, if said whatever is said oil,
mentally transfixing that fast-falling cure
into a clever-cruel kind of contagion –
thoughts worsen as poison of aporia slips deep,
and hands-to-throat, digits dig deep –
archaic antidote; a brutal purge, and
mangled boils and liquefied pox
Explode
in a burning sea rising, aflame and
charring as experience-dictates-should,
while sickly-thick water-white ghosts escape,
screaming in exile –
face-to-floor, thoughts rod-grounded,
awareness – gone, snake oil - purged,
malady - sustained.

I’m sitting in the dark and the sound of the rain falling is just right and silence settles to whatever volume is current. And as you become increasingly aware it’s like all of the oxygen is ****** out of the world and yet you can still breathe.

The power in that grasp. Glimpse. Moment of ‘being’. An active moment of happening now. The current. And it is so titillating, mesmerizing, and transfixing that you suspend time to really see it. It presents itself in many different ways and oh how truly altering they are.

I love the ones with no talking. No words  anywhere for me to hear whether I want to or not. Just colors, sounds, textiles, smells. A unique constantly changing thing.

God I love these moments and I intend to go back but the need to express it overtook long enough to use words to write this. I am now disengaging.

Are they strictly local?
I wonder what, of her inspirations,
she’s seeking through the Sun

Whatever it is,
It is something
I walk away again.
Hollywood again.

He leaps down unto the glossy sheen
arms out back straight chin raised

No.

But I’ve been trying.
Or, softly pirouetting Fred Astaire
Tuxedo’d tails like bird’s wings
hang low on the body
Cuz I’ve been trying.
In turn, she’s losing the Sun.

It rests like a clear bubble
Large, between.
Amorphous.
It is,
in as much as
It isn’t.

Is she done yet?
I saunter over.

No.

Where you from?
The phone rests precariously
On the metallic lawnchair,
filming.
I have to move my seat.
LOUD is always the giveaway

What I’ve just realised is that
I have never heard my neighbour laugh.
Criticisms anchor,
Bewildering.

I wonder does
she bounce awake,
up and into the early morning
tap dancing?

An off-key bleat pierces
before even the coffee beans
can be ground down

For a long time I look out the window
standing in the place of
any and all distractions.
Pinned to the wall.

Can you ever leave Hollywood?
But, here I am again!
Splat.
I mean, really?
Since I was 17!

No.

She’s practicing her lines to the
Atmosphere.
Thrashing, like so.
Suggesting, rather.

She,
Seated in the other, resorts to
Choreography.

There she is,
Transfixing.

Again,
another one.

why, when asked who the most important person in their life is, do people say their mumdadsisterbrotherhusbandwifesiblingcatfriend? Why do they answer that it is anyone except themselves? because let me tell you one thing;
it's you. it always will be.
it's your heart that keeps the blood pulsing through your blue-river veins. your lungs keep you breathing, no matter how painful each breath is. your legs move you from place to place, although, really, you never even want to be there in the first place. your arms have held loved ones while they have wept and your fingertips have produced transfixing music that has caused them to weep. your liver has kept you alive on the nights where you tried very hard not to be and your stomach has demanded that you really must eat even when you try to tell it, and yourself, otherwise. your lips have brought fireworks to those of others and your eyes have been a glowing fire through the deepest of nights and darkest of times (even if you think they're a terrible, in-between sort of colour)
it's you. it always will be

The day is your enemy,
a siege of them your downfall.
I watch the battle take place
from a careful distance
with the sun ignorant on our
field and dancing upon your blood.
Conflict is a transfixing thing.