Monday, June 18, 2007

Contemplation 98.

Mallasis and honey swell
like a curve of a bell,
over my crust of bread,
and i worry not of heaven
nor do i of hell
for loves got my sweet little head.

The morning rises with a warning
and all begin to scatter
it always good to question the matter
and see what you have to see
but i am not worried or frowning
for loves got my sweet little head
i'll just sit here awhile and practice to be
or maybe i'll just go back to bed.

Song of the Lonely Trencher.

I am a lonely trencher

Living by the sea

But i walk in splendour

Because you walk with me

From now until forever

And since the universe begun

I surely walk in splendour

For you are my Moon and my Sun

Rewrite: (not as yet renamed).

Behind these doors of Solid stone
the world of the living has found the dead
the voice that once had spoke alone
has found a heart to fill its head

Hope has wintered here a season
mercy has traveled here through strife
love doth glory in her reason
to dwell here all her life

Those eyes of starlight.

One, and a tell tale light,
Burns and flickers in the night,
Chasing shadows as they go,
Moving fast, then going slow,
Those pale beams that carry flight,
And haunt me ever with delight.


My heart is a mountain
My head is the sky

The wind comes dancing
The birds fl by

Confessions of a Western Savage II

The tongue is burning, now is fire,
All is fire.

We are salting after pillage,
Hording up the gold of the global village,
Sighing what is to come,
Burned by the future and the rhythms of the sun.

Dry rain beats like acid beads
To heat our blood nd burn our needs.
This is madness.
Alone one seats in tweads their golden
throne of sadness.

Tuesday, June 5, 2007


The sun comes up bright, the worlds light in the morning, and you wake from your perfect dreams to a perfect world. The sound of the radios buzzing does not bother you, the howling dog down the street has nothing on you, and the view of Venice beach is ideal. The world is its own worries and you are ideal, a fit in the perfect system. You sip the hot coffee and the burn on your lips is not the kind of pain that makes you scream. Isn’t this life? The music on the radio goes country, but it does not matter because it is the backdrop. Anything that slips between cracks is just scenery. And anyone who falls falls on the rocks between the cracks. Isn’t this life? Isn’t it not but the masks of bone and blood? No one can hurt you for it is the perfect world. And if your feet don’t slip? And if they do? Eat your bacon and drink your morning martini, think of the body beside you and live in the body your in. No one can hurt you for it is the perfect world. Drink your morning martini and if your feet don’t slip you’ll miss the cracks. And if you do slip… well… it is but another exit off the stage… and another chance to live.