slides and slips
like glinting slime upon a mottled marble slab
cascading along the eaves
of an inked through canvas
crashing into an infinite
number of pieces
into a haze of gauzy silk
luxurious yet softly
and swiftly stifling.

prickly pins and needles
stinging until numb
i drowsily helpless
to resist its
gloopy, gloppy, oozy
pit of tar

muddled mists lazily smoke
rustling whispers surround
brushing by, bristling, listening.

startling neon colours
burst and collide
spark and fade
across the starry-less pitch-black night
pulsating in the distance
dimmer still no nearer
further still no end

a panther prowls
its spots unseen.



I want to ask

Does it ever reach?

Or is it made to only stay

Throughout its mortal vessels

which cease to beat

in fear of missing

what they claim

could sway the heavens itself?


Is it this gift what makes the

Waves themselves never cease?


That makes our memories resound

what our innateness would otherwise



Does it bring us closer to the Divine?

Or does the Divine breathe closer

To the winds?

Sealing within

The hush

of all that can ever be



Allowing us to forget to be self

bringing us a mote closer

to the



Written long before “Twilight” mania existed…I do mention eyes…but not as creatively as Ms. Meyer’s did, 567 times. =P

As his papery skin rustles at my touch
I look into his once fiery cold eyes
Now all but closed and pale
Only now I gaze upon his pallidness
Ever before he beseeched me to leave him be
His feverish countenance so vivid so hungry
All I saw only of his fine days fully lazy and sated
My slumber ever unacquainted
His sombreness and secrecy ever unquestioned
Always so cold and deep
And then asudden glowing within
Amused yet distant
Almost afeared to be near me
Yet now here he begs afore me
Dry lips move to whisper
For just one soft light

Who knows of the blind one’s dream?

I await
that heavy handed caress
the earth’s vengeful finesse.

the oblivion i embrace
majestic and all consuming
magnificent when beheld
magnanimous with its tremendous power…

let me have
that thirst to survive
that willful instinctive frenzy
that one last
valiant attempt to breathe…
and wanting to breathe.

the minute
the bit by bit
only makes
the rented holes
yet brings
you no way
nearer to its

it remains
yawning ever wider
but only gnaws and nibbles away…

remaining above all else: