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26 November 2012


Does the sadness of existence not compensate with its beauty
Being so equally vivid

Conscious of Itself likewise it moves to
Justify its every tragedy with the inexplicable
Face of its manufacturing

So explicated measure by measure and
Being so known by those who experience it

They who are so drawn into the
Fullness of its tragedy are most beautifully
Drawn in the observations of those more distant
Who in their distance do not know the fullness of
Its despair

It is observed with interest from a
Distance which is made full by the engagement of those who seek
Rather than seek to escape or comprehend it
Instead they document it

Those at a distance which is not safe as is commonly
(And falsely) noted but instead which is all the more
Dangerous requiring the extraction of caution from
Willingness, willfulness, and all those things which require of
The present knowledge of and assessment by
The future.

21 November 2012

Possessed By Your History / Alienation

I participate in a stolen mythology

This life and its circles of proponents strange to
  me and I to them to such a point

Far beyond the most hesitant notions of decency

To such a point and degree that I must
  enrobe myself in affections undeserved and
  validations of company too decent to know
  of me my worst or even generally common

Along in such company I am harbored and
  appear more disposed to their presumptions

Of where in mind they delineate with words and indeed
  the internal copy which from the world they form
  harbors their safe confidence

In such company I dare to explore their world but
  every misstep is bitter and like a fanleaf from a prodding
  finger it recoils, the world and its proponents, who
  sometimes are more like other artifacts or decorations

More made than making
  their usefulness their chief occupation
  but what am I to be

Preoccupied by
  such a stranger

18 November 2012

Live Your Life, Love

Live your life, love,
And may it kill you
Just as I myself hope to die

Share your love, dear -
May it keep you
When all friends have come to pass you by
Be never alone, love.

In memory
I keep your company
In all manners unsaid
It can't be told, love
With words which sting and burn my lips
And keep frozen from breath my throat

Still though I long only to listen
To the words I'd always hoped to hear
Such happiness only saddens me
For your words are only
What I've imagined you to say
It's enough though this quiet madness
For it's the only way a
Photograph can speak.

14 November 2012

I Have Run

I have run from everyone who knows me
What else would a mindful person
Mindful of self and the motions required for
Do when encountered facefirst with
Opened heavens' howling destructive
On the spaces and fields from which I long to part with
Being as they are a torturous adjacency with
Those and these so closely held by the
Mechanisms of self which require as
Physical a space for their presence or
I quiver and
Shudder and am breathless and
Choked before you and you are only
Away -
I am dead in the moment which separates
Inhalation and exhalation and this
Barrier is nonbeing and so is my only
A home to which my comprehensions
However well redeemed in the varieties of
Mixed company so generously
Grant me a moment to alight -
This I say drink O my son only
Forgetting shall let you go and into that
Abyss heaven shall you find in not
Knowing any more all the things you
Leave behind and you,

11 November 2012

The Embers Within Us. pt 1

Mark with a circle of stone the place where I fall
Let me lie. 
Upon the ground
Bare your feet and sink into the grass and soil
And mark with your reflection another circle
This of the clock's hands.
  'I don't want to live like this but
   I don't want to die
   I just don't know how to live like this
   Like them those even who
   Are my friends.'

We are taught to wait, my people
Like Clytemnestra we might waste away
A decade or  more and for our efforts
In hesitation find rewarded our
Just lusts with loss of lover and 
Self, taking with us merely 
Vengeance which thereafter is
Not even memory but myth and
We are lost then even to understanding
Remaining in caricature
Solely - 
  'But the king is good and 
   The king is just and the wise
   And goodly countenance 
   Desires for our sakes.'

In my youth I feared my fire but
In marginally later years I
Stoked it and drew it to steadiness
And forged brands of bones bent and
Fused to my purpose - 
Charred like forestoak trembling before lightning
I set out with these brands and 
My blood-inked, bone-needled skin from our village and
Its thangkas, our bonobo companions wild and
Perched to watch their hairless cousin
Set out for love and war.

I must fall but first I must prepare from
The spines of those lost in both age and 
Its absence, drawn from the field
Which is our corporeal memory - its
Right angles marking our declaration
Of an inorganic and uncalled-for presence
It is thus only mine.

