I think a friend is somewhat wigged out by me, but he doesn't want to come out and say anything. Tomorrow I might say something to him. Hope that works out.


Spring BreakWith puppy dog eyes I welcomed the sprightly seraphs of piquant spring On the chilled air where we danced A weight was hungSpring Break
Like a funeral bell Knocking into my sides Our love was misconstrued
And just like a woman They reaped the harvest of our divorce
Taking the best I was left with cutting kisses And open wounds Into which they poured rocks of salt Under the scabs I can fell the pus Of unconnected airwaves that never rang Looking to the angry wasps in the wires I see the yin yang Sprite cans Which remind me of that old saying I st


Second BardoBlissful butterflies in the garden, Frightening crunches of leaves, The flowers hang like dead bells, And the pond gurgles with glee. Sensations bubble from within. Cries of order,Second Bardo
Demands for explanation, Surging up from the sea. I do not predict Nor rationalize, And am left to be. Visions of deities
Burst grandly into the forefront. God, Stirs of energy, Love, Vibrations, The melting of distinctions, The freedom to roam, Cookie cut people, And smoky combines Wisp, whirl, and woo As I stand on
The preci


In Younger DaysAlways fixed on something But never still Couldnt ever quite hold on to it Dazzled by it puzzled by its Enigmatic nature but never Fully understanding never fully Grasping its Hidden nature its hidden meaning your Ill favored Jaundiced teeth showed me this Kool-aid is my drink youIn Younger Days
Like hard liquor
Mixed with a
Noxious Obsession of
Peripheral desires Quoting the Rats you Slavishly served you Taught me Under those
Voracious eyes Was something Xenophobic in Younger days I bet you rejected the


Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company. Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearingPerspectives of a Hallucino...
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.


February 2009 Haiku-Wrimo1.February 2009 Haiku-Wrimo
winter rain- an old pot fills with moonlight
2.
sunrise... birdsong falling from the mountain
3.
just in time for the newborn- snow flurries!
4.
gang signs on the old church door... winter deepens
5.
stillness... a cloud of white breath
6.
deep in the raven's cry- southern drawl
7.
midnight walk- between each star
--
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