Rambling through fields of daisies in spring.
Hoping to find a new feeling.
Coming to terms with what each moment brings.
I’m making a bargain with time.
Not getting tired of running around.
But wanting to know where I’m going.
Trying to measure my meaning in sound.
Trying to keep it in rhyme.
Hoping to answer a call to my heart.
Quest for passionate focus.
Adrenalin pushing, I’m ready to start.
Making a bargain with time.


bird songs

I’ve been through this before,
pre-dawn morning
birds chirping, infiltrate my airspace,
awake when I should be long oblivious.
Good girls dream of princes,
subliminal desire to be slain
by love piercing enshrined virtue.
Gold hued birds in crystal cages
incant witchery for food —
hair of newt, spleen of worm; smoky
syllables induce pleasure.
Warm hearts beat together, no bond
of pact
or sentiment.
Lore is explicit; no crime to commit.
Vexed, inconvenienced by the regular
comings and goings of
the natural world.
Birds of a feather exchange their
social pleasantries.
It is I who should be sleeping,
conjuring brave new worlds;
ambient noise translated into
neoteric lullabies.


Fish Tale


I didn’t know the fish would die
flapping on sun-warmed metal.
Peacefully domestic afternoon.
Children discover death
and other worlds.
Sitting by the well
to draw inspiration.
Spinning yarn, weaving words.
Dusty work.  Flakes of skin
embed the fabric.
Struggling through childhood,
the tales get twisted.
Little boys & little girls
separate language.
We think we know our place,
our destinies,
from the games we’re given,
the words we’ve learned to imitate,
rhymes, reasons, rituals.
Imbibing passion body to body,
we awaken rules of blame.
The woman tempts.
The hero conquers.
The sad boy desires a
self-fulfilling fantasy,
stomping upon his heart to
start the flow of real blood,
real rage.
Out of water, out of earth,
out of air,
flopping upon some inert surface
the tale mechanistically repeats.
What world can we discover
nurturing life?



Binary stars blink celestial song.
Music of spheres, of oblongs, ellipses.
Twinkle far beyond constant of light.
Cycles within spirals, rhythms within
phases of rhyme; sly eternity’s tricks
of repetition and mutation.
Crystallized, brought to sublime fruition.
Poets taste, translate cosmic recipes,
tongue to tongue.
There is purpose in the soar and descent.
Aviation over rocky terrain,
entranced by sea curl, currents,
shore tides charmed by Moonfolk.
There is magic in the swoon,
dizzy heights,
charismatic ecstatic galaxies.
Bent, sowing seed below,
stumbling among jarring rocks,
tilling soil,
carrying water,
stirring mud into food;
blind, veil entrenched, exhausted from dire falling, 
meager air.
Peak touchpoint of glory
intently aware above the waves



    Falling in love has a lot to do with the MEETING.
    That ineffable configuration of time and space 
        and receptive psyches.
    It only happens when you least expect it;
    and are most ready.
    Getting ready consists of  
    totally engaging in your own thing.
    Digging on yourself.
    Playing in tune with the universe.
    And feeling softly horny — if you can dig it.
    Least expecting consists of 
    enjoying perfection of happiness,
    at one with the moment —
    neither expecting nor fearing.
    At this point, you are ready for the
    And it will flow along so smoothly 
        and just rightly
    that you won’t even notice ‘til much later
    just how magical it was.
    There is still plenty of good old-fashioned magic. 
        Ubiquitous, if you can hitch onto it.
    Magic is what love is all about
    — that imperceptible cement that binds
    freely floating atoms or organisms
    against all odds.
    consists of you
    and another
    and everything around and within you
    from the beginning of days until now
    which has been gathering forces
    to bring you and that other together.
    And you know that wondrous soul without explanation.
    And right here is such special THERENESS.
    And you both have everything to say
    and explore at once.
    And it’s so exciting.
    And you’ve found love’s buoyant cloud
    miles above the Earth.
    And Everything is somehow beautiful.
    What happens next is up to you.


For Leda and Her Lover

Slow, languid romance.
Gliding, alive in the dance.
Coy, exchanging glances, magnetic
Lithe, feather embrace.
Wings to fingers, to waist, to loin.
Adoring clever licks, lovers’ gifts,
luscious lips,
tender whispers, savory inhalation,
breathtaking kisses, tingling
skin, tangling hair.
Intently aware, intensely
Amazed, amused, merrily
enrapt, enthused, near crazed
in that way of ebullient pairs
passion ensnared, joyfully



a view between Heaven and Earth,
Above and Below.
Chilled, burned, abducted by prophecy,
by Gods, Demons.
What creature, fearfully aware of mortality,
prays to be the prey of fate —
prays for salvation from the other side,
accedes to forces beyond control
of flesh and mind?
What kind of caviling, conniving coward
bends the law, the sacred trust,
covenant with all that is holy?
Cast into a class that laughs at rules,
what holds grimy chaos at bay?
(Fools at least are pure, are gay and
without malice.)
Cunning schemes are not forbidden honour,
if they carry careful depth, just weight,
that integrated code.
How much is sold?  How much kept
for seed and nourishment?
This is why we invented numbers —
to have some objective measurement.
So good we become at spinning stories,
descending backward from our source,
so easy to proclaim:  “Of course,
everyone knows,
combat is the obvious choice.”
Because our goal is not solvency,
but Salvation; not solving common sums,
but absolution from our sins —
merry though they may be.
If Greybeard aloft in quantum sky,
hallowed by Name,
presides o’er rewards, blessed bliss,
cries in flames of perdition,
why would such a power be amused,
indulgent Grandfather bouncing worshipful
child on envisaged ectoplasmic knee,
promising eternity if baby will but
keep still?
Wouldn’t such a benevolent progenitor
expect more joyfully creative heirs, better stories
for the choices given?


Escape Velocity

RRRRRunning–Spinning–  rising to fly, to reach
and conquer the sky, the rooftops, the treetops,
outside city crowds.
To elevate,
escape gravity.
Ascend beyond all those petty groundling woes and fears.
Climb past the clouds,
among stars and moonbeams.
Steer to view
celestial omens extolled in fantasies.
Zooming through tickly, teasing, laughing ecstasy.
Catching up to steep snow peaks.  Peering in lighthouse windows.
Prancing gaily so many feet above fields and roads,
glancing below — can’t catch me
not you dour, sour, 
glum-faced cons down on the street.
Learning to fly, to soar, to race up high
where I can see for miles, 
and miles recede.
Learning to say no to ordinary normality
and break free.
Learning to say yes to magic, and make magic me.
unlike anything before.
Learning to break out of bounds and take in more
Ain’t nobody gonna tell me I can’t fly.


Armageddon 555

Gathering clouds
debate the contours
of a marvelous storm
Deep, deep
Drum, drum, drumming.
Hypnosis. Ozone wind
opens portals, windows
Cyclonic chaos rains,
rages, sobbing, shrieking.
whirling  miasma.
Stink, blinding,
rips through,
whipping into submission,
into ironic splendor,
random bits, splinters, slivers
of skin, sprinklings of
vital fluids.
Wisdom wrung clean
then flung away,
orgiastic rending
lost in a storm
of biblical proportions.


Folie à deux

Folie à deux
Me and you
In a world of two
Don’t skip a beat
out on the street
in our non-discreet
Folie à deux
Keep it clean
[Queen to Queen
You make a mean
Folie à deux]
I’m not fine
Sun don’t shine
Unless you’re mine
Folie à deux
Love that style
Hypnotic smile
Bewitched, beguiled
Folie à deux