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.