For the morbidity from which we fetched
The ink and needle 
Staff and sinew rope for those implements
Most holy and therefore
Detestable to Life whose whole
Is demarcated not by those straight lines 
But by its convolutions which
In metaphor we set out
And which draws me to this contest
So I may singlehandedly repopulate
The empty houses and huts
Marked by thangkas
Which no hand in generations has penned
No hand present has authored instead
Drawing on the fallacy of myth to enrich
The imagination and compel identity.

There is a prizefight which I seek the prize
  being to break open before a throng of
Ten thousand savage and starving eyes and ears with
No responsibility of attachment their
Sheer response is in the moment which reduces epochs of twenty
Thousand civilizations and roaring judges and kings through the scrim
Of their modern-day descendants - 
The prize being
Being devoured - 
I shall meet them in their den for only then
Are our fates equally proportionately soluble in
The face of one another our ferocity mends the
Remnant vestige of our civil origins or humane origins
For we are wild again and naked and armed.

  'If you are going to challenge me
   do so by being right
   not by
   being anything else or less
   and beat my skull into 
   a cube compounded by succeeding blows
   - this is the fee for entry -
   and dissolved of its natural
   resistance by the sweat
   from your face and with this
   gift present to one who is their Chief
   Adjudicant one who sweats
   charisma and marks his masculine 
   leavings on the bodies
   of those who succor unto him - '

I have my bone brands and they are
Bleachblack, starksharp, contrast in measure
Dry and hard in hands soft and tough
The color of summer peach 
(Yes, they will I've done this before)
And weapons they shall bear alone, I know not but suspect
That among their many implements will be
The severed portions of my kinfolk who like I
Had in their time no country and thus their parts - as mine will be - 
Are scattered and I am among vultures who design for themselves
No such marks which cohere a past which none now recall
Or even through inked signs interpret
We are lost - not yet.
We have no birthright no such manifest locale
Either having been of our birthright rent or
Lost as I am soon to be
That is the prize - is it not
Do I know it not already seeking
The end of my existence.

  'And today you shall learn how to fight and if you
   Do not die it will mean you have also learned
   To kill and claim flesh of strange foes fallen
   Under the scorched bones which in their  twisted
   Welds and convolutions declare the home I leave
   I have left for so long as it takes to not die - '

A biography written in charred lines across the planes
Enveloping tones equally peach or
Thereafter chartreuse - whether like olives or 
Treebark they fail to uphold their dignity
Under these gracile charbone brands - 
Mere closeness marrs and boils flesh for a lifetime
Bank these wounds they are the interest which 
Your values will and on which your values shall rely when
You are old and arthritic and your flesh is 
As grey as my beard was when I beat you
Into submission that would have been bloody
Save for the cauterizing seal with which I brand
My ownership of you -  

  'I have grabbed your deity the one and only your
   Poor religion has and exacted my tension on
   His glorious testicles and his answer is
   Muteness or whimper - for trying to make it make
   Sense I have rendered you a pariah and
   You shall know only extraordinary pain of
   Being left but it shall not be your departure
   Merely your absence which passively 
   Marks the victory declaring (always declaring!) the validity
   Of those charmarks on your back and
   Shoulders - my copyright - 
   Diametrically opposed to the growth of your being - 
   I am the deity now who shall govern your breath 
   My goodly countenance your insufferable abuse
   Hell is easy by comparison so burden yourself and
   Expect elevation and forever this contradictory
   Yoke shall be your lamented salve - 
   My legacy of when I came from the place where 
   Bones are kindling and you shall ignite
   Your carapace all being left of you
   The fires which feed your children
   Have you nothing more to say before
   We bare teeth and rattle - '

31 October 2012

- untitled -

You do not, will not, know those lengths to
Which my efforts would reach to comfort you
Though it is that very reach from which you
Recoiled when once I tried to kiss you
There would be quiche and earl grey at
Vernal daybreak and though the seasons die
Autumn pies and vapors uplifting would sew
You into comfort with Newfoundland wool on your
Cool skin, nestled in the leaves of which my arms and core
The rooted trunk and branches
The wet morning cutting and crisp and streaming with sun through
Windows ajar, just so
Filling the spaces which hold clouds and possibility.

I did not intend this poem nor these words
Its total form or content
because what I intended is too intensely
Hateful and terrifying.

