Whale Bones

Open up the hide, William, the insects are gonna get it.
They won’t. It takes a while in this heat, they’re slow and crazed.
All the more reason to…
Shhh… Dar, Come inside.
William beckoned from within the animal’s body. He crouched inside its ribcage. Scarlet beads rivered down his cheekbones. And sweat mingled with saliva on his lips.
Your flesh, in its hide
Come you’ll say,
Come inside.
You too, ey?
Let’s go now.
And we were born ~

Aboard The Vessel

She lies beneath the tangled webs
Of your thoughts
Always there

I dare you
To follow her ~

She will show
If you show

She has always been—Here
Embedded in the layers
Drawing you forth
Sometimes you listen—see
Other times you step blind
Rapid, rushed—

But when you get up again
—which you will
She is there,
Waving, beckoning, laughing
I knew you could—
I knew you would—
Let’s go—

It’s time.

Pink Was Never My Colour

Long, Dark, Deep and Rich.
Blood red tinged with cerise and battered in bruise.
Drenched in mud, spit and soaked in Rouge.
Pink was never my colour.

If necessary, it would be Salmon,
Freshly caught from a glacial stream in British Columbia.
Sliced open across the belly by one with Reverence
For its waters, its beating bleeding heart, its very last breath—
One who held its flesh to his own lips,
Dripping, succulent, wet
Swallowed to fill and vitalize his own heart.
In that case, yes —
Salmon is my colour.

Lay pink to the seagulls.
On a salted rock where the sun bleaches, dries and dyes it a darker stain.
Then, maybe I’ll taste.
Flesh, Life, and Death in One.

Tingle With Words

My arms tingle with words
From the shoulders
Holding captive my triceps,
Patrolling down my forearms,
Jumping over and bumping each other,
Skipping ahead in line to come out.
But I only have ten fingers.
Please keep in line
(So you can make sense to me)
But they never do.

Writing On Maps

She writes on the face of you
Of Maps
Of World
Of Palms
Hands imprinted here
Their stories
Footsteps they have walked
Textures they have pressed into
Like worn out silk
Surfaces skimmed
As their minds are stilled
Drifting but motive
In state of wonder—

Days of Solitary Pleasure

On days like this
She wants to get away.
Away from all that ask
All that ties
All that needs to be justified
Where I am
What I want
That which is most important
Can never be explained, anyway

I want nothing
And everything ~
To Walk
Barefoot and Alone.

On days like this
I don’t want you.
Sentences that repeat themselves
Patterns long out-drawn
Words I no longer need, to express
What I mean.

To tear away pages my mind has long but burnt
Give away the unwanted
The dusted
Rusted, smoked, withered leaves
Paper and mantras
The barnacles of existence
Cast away, here.

On days like this,
My ship is ready
To leave this harbour
And all that is known—
To start a blank canvas
Splash paint onto its ivory background
Scratch it and glare at the sun
Ask the sun to paint it for me.

All she wants —
Is live in her own good company
To bask in that feeling —
That which is Oh so delicious
So uniquely her own
So her.

On days like this,
I want to scratch at the fabric of existence
Cut that which holds—tangled
To others
To leave behind the over-used script
To give it all away.
Let slip the bonds that fasten me to his ship I have boarded,
And set sail my own.

For the shores that I seek are in my view only,
And I can never explain,
How exquisite they look
From this perspective
Through the light in my own eyes
And it’s reflection upon the sea.

Optimum Line Of Tension

The Edge of Desire
Pulls and moves—forward
Yet I still stand
In this body,
Centred in heart,
In this space
Curious and moving
In ease
And circulating,
Back through—
The energy leaves
And returns so freely

In Nature Of Thee

She gives, he takes
He holds, she releases
He dominates, she surrenders
He stands still, she shakes
She dances, she moves and she wakes
In the Nature of Thee.

She lets go, he holds her tight so
He thinks, she feels, senses and sings,
Spits and curtsies at being bound by rings
In the Nature of Thee.

She sees
She steps
She sails
In the Nature of Thee.

She sleeps
She wakes
In the Nature of Thee.

She rests, she lays her hand on her chest
In the Nature of Thee.

Where She Is From

Where she is from
Is a place you have already been
Wandered across an era ago
A land doused with fir trees of old
Scorched with brazen ice and cold
Viking runes, the Baltic Sea
Will always remain a mystery to me.

Her skin glistens with Southern Sun
Her blood is of the North
Cinnamon, cardamon, gold and fawn
Painted with scars—
Constellations of stars
Stories, given but unexplained
You can go for a thousand years
But you’ll never know her name.

Time out of mind
Where she is from
You have already been
Do you remember me?

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