Saturday, August 15, 2009


Anchored in the present (tense), between Now and the Fog of Inaction, are simmering unchartered grey waters. Colors, scintillating and blinding, reflect off the metallic surface. Words fail to bind, one touch and absorb. She is poison! May I die the little death?

Oh Legend of the Alchemists! Pure madness, broken men line your shores. And for how long? Time is meaningless for an Element. Contradiction, solid and metal, heavy, yet formless. All these bodies betray a heady past, but who knows? Dementia.

Where ever-shifting Luna, the Moon, touches Earth with her pale light is where you are found. Every-where and yet no-time. No beginning, no end, no disintegration. Flow on free spirit, nothing can hold you!

Monday, August 10, 2009



Oh! To reach and find the other behind the veil of possibility. To hold oneself out, to hoist the person aloft, and, in that aerie spire, be received. All the eyes, their precious attention, time thief, harvesting finite moments of the indiscreet. Euphoria sustained, in this twilight of your middle age, feeding on the pliable fresh bud. "Fifteen minutes of fame? Nay, give me the succor only your turbulent youth can provide, aggregated forever."