And within love for you I no longer wish to dwell
Yes just as unbidden
Its origin, likewise so
Its termination
Unbidden and at present persisting and so
I merely record the path and the wake
Neither much more my making as I only seek
To die as soon as possible to this
Envelope of experience which once I thought
To be a doorway -

29 October 2012


Whensoever you require to
Rebelieve your beauty my time
Is unencumbered and it is
Yours wholly and even if
You dare not ask a mere
Suggestion will suffice if
We may establish a language of
Secret motions and motives
A cocked head for a light caress
Of conversation amid light company
A wink upthrown from a downward bowed face
Or more so
Skipped as might a pebble on a
Morningcalm lake -
So such distances measure
Requirement and fulfillment even
As no flesh might embrace -
Further still I'd venture but this
Of course you already know and if
In passing this particular notion
You are only in this line now presently
Well then - be so aware.

22 October 2012

This Very Wanton Act

I thought of myself today, a moment a go, (this very act being wanton and gross as accords our measures propriety):
I think of myself first as a human, seemingly so;
Next as a writer or musician of various resonant bodies
But as I enumerate the list of things which so declare 
The purposes for myself which I've found by accidence
Or purposeful introductions most treasured
(so many among many more being - 
  hunter of game, roller of dice and dealer of cards;
  swimmer of lengths of California pools amid midsummer glare heinously bright
  swatter of mosquitoes on lakeshores in Yosemite
  stalker of deer in forest parks
  smirk-addled golfer who'd rather (and did) turned carts in doughtnuts in the middle of night;
  reader of books all read like a dish devoured until the tongue's the only appropriate utensil
And likewise so many literal dishes enjoyed to an equally literal tantric degree - )
All the verbs I've employed, and the nouns I've enlivened with participation of my entire extension,
Among these though I've so rarely found, or
I've not found at all any declaration of the following things:
Western pedigree
Though such things in analogue declare to represent me
So Abstractedly
As much as I from them recoil - 
And with a dead Germanic author, a freethinker born,
Behind me in the spiritual sense
Saying 'Such things, granfalloons
And as such do not entertain
Their salience as truth everlasting..'
And so as I did before, and now enforced thusly so by imaginings of a stranger now several years dead,
I find in myself the definition of motion
And those paths which coax out my clause
Of purpose and such, and other such things so grudgingly described in the full:
Though they not must be so
To retain their whole and incandescent loves
Which dovetailed in This Emptiness, Me - 
Brings forth to light the spacious made bright
And one whom to be known by your sight..

So be it - it goes. 

I Would Explore You

I Would Explore You

I would explore you
A deliberate and slow descent
As would a marinaut depths beneath the waves
Your atmospheres multiplied upon me and
Compounding with each breathe the measure of
A void which has no emptiness so
It does not pull one within it apart but compacts instead
With each breath you return the measure
I take of your pneumatic spirit 

I would explore you so 
As what is beyond just beyond fingertips
Stretched moments before climax of
Fatal intensity
So confines to vision grappling in time
What only imagination may touch 

So too would I explore
You and discover the motions of
Shadow upon your body between breaths
Played upon breast and collar and clavicle
Textured under cool fingers and hot breath

I would explore you
Texture you in those explorations and
Record in memory so deep it can never
Again be brought forth in any greater
Manner than a shudder of my own body

I would explore you 
And repeating those textures once endowed
In deed and in motion I would set out
From no homeland to which I would return
Uprooted and forever light upon you
Will your hot breath soften me to subtlety beneath your
Own textures of recollection or will you recall me 
When you shudder

20 October 2012

Nightside Mountain and Its Dewsweat

I wish for a world compelled by -
Instead of facetious surplus -
Dangerous conviction and enthusiasms wherein a hint
Is an invitation bordering on a declaration of
Wanton demand
Illustrated with a tone and timbre

 'What happens in the mountains
  Stays in the mountains'

So say you and I'll not move
Nor test such words being as
We are in our world
Of expressive surplus
Of facetious values which reflexive value
Themselves above the physical indications to which
They imagine themselves to point
Wherein the sum total of desire is
Squandered for five seconds of
Wit which I'd so soon bury beneath
Sweat and motion though it seems I am
Out of my depth
Such directness
Such humorlessness
Serious and such seriousness, this final attribute my
Greatest perversion among so many

