spinning
finitely
to
nothing-
ness,
love is
feared,
and saints
rape the innocent
with sugar,
lies,
and
hate.
survival
rests
indelicately
in the heart
of a clown.
let madness be your armor,
and paradox your sword.
mount the rocinante of jest
as Fate bawls on your chest.
the mob, insane with greed
will never cease to feed
on you,
your Truth,
your fire.
so get it twisted
and save your soul.
Fuck these motherfuckers
and go make your own.
angels
sleep gently
and
sandman’s tea
is cold.
but deep
into the quiet,
where only hearts see
i feel,
me…
yearning
for a touch
of glory,
or
victory’s embrace.
or
the Beauty
enshrined
in her smile
and
her face.
the puerile pureness of solitude
glimmers faintly:
a threadbare cloak
offering a
veneer of hope, and
meager protection
against the rigors
of community,
and life’s other
trivialities.
stalking ghosts of wild musings
and fantastical inspirations,
his belly,
filled with yearning
and snapshot feelings,
rumbles for
the messy guts of intimacy and
fear.
the vast expanse of jungle:
a cage,
against distraction;
a recipe for freedom and
inaction.
his roaring defiant howl is
a sad echo filled with pride,
and nothing more.
magic
shines
and
giggles
and dances all about,
but
without love,
he feels
it not.
so he continues on,
drowning helplessly
in beauty
and wonder,
seeking
the flint for his soul.
I have
deep
in the heart
of
me
words
that spell no letters.
songs
that compose
no notes.
epic saga and
poetic symphony
whirl
violently through
my soul-
unheard
but not
unfelt.
I am
feeling.
come,
creature of dusk
and
magic,
come and rest –
your head
upon my chest,
and let us
slip
away
through forest
and jungle
into the depths.
what treasures
what terrors
what pleasures
may we uncover.
come
with
me.
let us
just be
one.
whispers
of tomorrow
chase mockingly;and
laugh
hauntingly
as I mourn
all that never
was.
what hope remains
for fearful souls?
i’m gonna….
i hope
i pray…
…..
pleas of weakness.
delusional affirmations.
death,
rescheduled.
So i whisper this
to you:
live
now.
write
now.
dance
now.
be
here,
with me,
now.
husks of autumn,
brown and soggy,
reflect Moon’s
clear light
on this,
a warm winter’s night.
acrid soot of
a well used hearth
folds
evenly
into Spring’s
cusping
floral perfumes.
renewal:
expectant.
love:
unexplored.
potential:
unlimited.
and
nature
adored.
in the coming
madness
and beauty
that is my life-
that is your life
unexpected,
I stand ready,
and humble
and (slightly)
unafraid.
across the sea
somewhere,
there I
am.
here
I am,
home.
without you.
home
ain’t home
without you. so
i’m coming back.
and then,
then we gonna have
some
fun.
and
we
will be,
home.
windy
trees
shriek of the coming
storm
that
is already here.
it roiled,
as young hearts toiled
for naught else
but
a clean
start.
but the tempest calls
now
vengeful
frightful
fearful,
of the calm that will come tomorrow.
Title from “A Wrinkle In Time”:
L’Engle, Madeleine. A Wrinkle in Time. New York :Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1962.
a thunderbolt
crashing down upon my neck.
a tidal
wave of peace,
calm,
and surrender.
two souls
peAking
through
the fog and
confusion
of Life’s
many illusions.
lighting the way with
passion
inspiration
beauty and
hope.
&
Love.
theDeprevation 