the age of myth

This world is a terror
of unexplained. A crack
and a splitting of night
-time sky. The light
comes in flashes
that clarify
human heart,
as they terrify
mortal brain.

As we scatter -
each everyone
for itself -
tearing down every path
we can find in the dark,
we race and we crash,
we collide on tracks
and we hide in caves,
never knowing our part.
And to us, this is home.

This world, this life
as the ones who we
fleetingly love and know,
die desperately hard!
We live desperate and fast,
knowing only today, knowing now
won't last.

So we make up a myth. We huddle
in close. We bind up our wounds,
we sharpen our spears, and
we gather round fire.
We have found we can make
our own light, if we try
- we begin to see clear.

We begin to make sense,
in the stories we weave,
of what you mean to me,
and why we bleed.

And here in my tribe,
you are. So high -
in wisdom, esteem
- a priestess indeed.

A teacher in word,
in gesture and sign.
In feather and dress,
your dance is mine.

In wood and in flesh,
with sigil and scrawl,
the totem and fetish our hearts enclose
will take root and plant seed,
in nature and sky.
In cloud and in ground,
our science grows

and in time, conquers all
as we stretch and we yawn
and we turn to turn in,
pulling dreams in close -

and from eye to eye glance,
and from mouth to mouth smile
in creating the truth

that everyone knows.

"A heaven"

if adrift at sea,
with water to drink
and nothing to eat
except plenty of fish
and you and me.
Without compass or course,
no use for the stars but to wish -
we'd wish for:

Not a thing.
our sails to stay furled -
not becalmed, just at peace
with the whole wide world,
and with anchor drawn in
we'd drift through each night
never more to wash up
on the rocks of life

together alone

I almost don't know why I love you so
I definitely know why I need it
For me there isn't a bad thing in it
You make me feel outstanding, brilliant

You make me want to be the man.
I always said I was, but this time, I am
at least with a little help. With your belief
in me,
I can.

Be my friend, my love. Hold my hand,
and I will pretend I understand where we are.
Where we've been has been too hard to be.
Where we're going is not too far to see,

but there's nothing there we wanted,
except you and me. (may be.) The rest
is all fog, haze, and a forecast of rain
for days and days.

I wish I could live with you
in this storm, but instead
I must stay in the sun.
For you, I will keep it warm.

Wherever you stay I will be here.
There's no place I'd rather stray but home
- but until you can make it, I'll wait alone.

It's a beautiful place
to be my own.

ahold (of)

I'd love to linger
forever in this world
, honestly. I love it. I'd love to strike
sweet deals with higher powers that be, to keep me

vigorous and incorruptible

on a permanent basis, on a non-metempsychotic
bodhisattva vow of some sort. And oh,
I would do my part! In exchange, I'd do

- oh heck who am I kidding, it's to do

my part

that I want the deal.

But I know that won't happen.
This world is not our final home,

I'm afraid.

But I can see
that this world is the place to be,
this world is the forge - we create who we are,
and who we will be. From, as has been so beautifully said:

babies.

We're born into raw materials, a
tiny gurgling thing, and with circumstance. As we grow,
our grasp on self takes hold, and we
begin to direct who we are and who we will be
-come. Through our own choice, our one chance,
our true self is, and takes shape. Makes itself, self-made
, every choice defines us, that we make. Can we
do anything? Anything we will? Anything we please?
Please, no. No, our circumstance and our raw material will
impose some limits. Yet

we can and do make every choice we make. And every day,
this is how we create
a self.

just one

This life,
just one

- is an incredible gift. And even if it turns
out there is no Giver, our self is the gift
we give back.

Let us remember we are dust, let's make love
and make war, and make God damned sure
our dust is not all we will leave

behind.

one who holds hell.

I am one who holds hell is not
the horror you are condemned to
for ever, or even for life. Oh, those who abide
there may know hell
may very well last that long. At least,
it may feel like it, but hell is not

the bad thing,
to which you are condemned. Hell is the amazing thing
you are forced to do utterly,
foreverly without.

And for life,
forever probably
- or it feels like it. Who cares! Anymore.

Hell is just
what that feels like. Hell
is just what feels like that.

It doesn't matter how long
it's going to last.
It doesn't even necessarily have
to exist

for you to feel it, those flesh
-tearing hooks and hot tongues
of flame. A lake of fire?

You and I could have blown it out like a candle, woman
we were such a match! Hell

is the punishing agony of banishment,

awakened
to the finest and best good, given it,
and denied it.

Hell is where you live.

And what you are forced to endure, from having
once known love,

to now,
when you know how sure:

it is denied.

"my woman"

My woman is mine: my property. I mean
a property of mine that's essential to me.
I mean a property of mine without which
I've lost

- who I am.
She has made me so strong,
but at awful cost: I cannot be my self

no more.

I can only be hers,
and she knows the score
When she gave herself to me,
she gave all that she had
and not one bit more. More
or less, I was already hers,
so I've got that back plus she
has got all of mine. Given new,
every day and that's so damn fine
How I feel, for true:
this is how it should be.
We like it this way.

We know the score,
and the game and at the end
of the day, we know the final result:
One to nothing, we win.
There was never much doubt,
when we never give in.
There was never any hope
for the other guys, no.
Not once sides were drawn,
but we're game - we'll play, though!
It's fun. Here we go:

We are one, one side,
one goal two tenders,
through hell, one ride
one fire gone out of control
consumes all the world's woulds
to embers - scorched to ash, for good
- and it rises, up from ash
every setting sun:
one fire
two minds two hearts
one will be done.

Just one: what she and I
decide to agree on today, and okay
- I'll bite. What's on your mind?
I won't hide, and
you can touch me,
I won't die.
'Til the day we part:
for without your self,
such strong free gift -
if you ever take it back,
there'll be none of me left.
My self. Will have been undone,
All properties lost. All
the strength you gave,
all the joys we won
and every way I know now
how to find my way. How to be
a man - without you, I could not say.
You taught me how to be a man,
when you made me yours. Without you,
I'm just half
half heart
half soul: not for better, now, no:
the worst. No cure.

My woman is mine,
and she wins the earth.
My baby doll,
My very best girl,
My woman my ole lady,
My rock my world,
My role is to be
your man, for best.
You gave your self to me,
I cannot give less.

Breakfist McBag

Ah, breakfast on the go

a lifestyle for so many, 
in the western world

  convenience and nutrition, in
 one delicious bag

  mingling hot smells and 
bumping up against each other

 the most important meal 
of the day has its way with us

fast, fresh and hot

well, good job anyway
Eating breakfast.

A deep end.

I can't go swimming
 in my own mind
 without a floatation device of some kind.