 - I -

Occurred in isolation though, natural isolation
As I ennumerate the suggestions
One for one with your
Playful lips and words and expressive geometries
Your suggestions of our facetious
Amoresence I am bestruck by
The isolation in which my initial
Desires and understanding compel
And hence I speak in graphite
Scratches and tense fingers upon
Only dry paper for
More, and more is only to
Invite social incontinence
Most glorious so no
Matter how aggrieved by these
Facetious flirtations
Signs of friendship truly so I understand I am unappreciative and
Unwhole no
Matter how lightly tortured I
Shall remain tolerably natural
Within my isolation, only broken
By your unfortunate witnessing
Of my honesty - 

17 October 2012

A Mouthful of Soil

A treeseed and a mouthful of
Soil is the kiss with which you
Lay upon our mutual departure
Working with hands your hands
As you do in times which tighten
Your brow and cheeks and

Tightness confines motions which in
Loose moments of which there are
   several which betray you
   which betray only your notions
   of what you are
Alone with no witness to such moments
You roll out acorns and chestnuts beneath
An old maple rolling pin
You leach the flours of their acrid browns
Teastaining the water which gathers below
In the tub where I lie for a moment
Elongated until deemed repulsive to
Neighbors or similarly intolerable
To your heart
You bathe me

Still as I lie in these teas and
My flesh is stained but
Who am I any more to be bothered and
Indeed who am I to speak of
This at all unless I am in fact
You and these thoughts
Which continue to occur even
As you dress my naked body
Are not bound by any ability of
Mine to think them and
They in their fleeting abstractions
Are dyed with your focus
Reverberating in confinement
 - your confining -

As the muscles in your face confine
The damwater which pulses with breaths and
Explosions dulled beneath each breath
Knocking at places and parts internal
Parts small enough to ignore at
Least in the moment and
Your tight focus
Your dry flower
Its depth of field now
Vapid and thus infinite
So says the photographer which dimly persists within you
Its inattention -

I am ported, tanned and
Up yon hill where we loved each other
Without shame beneath only sunlight
Or moonlight however the accidence of the occasion
Merited -

And dressed like ancient royalty borne likewise
In their solitudes to a pinpoint of light played
By a source deemed to be heavenly
In your own solitude
Eyes leathered over
 (did the neighbors break first or was it
  your dam?)
And your own eyes tight as with your visage
Entire but
The dam is leaking
Its fissures are showing
I am the vessel of your acorn floured hands
Those which rolled out with an implement of
The same woody flesh which my presence aims
To produce
Which I will restore by your effort
At your silent behest

It is our parting embrace even as our
Accessible distance decreases with
Every handful which blankets me
Though this is a gift to keep me cold
And not to tamp recovery of breath
And heartbeat -

Patting me into place for as
Long as the mountain will hold me
In the same shameless undersky embrace
Which once carried us together -

Print your sign the flesh of your
Sign selfsame which is a sign
None may forge but the security is
Knowing none would want to
In this rest
In this you rest
And continue rolling out flourcakes which
Bitter bite your tongue when the
Dam or rolling pin keeps its last
Utility from you you will know where
To go and it will be my
Parting nod
Merely so
Soundly so, roundly so -

Its incompleteness my last bit of

These thoughts belong to neither of us and
So who is it
Who keeps them

And thus kept
Yon mountain
It floods.

13 October 2012

Palau Perhentian Kecil no. 4; Intracellular Space

Her hands find me in
Each space
Crawling up my calf and prodding my
Knee into reflexion
She seeks something I have lost
Or misplaced within these confines and
Her fingers trace the path up my thigh
And examine my pelvis
She is rhythmic and deep and unconsciously
I am firm as always happens and
She laughs
Clucking in Thai for
She is not Malay having been
Brought here as much for her
Skill as the absence of inhibition
Which allows and compels it
I am beneath her fingertips

Her fingers find my collar bone and
Throat still stiff
All over with locked nerves
She is tumbling through
Her fingers carve the knobs of
Unresolved days along the planes
Of fascia which hold me rigid
My whole body swollen with
Erotic tumescence eager to be
Unlocked and
Her fingers sand away these
Knots, an edge of a callus on
Her thumb which is her carpenter's plane and its
Decades many they are
Her weight likewise much
It is and wisely apportioned as she leans into her strokes and kneads
A driving force as she planes me
Soft and level and smooth
She toys with my ears and brow
Her fingers explore my lips and
Finding lost combinations which
Hold me from everything
She creeps into my mouth, cavernous
One digit at a time until like a gaffed
Fish in her grasp her hands caress my throat
From within,
Her elbows widening my jaw
My eyes flickering as she is
Surgical in her diagnoses
She slips into me completely and I am
Paralyzed with another full form within my own
A am the skin she wears as she unfolds herself into my each and every limb and

