the minutiae of our lives doesn't matter when you're drowning.

you give up
but then you get angry
at another injustice
another outrage
and all of a sudden
you care again.
it's easy.
you escape in art & music
nurture your soul
do your best
but always
always
the drowning happens.

you captain the boat
you see the lighthouse
you know the sacred
you are strong.

the wake of the past
dissipates to calm again
when you learn the lesson.
the lighthouse looms
as it should,
it is important
a totem for the future
a beacon
for when the drowning happens
to remember
you captain the boat.

pic by kevin brady

write what you know.

television

masturbation

sanitation

vegetation

write what you know.

tense moments & unsought attentions

free spirits & the ones in chains

chocolate chip cookies & cake @ 3 a.m

letting go to the moment & the trouble with that

write what you know.

addictive personalities

churned thru realities

unsaid

unpaid

undead beastialities

about the ones I let go & the one I saved

about being terrified of my persona &

realising that everybody wears a mask

about the journey

the trials

the retribution

& the moment

write what you know.

he sends me overtones of bondage but i’m busy getting stoned with the spiders.

walking like an orgasm waiting

to happen his words melt

through my mind

(liquid chocolate)

putting up fences

between the thought and the act.

and this feeling

this fucking feeling

makes them electric.

he draws me into his hallucination

an imperfect picture on a feature wall.

i say “it takes more than

fantasies of firefighters

to burn up this bed,

and there’s more to modern love

than not being anally challenged”.

my lips curl and my eyes water

but so far, no one has lost control.

and the sex is good and strong

like i knew it would be

pushing buttons and edges

as we taste the pain,

disappearing into a visceral river,

letting go to

scream a little bit.

afterwards,

after the harnesses

have been packed away

and the medicated creams begin to work,

we close our eyes

and capture happy in our dreams.

i heart tom waits

green rhymes & hazy sundances, playing with fire it's only the slow kids who're gunna get damaged. traffic jammed & there could be worse outcomes thanks to tom waits & his alligator voice. i may be slow moving but at least i have him to show me, take me places, drive me to nebraska or wisconsin or palookaville. you know he's one of those people i would follow to the ends of the earth, someone who nourishes me with his tone, nurtures me with  his sad, sad soul. but you get the feeling tom can take it.

things happen in my head when tom's around. fireworks & wet blankets, hallelujah choruses & blistering sunburn. i want to run through countries to be with him - but i cant because he has turned me into a paraplegic for his love. things happen all over my body when tom's around. nipples prickle, muscles melt, beats quicken & skip. synapses snap. things move in strange directions, tangents down dark alleys following a hooker to her next hook up with the hangman. i follow tom willingly because he has diamonds in his mind. 

my fingers stray downwards when that bad cat's in town.

sirens & virtue & letting myself go are all part & parcel to tom being around.

i heart tom waits.

easy prey

it doesn't take much

a touch, a tender breath

for the completely inappropriate

not to matter, and for love,

or something like it

to sit on the worn out sofa,

stroke my hair and tell me

that the underside to everything

is easy prey, so we must press

our bellies together,

show our shells to the world

and edgewise find tomorrow.

but this is no ordinary rapture.

meaning spans mystery but

not far enough,

so we are always left

wondering where truth sits,

and where we do.

meanwhile it doesn't go

unnoticed by either of us

that by living the nomadic

lifestyle you never bore

anybody, but then again

where does it end?

layers cannot cover

what is really needed

which is an unfolding,

an opening to the moment.

we try to patch

our ragged bones,

dem jangling bones

and agree

that the minotaurs will

always be hiding,

but as a fear

and not a threat.

when i am with you

we are plunging the divine,

emersing ourselves in

the sheer white light

of our connection.

then when the rapture comes

and it will come

we will drink with

long and gorgeous thirsts,

throw off our burdens

and dance.
.

holding on

i taste you
the next day
in my mouth,
feel you on my face
memory scratched
skin to skin,
connections formed
in the heat where
science and chemistry
assist in our passion.

again

my ovaries call
helping me find
the letting go,
the giving in.
i tell you it's the journey
so you show me
that you can hold on,
and you hold onto me.