Sciamachy 12/8/14

We know no other home.

Pumping poison to our pulse

The needle sinks deeper still.

We tolerate the pain for fear of vacancy, emptiness.

Our skin is turning blue.

        failing follicles, falling facades.

We resist but our hand stays on the syringe

Our own index injecting further.

You ridicule our struggle

       pull away, you say.

But this inescapable, invisible od is relentless.

We're forever bound to this sciamachy.

It gives us purpose.

If you're not here you can't know,

when the venom peaks

we're saved by indescribable joy

joy that vanishes any memory of past hurt

and again the cycle continues

We know no other home.

Either we pull out the needle and face the void

or we live for the moments of life.

Eventually all crumble and fall.

We know no other home.  

See (III) 9/30/2014

And will you come back?
This life we live is funny.
It works in strange ways.

Blue (II) 9/30/2014

I've never felt so drawn.
Literally every part of me
     gravitates to you.
I've lost control.
Every way you look
     I feel your light.
Couldn't get it off of me
     if I tried.
It's a silvery warmth
     you touch me with.
Sharp as steel,
Lovingly delicate.
I pretend I'm special,
That it's just for me.
And for a moment
    I fill your eyes
    as the deep blue sea.
For a moment
    you caress
    the best of me.
                           .
                              .
                                  The rim
                                    is black
                                   and dark
                                    I can't
                                    see you
                                     from here
                                     No
                                      more
                                      light
                                     Not
                                       a
                                      touch
                                    Everything
                                      settles
                                           in
                                            cycles.
And again,
I'm blue. 

Deep (I) 9/30/2014

The dance together is seamless
         a push and pull
         give and take.
Separate but connected
a gravity you can't create.

Magnetism I haven't felt
          overwhelming tides
          breaking waves.
The beat of the Calypso drum
a harmony we crave.

It's random yet steady
           unpredictable
            and the same.
All we have is perfect
even effortless in pain.

I'm not sure what this magic is,
But the love will seek our gain. 

Lament. 8/22/2014

Have you ever seen a city reflected in the clouds?
The land beneath my feet is weeping. 
It's crying for something so dear 
   I probably can't even feel it anymore .
The blood tears trickle through my toes
   But only salted iron tastes the pain. 
There's a dizziness in the sky,
   A distance.
And the wind whispers secrets of the deep demise. 
Still I'm blank.
The easterlies wail yet affect not a hair on my sleeve. 
I pluck, I pull, I scratch until I'm immersed in hematic condensation. 
My empathy howls but my body doesn't tremble. 
I am stone. 
Not stone, stone crumbles with these secrets. 
I am not stone.
I am air.
With wispy water vapor I glide. 
I cry through my indifference. 
For what? 
If only I were made of stone.

Warm Tape (RHCP): The Experience 7/3/2014

      I wish I could take your hand and lead you to this sanctuary by the sea.
Where the sand rests on that drum beat 
and our bodies breathe with the pulse of the tide
     back and forth through the vibrations of the guitar strings.
Where we could excite the melodic breeze gently stroking our hair,
and the thousands of stars twinkling their angels (dust) on our enamored innocence.

Wicken 6/7/14

The witching hour approaches.
     yellow moon, split clean,
     closer, bigger, clearer.
Eclipsed by black cauldron smoke.
Grey mist providing shadows,
           and obliterating them.
The blink of an eye and it's gone.
The opal becomes formless and mythical.
Vision obscured by memory,
as though it didn't exist.
But the spell remains.
And somewhere behind the clouds,
                     the jaguar's watching. 

Hamlet 2014 (5/5/2014)

Again.
    Again I end up on the cold, tile floor.
Warped and Heroin scraping through my ears
     and into my brain.
Clink, fizz,
     another Pacifico Clara cap hits the floor.
Right...more authentic...Cinco de Mayo...
Jitza? I am alone.
No, Why get up?
Indifference, Asleep,
       just me and the half lit carnival lights.
Your face but that's all.
Just enough to nick my heart. 
        Fuck you.
Can't get rid of it.
Peeling at my arteries,
       wearing them thin.
Either I win, 
          or you do.
You don't deserve that satisfaction.
I have to win.
So I think of the strategy.
Another Pacifico.
If only you knew...

The Race 2/16/14

The ribbon is cut.
Off we go.
     Kicking off with the hind leg
         we begin the sprint.

It starts off as effortless, easy.
Our legs move autonomously
                            propelling us 
                             f o r w a r d .

Deep in the race we grow weary.
Breathing, 
     we notice the others for the first time.
Overjoyed and curious, 
                            we [pause.]

But the deafening ROARS frighten us 
                                      o  n  w  a  r  d  .

Creating competition from connection
                        faster   brighter   lighter    Fighter.
Suddenly we're chasing phrases.
                                        Meditative HIGHS
              transcendental medicines
                                                     "organic" psychedelics.

Inebriated, we stumble and stray
    altering original course to conformity.

The chase continues,
       Drunk on money.
           High on $tatus. 

We've been running for so long, 
the 
Coffee-Cocaine 
          is 
     melded
      to our blood cells.

We forget why we're running,
                             but can't stop.
Fighting cultural instinct
    we attempt to self-destruct...

Increasing pills, 
      (insomniadepressionanxietycholesterolbloodpressureobesitypain)
to e l   o   n   g ate our life.

Looking back, the world we've passed is a blur.
           We remember nothing.
           We've affected nothing.

Afraid to stop, we keep running.
Powered by monsters unknown.
Short-ness-of breath.

The demons are up ahead
    yet we don't stop running

.no one showed us how.

Fairies of the Forest 2/13/14

The Fairies of the Forest are never silent.
With these fairies of the Forest I am not alone.

Dancing incandescently through yellow and blues
they breathe together with the cackling leaves.

They hum
               if you listen.
They chant
               if you listen.
They sing
               if you listen.
They scream.

Painful. Powerful. Inaudible.
The Earth trembles when one crashes to the ground.
Do you feel it?
The ocean weeps when one breathes its last.
Do you see it?

A butterfly with a broken wing still flies.

The scream of the butterfly.
       Have you heard it?

                   I have.