Her dive into me complete and
She seeps
Into my marrow
Her fingers dissolves and like
Threads or tentacles flow outward
Infusing intracellular space
Outward from my cells and in sweeping
Brush-fronds like coral feathers she sweeps out
And out with
Gentle pressure
She sweeps my blood with her
Ten thousand feathery implements as she breathes
With me and converses freely with others who
Lie in remnants various in forgotten spaces only
She bears witness to
Beyond even memory

She withdraws slowly, I
Try to breathe through the cramps and withdrawn she
Shakes off a magnetic ash
Of inorganic matters which have
No baser denomination
Her fingers probe my pelvis and
She rolls me over limp like a rubber mannequin
Face down, flat
And folds towels across my oiled
Hind and thighs and leans
Her whole self upon my
Unrepentant joints

I pop

A toe at a time under her pull
And she kneads me at the
Waist and runs rings around
My anus with the pads of her
Fingers, widening me and at a
Wrist's depth I feel her caressing a frozen bladder and
Stroking my liver, warming it, my
Kidneys responding slowly and
She untangles my lymph
Its rivers commencing to their tasks once more
Of hormonal clarification

And an elbow in her fingers appear pressing outward within my belly
Reseating my sternum next as
Her second arm enters me
And gripping mt ribs she pulls
Herself through awakening mucous finally
Wakened and viscous
As her toes disappear my ribs her ladder-rungs
Upwards into me my tumescence
Is fulfilled in orgasm no longer
Mechanical as my understanding
Once condemned and
She is finished
I am emptied
Her, trickling out in drops
Strung together with a cohesion
Absent long
Long absent from a disjointed
Narrative to which she has
Restored my faithful articles
And objects and refreshed the
Distinction of my subject
She withdraws.

She laughs and clucks
And with two hands
Kisses my crown
Newly rejeweled.

Also - the ears, my ears
She reads the pressure
Behind my eardrums

She maps me out
Plying my skin with her palms
She spreads my scrotum between
A thumb and forefinger
Reading veins like
A fortuneteller
Seeking the cause of my

Taking my limp
 - I am catatonic -
Stamen between her lips she
Suckles me to stirring

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

10 October 2012

As it were

Share a room
Learn to fuck, boys!
Don't tell me you won't
It's gay or whatever
Until you'll take the
Most revolting member
  (however defined)
of the
Opposite Sex
  (however defined)

You can't tell me
You're fucking straight
  (however defined)
Get on it
Get over sex and don't
Keep fucking over in that
Metaphoric sense
All those girls you feel
Justify your preferred inclination
  (you advertise it well)
Because you know they're after
Emotional eroticism and it's the
Consent and desire
That agreement and enthusiasm and chakra-gravity
  which drive
Them to your foundering enthusiasm
Get fucking over your randy
Self and take your mate and
Make Well, boys!

It'll be unattached
You'll think anyway
'Til you've left yourself with
The aftermath and the
Magnetism of your animal attractions
Which now create the
Opportunity for your
Emergent humanity.
As it were,
  (however defined
In its particulars)

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Palau Perhentian Kecil no.2; Call to Prayer

They sit
Brownskinned and oceansided
Music in the air
Black tangles of unwashed hair
Islamic scripts embossed in green and gold
On the wall beside a lit Carlsberg sign
Cans of Thai beer in hand
Green and gold its script
Speakerstacks in wooden cabinets
Sizable as any other fixture in the
House (the Bar which houses us)
No walls, a ceiling only and hanging
Electric lanterns in emptied
Bamboo shoots
Leaning on low tables
Soles rudely open and elbows
Rudely propping us up on the
Hewn and lacquered surface
Our offenses draw no
Another round of perspiring cans.

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Palau Perhentian Kecil no.3; Ablutions

Mine is an
Aggravation Unending - Eternal or simply Unrelenting
mended only by
A diet of fruit and yogurt
Fresh fish taken by hand
From the white surf
And grilled over brown rice and seared with
Coconut milk and dark vegetables -
The seasalt breeze.
Music helps.

