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Tag Archives: self

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.

Fears, In Refutation

Do not fear your demons

For they are yours and

Therefore, you are their master,

And your rules, they must obey.


Do not fear those apparitions

That choose to appear, pity

Them instead, for they are alone,

Without flesh or family, while you

Are real and are capable of creating

Your own


Do not be afraid of the dangerous thoughts

That you conjure whilst angered or in pain,

For they are but thoughts, and thoughts can

Do no damage if left alone.  It is when we find

Possibility within these frayed ends of sanity, that

Evil plants itself a newfound seed.


Life is a journey of locks and puzzles,

one in which, we aren’t always meant to possess all the ciphers and coded keys.

Challenges are often created,

only for us to observe.

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.


Weeping willows waltz

In shadows beyond the pane

A breeze sways posture


Add two 7 syllable lines for TANKA


Dusk’s flickering light alters

The procession of the soul

An Alien Feeding


It’s something in the blood

A seedling hibernating until

The flesh is done

And its pores expand

Opening up the

Portals away from

Such a cold and alien

Tract of the most brittle

Expanse of barren land….


On edge, most the day…
Unsure when or from whom,
But darkness is looming &
Its presence swoons

Unease chloroforms each pore
Until suffocation is felt
Prior to the pangs and thralls of
Euphoria’s decline

Ligaments rigor as the automaton
within, perceives the grey edges
frayed by the uncanny sense of curdling inside

As in every battle, such a statement will be, impossible to refute,
A point of submission, in some way, shape or form appears, forgoing, perhaps not eagerly, yet it forgoes the thoughts of tomorrow nevertheless, withering in hapless poverty, seeking the salve that brings oneself relief—

But it is not for relief the welling stirs…it is not because of failure do the ducts flow swift…instead, it is for the forgiveness buried beneath, the salvation we saved for such a day…the one we never gave…instead we turned our heads and dragged each foot, in reverse, across the welcoming place

The nervous pins prickle in the strangest of sensations,
It is not pain, not yet anyhow…it is not pleasure, we’ve yet to
Sink to such depths…yet it wriggles, it twinges—around the eyes and
Across the brow, concealed below what is shown

This stirring sense of possession, forces us to reaction’s point…turning, slowly, as in the mirror, we realize…

We are staring into our darkest ally, our dankest sense of self, the master of the cogs interred, the villain well-preserved…For years, the fight I thought I was fighting…The fight I fought, was but an accosting of some true heroes dream…for all along, unbeknownst ‘til now, I was the adversary in this tale…