Archive for January 3rd, 2011

Untouched Loves

Is there anything deeper in life?

She creates beauty with fire.

She acts in the image of my Creator.

She speaks with words from my Creator.

She fuels a deep love, a deep longing.

She creates beauty from her magic heart.

She is more powerful than my Creator.

She feeds my love and my passion,

She makes my heart swell in goodness.


There is no greater power.

The power pulls me to her.

She speaks to me as if my Creator

Were speaking and granting

Eternal happiness,

Eternal fire with my soul mate,

Love for a woman

Who knows all of life,

Who knows pain,

Who promises to protect me,

Who promises to see every

Part of me just as my Creator does,

Who promises to love every part.

She is life.

She is love.

I can’t have her and this is life.

She could fly me away to pure joy.

I long to play in that fire,

But I compulsively need lines and chains.


My heart is filled with those female creators,

Loving creators who are all there ever is to life,

But I seek my sterile pathway.

My Creator does not want freedom for me.

My Creator does not want me to create,

But oh, how my Creator has blessed

Those female creators who

Shine big fire on me.

I long for the heat of all of them,

But I stay safely away from the fires.


I have my fuel for the fires

It is stifled with wool blankets,

And heavy chains,

And thick boundary lines.

And I am tortured with worthlessness.

I am safe, so far away from the fire of love.

I stick to my chains, remain sterile and empty.

Am I dead?

Dreaded, frozen,

And suffocated

In the Hell

My Creator has always provided for me?

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Mozart Cheers For Me

Momentary crash, dive, crawl, duck, hide.

Indecision on my music choice.

Surely I am lost.


Her hair, seemingly perfect,

Grazes the collar of a delicate,

Graceful, white blouse.

Her velvet eyes through the dark frames

Tell me maybe, maybe not.


How about Mozart and a laugh?

How about tiny champagne flutes

And her heels, her legs in my lap?

The clarity and beauty of Mozart.

The clarity and beauty of wild sex.


This stunning dream takes me away.

Mozart cheers and cheers.

Mozart tells me nothing matters but

My lady in the dark, sexy eyeglasses.

Mozart dances on to the next soul.


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Worrying About the Little Shit

I’m not made for having a boss

Until something happens

And responsibility would break my soul.

Something always happens.

Long ago I would love it when things happened.

Now my soul is too weak and fragile.

My soul hates my worthlessness.


Sometimes my boss thinks I am great,

And so do I.

Sometimes my boss thinks I’m a scumbag,

And so do I.

One time my boss told me straight away,

“I’m praying for you.”


My boss worries about all of the little shit.

My boss never leaves before five.

My boss never misses a scratch.

My boss thinks that it is possible

That I am not perfect

And that I am tired of trying.

So I am stuck in all of the little shit.

The little shit buries my soul and my world

Is worthless.

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Crashing Again

The onslaught begins slowly with a rush.

Speckles of pepper litter my blue view.

Giant, wide, metal plates slice gently

Above the eyes deep inside like piranhas.

The plates gain weight slowly  pressing eyes

To the throat on their way to unbearable.


Anticipation of the fucked up

Mind with nothing made for good.

The fucked up darkness and hate.

The functionless body of trash.


All humans get mean –

They run me over.

All of the world is a

Roman coliseum, and I,

A stupid mouse.


Forgetting my medicine,

Without medicine,

I could go away

Forever in a

Tall square

With a pin head of light

At the top.


But I pop the pills

That don’t work

But keep me “free.”

The ones the doctors love.

This too shall pass

Long after I have surrendered.


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