Communion

Created: 12/06/2009 12:20pm

I awoke this morning to the sound of a quiet shuffle, spanning the hardwood floors of our house. Her footsteps approached the door, gently opened it, and kissed me good morning before she set out. My stomach was knotted from the drinking, but the few hours of sleep had served me better than expected. I put the quiet music on, the guitars chugging softly, painted a panorama of a cross country train slowly moving across the plains.

Barefoot, I meandered toward the kitchen, surprised to see the sunlight streaming in on a November morning. The smell of ground spices is always stronger in the morning--the nose well rested, the mind clear and attentive. Taking in some of the cool water, it seemed colder than even the weather outside. I waited for the tea to brew with a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and freshly grated ginger.

I sat near the window, reflecting on the events of last night; of music, comedy; a liquid gallery of art flowing across the globe, groundwater transferring instantaneously to fill the cup of whomever should turn on the tap. Those nights, we drink the outpourings of the soul. This is our communion, our sacred ritual of twisting thoughts and emotion, weaving them together, all of us gathered separately around electrified looms of light and static. We thread each other, over and under, one through the other, publicly, secretly, dancing while stationary, singing a song of some invisible eternal regress.

My dear Brothers and Sisters, this is the drink of rejuvenation. Our blood flows freely, coaxed only by want of recognition, understanding, the hope that a sibling can help us to draw a map from this unknown place we have awakened to. May these maps always be incomplete, always changing, crossed out, lost, revised, reinvented. Thus we change, we watch, and we change again...

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Perseid Impartation

Created: 08/12/2009 6:35am

From the surface of this quiet city, my wandering mind reaches out towards this canopy of gleaming stars. The clouds have finally been swept away, luring out the children of Perseus; and my eyes dart back and forth, as they burn streaks into the night sky. This is when wishes are made--by children, by the hopeful, by those who fear the world has already left them alone--though I sit alone.

Inside their societal shelters, they sleep, while the street lights shine down on my back from this abandoned parking lot. My contemporaries find no solace in the quiet brilliance of this perfect night, and I dream of a druidic masquerade to replace our hollow faction. Dancers spin around me in a carousel of smiling faces, music glides through the air--plucked by fingers, sung by harmonized voices of warm honey. This is where I want to be--far away from the hard pavement and drunken headlights--but the cold evening pulls me back from my reverie.

Forever engraved into the celestial kingdom, Hercules looks down at our machines of creation and destruction. Could the greatest of beasts barely approach the level of brutality in ourselves? Will the heavens continue to send the world another hero, another last-chance savior of humanity? Their patience surely must be growing thin.

Soon the clouds begin to drift in. I have carried the wishes of my siblings while they slept, left them with the gods, the stars; hoping they matter to someone greater than I. My arms are cold from the damp night air, and I follow the sidewalk beside gravestones, back to my front porch; my shelter of solace and sleep.

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Queen Ann's Lace

Created: 07/26/2009 4:30am

Tonight I needed you. I needed the softness of your skin, and my face pressed against it. I needed the darkness of the night to gather silent, making the world seem empty, forcing all my attention to the curve of your hips, and the sheets that follow their form. Your female essentia, compressed and distilled by lunar gravity, absorbed me; channeling my river of thought, from its restless, winding indirection, back to your simple boundaries of calm currents and elegant symmetry.

Am I just a grievous machine, pushed when pushed and pulled when pulled? Am I laced with primal procedure from birth, only mimicking a synthetic archetype; an invented apparition of soul divine? Is my love an automated force of inhuman nature, non-deserving of recognition, appeasement, indulgence of an organic lust? Tonight, your dismissal was more wounding than commonplace, leaving me wandering with desire for someone, anyone, who would glide through the night to my window, simply to rest my turbulent head near her womb.

I was brushed aside; and as the sleepless evening sustains, my sadness cares nothing of why.

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Absent Deformations

Created: 05/24/2009 3:12am

The small clouds of white smoke rise and twist
gliding under the street light

I walk the dark, the bright, the dark
on top of sidewalk stones placed by men who watch from beneath them
The earth is the only smell of history left in this town
stacked with polymer restored replicas
an image sold with velvet curtains
and Doors that lead to the empty alley

Other walkers pass by
and greet the shadow man from the 1800's
who hides behind my steps in the silhouette

The forces have pulled the youth from the streets
into the windows and shipped them away

Where is my army?
Where is my youth?

So still and quiet the streets remain
Rivers of longing are locked up behind thick walls
stirring within the skulls of the self contained
wanting to escape the blue strobe-lit windows

No chaos will arise tonight on these broken slabs of stone
No hallucinations of the hot oil lamp, the quiet candles
No reverence will conspire on these dirty streets

If only the dead could walk again tonight...

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Storm Summoner

Created: 02/25/2009 8:16pm

My goddess of storms
I have been waiting for your return

She whispers a digital echo across the sky
bouncing along a network of organic antennae
ear to ear
mothers to children
they call from their doorsteps

The sound floods down upon the streets
A warm rush of pounding rhythm
smooth and relentless

The leaves dance in front of the shimmering background
florescence faded to black and gray
churning turbulence of twisting force

I stand in the open
breathing the electric charge into my head
standing in front of this faceless menace
this beautiful, dark shadow our goddess has summoned
flowing from her mind into my eyes

Her sounds shake my intent from within
a thick whine of haunted strings
drawing up memories from some changing, eroded past existence
filled with dry earth, love, sickness
bearing witness to the grinding of time
patiently waiting for the parting of the sensory
to watch it arise again

Her storm has arrived
reminding me of this inner sunrise and sunset

Inward shifting without a center
Outward shifting without a center
from dusk to dawn
caught up with the winds above, the waves below,
with every neuron and lightning flash of this passing storm

All the elements pressing me to take refuge
from the spinning in every direction

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This is For

Created: 01/30/2009 2:20am

This is for the ones who walk with me
Sometimes

My beautiful, scentless, tasteless
marvels of wonder

Attached to chaos
The invisible twisting wind
Flowing with digits and duality

This is for the ones who recognize me
Maybe

My tireless, chattering, rebellious
citizens of hopelessness

Hoping for more
The untouchable silent night
Dry with breath and lyrics

This is for the ones who will always care for me
Tonight

My imperfect, ignorant, delusional
subjects of sadness

If the ground was soaked in moonlight
in this frozen winter
you would see me looking down
standing still
steam rising from a silhouette
and the trees would cast their crooked shadows
on the snow around me

I do not belong here anymore
yet we are still the same

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Memories of Sleep

Created: 11/09/2008 1:48pm

The autumn has shifted into a mode of mercilessness
As I walk through the wet streets
The wind twists old memories into my head

The old life of a young adolescent
Filled with longing thoughts and imaginations
Of beautiful contours
Warm attraction
Innocent motives
And colored lace...

I walk back into my old naive self
A time where the observer possessed no marks worth beholding
Where no magnetism could be generated without a hollow association
A time where prayers were silent yet humming on the surface of my skin

This small city pushes me shivering
Along the building walls
Down the walkways
And throws my surrendered ambition to the dark corners of the alley
Stuck to the ground
Surrounded by dampness
Held fast for months
To sleep with the cold and rain
To sleep with the other wet leaves

Why couldn't some beautiful angel gather me up
In the cool, blue, florescent evening
And light me aflame...

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