Without Permission

The tree under which we imagine our day is not made in vein,
nor is it assuredly swaying in the ways of our mutual design,
Instead it is broken and sighing...swaying and trying...
I'd probably joke a few times,
then the limb would fall and land on our heads,
Still alive, we'd count our blessings and its rings, only to decide it's dead,
Theorizing it was too young to hold our mutual weight,
as we leaned with heavy hearts and wounded memories,
The leaves would keep whispering without our permission,
unaffected by our desires and wishes,
The seeds would keep growing, just as the old wood died in our fire
The sun would melt our masks,
and the breeze would whisk away our fears as soon as they left our lips...
Please forgive this random, imagined, remiss bliss.
Rearrange these atoms as you see fit.

Solitary Chef

....They've all gone away.  Island.  Wild.  

As I wander the shores for see shells;

I hear no hellos or goodbyes;

My eyes burned and blind;

The sun fries me alive;

I make this existence mine;

Writing an incidence of sublime;

Experiencing the loss of bliss;

The place where no one exists;

and the shores are washless;

the trees like papery thin ghosts;

I am hungry;

so eat the moon;

she tastes like acrid honey;

until the cycle delivers me a sun again;

and I eat him too,

but there's no difference;

both love and loveless taste the same;

So I dive into the ocean; 

looking for that perfect salt grain;

then sprinkle the mountains with cinnamon;

and offer a meal to the sky.

Unseen Side

I want to see the unseen side
its revelations through time's healing passage
suspended, raw, pure, unmasked
in a moment of rapture
the world dissolves
bare and defenseless
nothing left to uphold or maintain
speechless mastery of this selfless game
when you've finally given up everything and risked it all
only to come full circle through this rise and fall
in synchronicity and sanctum
with vulnerable passion
ineffable and fantastic
nothing else matters
purity of form moves faster and faster
sacrificed and offered without reservation
an outpouring of love and affection
we transcend the game
in this moment of playing
please, come back again
I'll be waiting....

Inner Sanctum of Sin

From darkness to light, the blind become sighted;
From lightness to dark, the sighted become blind;
Between each - an experience, mysterious and sublime;
Slow-release, remain curious, escaping through time.

We find stones to throw, breaking bones of contention;
Ensuing pain that we feel - a universal prescription;
To release and heal many lifetimes of deception;
This is the deal, it's been revealed, although we've forgotten.

So come now, blessed gifts - say YES! to divine presents;
Unwrapping, unveiling a slow savoring of heaven;
Combining and divorcing supreme forces within;
I come bearing gifts from the holiest inner sanctum of sin.

Hourglass Figure

An invalidated fallacy stands separated and subjugated, as the sands start running through the hourglass - Its feminine shape stands alone, counting grains cross the portal one by one. An approximation of stolen time notation. It's all mine, whether they're counting or taking. It's not counterfeit. It's accurate in aptitude to cause those who would doubt with one second less to count... and then bit by bit, the all-important and over-exaggerated shit; the instigated and insightful brains, all trying their best to maintain a paradigm of passages; implying the cycle's the Master's whip, but I see... I'm the Mistress and Master is whipped.  I forged this hourglass from root to tip. It looks the same, even when it's inverted. You still don't get it?

*last grain falls...*

Time to Flip.

Instinctual Swim

I am the Mistress of my own Mind;
Becoming One with God in time;
Slowly swimming up the river stream;
the power of Creation driving me 
to follow this program of divinity;

I cannot be denied what's already within;
But only the strongest survive this upstream swim;
From fresh water to sea and back again;
The life cycles the same for every one;
Yet each of us must make it on our own.


And when I reach my natal riverbed;
I'll joyfully mate my lover and it'll be said;
that many died and never made it to find
their God within the hard scales outside;
birthing this transformation, and then I'll die.

New Moon Mystery

There's a place in me -
this new moon mystery
that darkenly shines
a cool black reverie
inside the mind
where all eye see
is one cycle of mastery
together forever
in a dual of impossibility
where cruel and kind
combine and take flight
once twilight erases
all shadows cast outside
and there's no contrast, no bright sun
the everlasting light has come undone
now the fears engaged can be overcome
and buried as the seeds of my becoming
blooming petals, beautiful garden growing
on Goddess's Tree, this is the Knowing.