Psalm 3

I lived in the forest, among beasts,
I lived in a pit of dogs,
I roamed the land in search of you,
and I sought you in the hallways of desire.
I wept when I could not see you in creation,
I wept and was blind.

I do not know
how my feeble wandering
somehow intersected
your electric heart.

I do not know
how you are
or how the world is
full of you.

But you have told me
that it is.

Your soul has spoken
and, by your hands,
my heart has softened,
and I have listened to your word.

And now, resting
in the firm embrace
of your unchanging will,

I am silent,
I am free,
I am still.

Blue Prayer

I struggle to talk to the Lord,
I trouble 'cause its so hard,
Its so hard to see him
Its so hard to touch him, now
with all us broken people 'round.

So hard to tell you, Lord,
with the words of my mouth,
So hard to talk 'bout the king of glory,
when I got a sinful state to shed,
Lord, gimme Jesus over this world any day.

Life and light within your eyes,
how much more beneath the guise
of you, how much in the deep mystery
of your soul, where I long to lie.

How the new flames bring my bliss,

The world thrills me
with its wildness:
erratic temperatures,
death, emotions,
and sometimes pain, but

Dogs are nice.
Children hold on
and grant us hope for
innocence. Ice cream,
the smell of shampoo
when a pretty girl's
hair coyly falls
on your face
in summer,
things that
come in beds,

Richter's plastic lobster,
the animals of fluff, Jesus,
and people to lean upon
and be leaned upon by;

How beautiful

are the soft
things we cling to
because we are
so starved
for love.

Evolution

Once,
when we were
very young
and stranded in
skeletons of carbon,
we had no mouths
to speak with.

Another day, perhaps
we crawled forth from oozes
and slept on banks
of somewhat tranquil seas
and woke, weeping in the night.

At some later date,
we searched for food,
and fought our brethren
savagely for it,
so that we would not die.

Then, Descartes said
"I think, therefore I am"
and Sartre was depressed
(somebody beat him up
and took his lunch
in fourth grade).

When I was a child,
I could not speak,
But they tell me
I made noises with my mouth.

Today, I write these words:

Sometimes life is metaphor for Life.

Immerse yourself in music, love,
let it wrap about you like silken garb,
let it enfold your form like the hands
of all my sweet dreams,
and I will only love you more.



"The most beautiful music is that in which we see shadows of ourselves and the world, rather than superficial portraits. For music transcends sight, perhaps even mocks it, like an older, wiser relative capable of reaching and loving its neighbors in a way that none other is."

Piece

"And, for the first time in my life, I was acutely aware of

where and how my body was. I could feel with an intensity

like that of a skilled concert pianist feeling his way through

a developing fugue. I could nearly hear my nerves telling me

"This is where you are supposed to be for as much time as you

possibly can be." I was in a state that my mind was

completely sure of, and I felt more alive than I ever had

before."

Come here
and let me love you
as you loved me
when we first began.

Come let
my dark, moss green
soul's edge
fall gently 'pon
the sea-wind of your
wild heart.

Come,
and I would die
to gaze upon
the dark and deep
within you now.

Come,
a mote of time
upon your lips is
'ternal bliss,
and yet,
each mote apart, an age.

A kiss,
your hand,
your eyes,
your voice,
your heart.

Come, dear love of mine,
and I will love you
as I always have.

Hathor

Why is it, now my heart falls to the floor,
why suffer so, when seems my pain has passed?
From whence hath this dark weight upon my core
come with its torch to set me all aflame?

To what dark end, and which dark lord is served
by th'assault of twisted hope upon my soul.
His strength secure, his mastery surely proved,
I have no sword with which I might recoil.

I see no portal, no escape from bearing love
without the sacrifice of, darker still,
yet 'nother passion that, in me, doth rage
and breaks and breaks the ideal of my will.

For in the greatest song of me, entwined,
you lie, clothed in the deepest of my vines.

perhaps heaven

But there comes a time when it's a different kind of missing.

Ah yes?

It's more distant, and respectful, and wondering where she is and what she is doing, and hoping she is well.

That sounds like a good place to be.

It is good.

Unrequited

It will not go, it will not lie,
It will not sit, and will not die.
It won't be buried 'neath the ground.
It shan't be silent, shan't be drowned.

No grave, no wings to fly away,
No sight of end, no final day,
No haven sought, aspiring rest,
Just constant thought, and bitterness.

What are you
frail balloon
that you should
curve

like a lover's body

You are no sphere
yet imperfect in
this
world.

Why do you fall,
like eyes on
beauty?

Where are you going?

How
do you
fly?

perhaps proverbs

1.
Happiness is not a poet
for poets aren't
(good ones, at least).

2.
I am sorry if any envy me
(as I do)
Know that there is no need
All I have should be his,
someday.

3.
Are you as beautiful
as I feel now?
If so,
I may weep when
I see you.

Plight

Here is a man
Jesus
who loves me
and tells me to love.

I say "fuck you"
most of the time.

God of Anesthesia

Apollo sings a dirge to Eros in distant lands,

precipitating numbness in me, the revealed Ka.

Letters fall from my hands, as I begin to slough

off some brightly colored hallucinatory husk.

Isis weeps, floods some other's bank, and

Absent of you, a void somewhere collapsing,

I darken.