filth

you know who you are.

slovenly language. obscene propositions. archaic pervesions. i thought we fought this battle decades ago.

reptilian slander; you dwell with the aftermath of evolution, in the shadows of all that is beautful, vibrant and whole. the offensiveness of your cowardice matches the shallowness of your existance.

slinking around the outskirts of all that i hold dear. waving your indecency like a flacid cock. smiling sweetly does not hide your rancid breath.

and you have the nerve to call me a slut.

you know who you are
and now i do too.

on perspective

in the solitude of neon and white washed walls i attempt to catalouge inspiration. document in pixel and binary form, the first inklings of next years ambitions.

a tryptich of journies, unfolding like kin, winding over and into each other until their unqiue outlines are indistinguishable from the meta-narrative of my life.

my heart sings to a distant lover, drawing closer with each sunset. it howls at passing fantasies and lusts after the promised land of my fate unfolding, serenely into horizons beyond my knowing.

the circumference of my dreaming navicable with the eyeline of my desire.

every last drop

the last of the year winds it's way down the calender. moseying through spikes and troughs in temprature. last night we huddled in climate controlled rooms, feasting on geographically nonsensical dishes, smelling like home.

this morning brings reprieve and we sprawl through the hours. catching coolness on the tip of our tongue. my lists beckon but i am caught in the inertia of the space between the end and beginning.

this is a simple luxury. small bands of comrades, the last of us waiting out the summer. the town drained of all but straggler and nomads. passing days on balconies and in pools.

the morning after

we are temporarily relieved of summer. the pallete receeds into pastels. the second coming of relief floods us in the evenings and is sustained into the morn.

confetti thoughts thrown in the air pattern the ground. i am scyring through the colours. inspiration flashes through solitude.

i mimic the light. filtering softness from bright and distant glare.

of the seasons

i seek logical frameworks for irrational things.

taking bites out of a peach sky. letting my mouth grow moist with all things sweet and sustaining. with all things ripe and of the seasons.

the town drains itself. working it's way like a river into silence. soaking the last of the year into sand. the only testament of time worth noting is transformation.

everything rises and falls like a breath.

illumination

green lights glow on the horizon.
looking over my shoulder i change lanes.

days unfold like origami in reverse.
precipices transform into vistas.
the expansion is breathtaking.


my heart soars with the temperature.
unwinding me like string.

the softest dedication

the heat is the last to leave.

by dawn i am swollen with absent lover dreamings. tangled sheets are the only remnant of pleasures past. nocturnal crescendos receeding into the distance betwen here and there.

i trace fibre optic cables until i find you on the verge of my imaginings. a steady lapping like sand on salt, like skin on skin, sky on stars, like night on day.

this is how my heart rests, with all it's palpatations. if words fail me it is only because i am reaching into that place of unknowing, where mystery births divinity and we transcend mortality and morality.

a small gratitude

we are led back to our history in strange steps.

two years sweeping over scarlet horizons. the pen rests on the page where the book was opened.

two weeks of thickening transformations. everything comes out of the wash sparkling with golden threads.

every leap of faith is rewarded with stronger legs and stunning views across the ravine.
i am grateful for all that i could not see and all that remains to unfold before me.

for the overflow

the rain is so constant i forget which home i have returned to.

i sit with it.
let it pervade the silence and lull me
until solitude envelops me and i remember how to breathe.

and my heart is steady and the music is soft.
what has fled returns with new stories.
all that is empty is refilled.

this is always the way of the rain.

more water

i can no longer be estranged from my reality.
searching for valves, the slow hiss of release.

some transitions are jolting roads. moving into low gears to maintain traction. there have been days, barely moving, doors jammed shut with mud. where the whirr of highways seemed distant and my soul has gone into retreat.

i retrace my steps. fingers outlining old territory. sniffing the tracks to make sure they are mine.

so much transfiguration. as the dust settles i am able to survey the landscape and find that the grass is still green.

no room to wait

we wait in white washed rooms. Rising and falling as we shuffle from street to building to street again. I am beyond boredom. Waiting for the waves to stop rising and falling, wanting only softness and strength. Every action is preceeded by more action. We live as dominos do. I am wanting something more than this stagnent cycle of waiting for my body to reach equilibrium again.

solitude in grey scale

the water mimics the sky.

the day slides into greyscale. soft drips of solitude and hidden treasures.

with curved hands i excavate. part fearful of what i might find. part elated as earth is swept aside. what is uncovered can no longer hurt us. i retrace the tracks to the holy grail.

everything must settle. this is the law of dust.

we share our dreams by long distance.
the patterns come into sharp focus momentarily. and it shocks me with it's suddeness and i can no longer recall all the meanings when it slips back out of view