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Soundly So

But they were
Without any self at all
Masterful chameleons
Wherever they go
They are
Impregnated with a syndrome
Defined once in Stockholm
Eager for conversion
Chasing down missionaries who
(Though it is their job)
Recoil fearfully at such enthusiasm
Whose own tamped-down
Doubts resurface in
Violent fits and without measure
Vomited outward at such
Pathetic displays of unfounded
Incredulous adorations

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Roundly So

Who praise what is common abroad in
Strange lands and
Loathe what detestable details exist
In humanity
But are schooled only in recognizing the
Details in their homeland
And thus let the strangeness of
Foreignness stun them
As much as acknowledging the
Unappreciated difficulty of
Life At Home
Denies (Lets them deny)
The meanness abroad and the
Loveliness of details in the state of
Their beginnings and becomings -

They are the Useless Persons
Who laud five-dollar cheap-plates
Because they cannot cook -
And simple transit because
Their embarcations are routine -
And cheap taxis because
They do not suffer the consequences
Of congestion
A city of millions paralyzed
By cheap taxis
Its skies sullied by those same
Taxis on the cheap
They do not
In their praise
Appreciate the full cost of
What they love because their
Credit is not assessed the fee

They do not know the debts of
Their adopted in-laws nor
Discuss important issues with
Those natives (yes they say natives)
And it is funny
Hilarious and
Tragic beyond assessment

(Here I - only I - do assess
 their credit a fee which
 shall remain an
 outstanding debt)

They too toss cigarettes streetside
Leave half-empty cans in the gutters
Become incontinent in those
Cheap and easy taxis and trains
And come to slumber through
Their waking days
In their adopted nativism
(Yes they say nativism)
They adopt the traits most
Lamentable of
Any people or place and write off
(The debt Outstanding!)
Their lapse with
Praise of

And often
Almost always
When time or money or children finally
Demand of them
An accounting long ignored and borne
As a burden still
(Reality they say of it to give it weight)
They depart
Not having been party to the
Reality they left at Home.

Asian women age more gracefully
African skin better retains its oils
Korean girls are prettier
Koreans are naturally ugly
We need plastic surgery

Such things
The statements I have collected
No gross rule in or among any
Being rather expressions of discombobulation
The statements of the Homeless

Go ahead
Say it - I already know
I am
A mean fuck
Cruel bastard hypocrite
Finger pointer
Boxing your already deaf
(May they bleed!)
You'll miss nothing

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

09 October 2012

Camera Obscura

They come to see him every night
Practiced fingers
Stroking and finessing
Typeset strokes and words flow
According to a military rhythm
A pianist might bore them
Hung up as they are on words
And so in the spotlight onstage
He types
His prose painted on a glowing
Practiced and rehearsed
Perhaps improvised from
Time to time
Always they cheer
When the gasps that follow his
Punctuation cease.

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Palau Perhentian Kecil, no. 1

The locals of any place are
Savage to outsiders
Especially so to those visiting under the auspice of
Appreciating That Which Is Common
To the locals
The locals of every place are
Undeserving of their mantle
Husbandry of the land and its fruits
Can only be left to outsiders just as
Appreciation of the common
Like a zen master
Only achieved with fresh eyes

They are envious and confused with
Greed at what
Fresh eyes
Will pay for -
Moments in the forest
And afternoon on the beach
Their rhythm hijacked they are
Untrustworthy of their treasure
So too are any tourists untrustworthy
Unable to see their own land in the land with which
Fresh eyes declare to be different, they are an
Unsolvable equation
Hence the damnation which compels
Their unsated wandering
I have found my voice and it speaks
Through me and
It calls you all
It calls you all out
It is savage it must be savage and ruthless
To answer your abuses
Your monstrous
Your heartless mechanism itself a
process with no bounds or limits
Or restraint
And so I sing -

February 2012 Palau Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

06 October 2012


My heart plucks at strings
Which are the sentences, running in my
Thoughts of you running through my head
And my body resonates with
The melody of these strings
It is a joy that is as beautiful as it is
No word calls it into being
These thoughts tune the melody of my body
And only eventually does a regular
Rhythm regain traction from this
Frenetic melody
The nervous joy of which is
Its beauty and uncertainty
I listen and I know it already
But it is a strange song
I am only learning to sing