This love that flows // Beneath my skin // Simmers into golden light // Roiling shadows // Rise to match its height.
If I’ve ever touched you- // With my tongue, // My arms, // My sweat- // I’ve hated you, too.
Continue readingPost Category → Waxing Poetical
Poetic and otherwise more personal pieces of writing.
All Is Mind
lightning cascades // from the eternal anvil // let your stories die // ride the wave // with all your Being
Continue readingThe Mirror Smiles
I loathe the world // For how it raised you. // I love the world // For birthing me within // Your womb.
Continue readingA Prayer on Her Behalf
Athena blooms // In a mushroom cloud // An ascendant star
Continue readingSo Below
How can THAT which cherishes // The Ten Thousand Things, Be // No respecter of persons?
Continue readingRevolution
The Lost call for peace, // With tears born from ignorance, // While Cain breaks Abel, // Blinded by tearful experience. // Heaven and Earth churn on, // Rebirthing this bloody soup.
Continue readingThe Splinter in My Brother’s Eye
I’ve observed within my own experience that I hate in others that which I hate in myself.
This is not universally true.
I had never liked catching my reflection in the mirror and yet when I saw others with bodies calcified like mine I tended to view them with compassion.
It can sometimes be easier to be compassionate to those who lay with devils when you’ve been intimate with those devils, yourself.
And yet, invariably, when I look upon another with poison in my heart, I find upon further introspection that I am projecting my inadequacies onto them… and in condemning them I am condemning myself.
Continue readingAxis
Why do the moving seize // This vessel so, as though // We want to weep? // As if unshed tears // Wore the grooves of these bones // Sailing flesh bares them free.
Continue readingAlchemy in Writing Love Poetry
The process of creation can be quite illuminating.
I wrote a love poem recently, and I felt something akin to vindication as I wrote it.
Such a martyr for love I am!
The rest of that initial discarded draft has been lost to the mists of my memory, but here the falsehood of my emotion is left to bleach beneath the sun.
Continue reading