Expansive (the realm of Bacchus)

Identity slips away,
and it's into
the Rainbow Vein.
Mind departs
familiar shores
to tread the waters
of undiluted sentience.
Revelations
of the Divine
percipitate
from clouds
of the supraliminal
amidst a dissociative
communion
offered from the hands
of the Holy.
The waking world
could not contain
this unification
with the infinite.

The Caverns of Loathe

I embody eons
of unfiltered perception
Dwelling
in the Caverns of Loathe
Watching
from within my bones
as I bathe
in clandestine desire.
Her essence
turns the heads of mystics
Receiving
from within the God-mind.
She pulls
her hair back,
and leaves fate
to speculation

Suburban Pastures

Blue sky hangs high,
this grass so green;
still this field
is no place for horses.
A pasture wrapped tight
with picket fence borders,
the interstate
through its heart
like headwaters.
On four legs they stand
with their teeth
in their mouths,
but they still look
as noble as ever.
Yet you'll never believe
what you see
in this place;
for this field
is no place for horses.

In the Eyes of Cosmic Storms

Crawled from endless hallways

through oxytocin haze

of unlived days

experienced thirdhand.

I have ridden waves on violent seas

in the eyes of cosmic storms

and will do so

for time eternal.

Beyond our finite bodies

we expand into forever

as entangled threads of being

stitched into the face of God. 

The Hands of Ghosts

The cold smoke coils
Hanging in the reaches of my breath
Define the moments
Hanging in the reaches of our being.
I'm remembering
That your body is a wasteland,
And lying still,
As my veins bleed into themselves
Relentlessly.
I tire by wandering
The endless halls
Of alternate possibility
Until I give up
On my fantasies.
It all just feels
Like swimming through the hands of ghosts.

Oceans

Thought of me without you;
it would be like oceans.
Typhoon seasick,
and the north star fallen.
Sank with the ship like her captain
to the bottom of nothing
where I dwell with the strange life
and forget that I was something.

Untitled

I've rehearsed my understanding
of that which demanded it.
Been drunk for a week
and left dreaming
of halcyon days.
By a lack of understanding
you shut the door on me.
In my ennui
I caused harm.

I was lost inside myself
and you found me that way;
like a dog
that doesn't wag its tail.

The Weatherman

My head is fucking cloudy;
full of rainclouds.
Storms of strength unseen
anger seas of calm
between my temples.
Golden rays of sun
are in the forecast of my mind
for days unrevealed.

mushrooms

I relive scenes
of warmer moments;
your essence drifts
through my time.
It was the same
on those mornings after drinking.
Just the same
as flashbacks
from last night's mushrooms.
Now I stare softly
at 5 o'clock sunsets
that come so early
as your sunset
in my sky.

River Drunk

Last night
I was on the other side
of the ocean,
breathing clean air.
Watched reflections
of distant shores
projected on a screen
of cool waters.
Heard a late-night train
headed to faraway places,
and drowned
in all of it.
This morning
I rise early
to headaches
and unfulfilled responsibility.

Shoreline

I saw you walking
along my sandy beaches
so I made my way to the shoreline,
but found no size 8 footprints;
they'd been washed away by tides.
I called your name
and received my answer:
     crashing waves
     ocean's sound
I realized
you'd been on vacation.
A swim, I thought
would wash away the longing
and the heat of your disdain.
Instead I found myself
drowning in the calmest waters.

Stagnant Life

With no drink
to ease my mind,
I shut myself in
and deny prophecies.
By breathing perfume air,
I sink into the past like lead
to the floor
of the ocean of time.
The still life I was living
Is now the stagnant life I live,
but really,
it feels the same. 

Ethereal Bedrooms

I'm falling for phantoms.
Romance hides away
in the ethereal bedrooms
of my dreams.
And the days
are days of bleak uncertainty
spent choking
on self doubt.
I want to burn;
I want to drown,
yet hold fast
to delusions of my immortality.

It was real this time

Sun had set
on summer
for farewells
to old friends
and hound dogs
alike.
This time
I did it for real,
then stood outside
the gas station
staring blankly
at people passing.
I wanted
to go to hell.

Like The Old Years

I had to rest
and bury myself in time.
It’s summer again,
still loveless
as it was in the old years,
before the nights
were laced
with drunken half-sleep
and cryptic dreams
that remind me
of my countless
shortcomings.

Riding the Chariot

He rides in
on his fine white chariot,
expressing glamour,
class,
all of us invited
to join him.
I climbed up
as he took the reigns,
how I wish my will was strong!
We cover vast distance
in what seems
like moments,
and I step down
from his chariot.
Turning back,
I take a final glimpse.
A breeze blows,
and his fine white chariot,
now stained black,
turns to dust
and is gone.

Musings

I saw you in my dreams last night.
I want to be ethereal.
I've seen you in wakeful hours;
where you breathe,
where you sleep.
How I'd love to be there!

I'll transcend reality
and taste of April,
hiding in the shadows
of timeless spring days.
Forgotten,
like a grain of sand
as it falls to the bottom
of the hourglass.

The Prophet

"I want to be a prophet,"
he said.
"I am not a man of faith,"
I said.
Paging through books,
black coffee
on Tuesday morning,
and I can't stop thinking
about things
that don't really matter.

He wants to be a prophet,
I want to sail the seas,
paging through days
of calloused labor
and clandestine longing,
dreaming of your arms.

He'll stand among the prophets
on the altar,
as I drink red wine
with the captain
and great kings
salt the earth.

Thanksgiving Daypoem

I planted
my garden
on infertile soil.
This year,
there will be
no harvest.
My withered
crops bear
no fruit.
I turn them
back into the earth
with my
cracked, dry hands.
I sit,
surrounded by
solemnity.
Next year,
I'll eat well
on Thanksgiving day.

This October, it's Wool.

Wake me
from transient dreams
of faraway places
and faces
of infinite familiarity
that remain
unnameable.
We'll feel
the otherness
of words spoken
in the distance,
never more
than faceless.
We'll dance alone
in great halls
until neither
of us can stand
on our own legs.
This October,
I wrap myself
in wool.