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Tag Archives: reflection

A Swift Uppercut To A Variation Of One’s Divine Self

Caterwauling from within,

A dilapidated deconstruction

Bred by inconvenience; born

Through the unusual circumstances

Courted discretely by the furrows of

But one of many, altered states of mind


Curtailed, passionately kissed, inches pronounced

Indecipherably above the location where normally

Resides the space reserved for lips


Sanctioned by crowdedness

Ransacked internally,

And yet the ovation grows loudest at such moments of

Indiscretion—to which you succinctly wipe away each tremor of saline from upon your ashen tint, allowing for the applause to ensemble truthfully, permitting yourself the vagrancy of substitution—an imaginary lapse of being, so carefully crafted from denouements cloth itself—overcome and swept up in a mistruth punctuated with a bow



Stillness Found Amongst The Carnage That Always Gives Freely

I am still. I am calm. I am saturated in blood.

It is my own.


I cross my legs, each interlocking at the other’s knee.  I beg for guidance. I cry to be set free. I feel the chains releasing, as nightmares convert to dream.


I set my sights upon the horizons deep within. I mouth the words I’ve just learned. It is a mantra for a higher calling, a truer reflection of the self inside.


The repetition transports me into another time and place. This new embodiment is devoid of space. It cares not for the failures of the flesh.  It demands nothing, nothing at all.


I am not who I’ve always been. Peace has quieted the strange voice-overs of the mind. I feel stronger and relieved.  Human constraints are folded over, irrelevant and cold.  Silence forgives what the skeleton emotes.


The body no longer guides the mind. I close my eyes, remaining open to all the meditation gives. I am solid. I am hollow.  I am sated. Yet I am as empty as the well. This is not a negative. This is the ultimate in availability. I am open to experience. I am receptive to it all.


I believe. I reflect. Time is invisible. Skin is temporary. Scars mean nothing to the soul. I am whole. I’ve found closure. I’ve discovered what I once believed. I’ve uncovered the freedom buried beneath the bone. This…this is all I’ve come to know and own.


As first formed this Fossilized Flexibility where ossein dares not grow.

The Haft

The haft, a memory of what once was, dangles from a leather belt.  Tanned and stained, like its master, marching barefoot across the knotted boards of prominence, blister forth those distractions of severance.  Is it merely a coincidence to find, such harvests and malapropisms, conveniently illumined by remnants of pristine territoriality, lying dormant and abandoned beneath this temporary auburn sky?

Choice and It’s Subsequent Pathways

The avenues we travel in life are never identical.

Some are paved, some tarred.  Others leave their stones unturned,

awaiting flight from vehicles capable of excessive speeds.

The roads we wander are often forked,

leaving direction up to individual choice.

No matter how confident we are of the path we have chosen,

there remains a lingering of doubt; an internal emanation,

that no matter which choice has been decided upon,

there is a casting of opinion rendered unto the self,

which succinctly states, albeit irrationally crafted,

that any of those other possibilities,

would’ve produced a more amenable destination.


Watershed, rime floods red,

Blister split, hoar spills blue,

Chapter seared, page burnt brown

Time ticks forgotten turns

Twists that itch, fits that burn


Tomorrow is grey

Until it is not

The night is dark

Until it’s light

A fact that will be

Until it’s not



Elevated thought

Often surpasses the flesh

Spending time with ghosts

Fizzle And Fade

Demarcating princes from a rogue state,
Trip-walked their way
Unto lattices funereal

To gallantly pronounce a quarter flash
In a methodology exceedingly relaxed
Breaks the temper steadied by the half-life
Lunging about, creating seething estates
Much too complex to ever devour in sate

Ingénues and girlish dreams
Broadcasting the flowers lilting
Like the pastures of a misplaced roué

Romantic arbitrage
Amassing contextual reconfiguration—
Breaking down
The doors of hope
With the dovetailed slant
In a land of make believes and Cant’s
Frilling, willing, generally appropriate
Beneath the visions made in
The noon-day’s sun

Clover, commas, vixens and valor
Painting postures upon Jacob’s three-rungs left… of a ladder

Polarizing speeds of chilling descents
Allegories bred to deemphasize the stinging nettles in the subtlety of this cast of frozen trees
In distinct location
In loops of madcap behavior

Push…the scary spruce away
Dampen the appendages interpreted to contain life’s crutch
Zealots, ingot’s, relics and riddling zeal
Sale of goods…bill of fare…tomorrow is a debt we’ve yet to bear

Naked, amongst a quivering breeze…intent to perpetuate the solemnity of a sordid sun…yet not in the manner the nightmare was initially sung…editing out the moans and hollows with hope-filled surrender to a sentimental gun…pulling the trigger…pulling the trigger
And leading a life no one saw coming…a life no one gave a chance to…
This day
What so many
As a half-life
Left to fizzle
And fade