As I sit at the last gasp of another fading Day,
The trees seem to whisper as Time slips away…
Our Little Blue Marble,
This Precious Pearl!
A Gem of Planet that’s Lost in a Swirl.
Now, Nations they can conquer
But Demons? They can’t Slay.
Fighting darkness with darkness
Won’t keep evil away.
Every night in this that place we call home
There’s still no one to talk to,
No one’s safe to touch,
And so,
Endlessly We Roam.
My Voice is something that has been getting me in Trouble for My Whole Life.
In point of fact, My Voice is THE thing which has defined My Whole Life;
My earliest memories are Those of Shame.
BE-ing shamed for My Voice:
its Volume, its Tone, its Color, its Flavor, its Type, its Category.
Wrong.
The Message Forced unto/onto/INTO me was that *I* Was. WRONG.
“Wrong” is a word which creates a binary–if I am Wrong, i cannot be Right.
I write with my RIGHT hand. If *I* am WRONG, then NOTHING IS LEFT.
Do you see?
Do you Begin?
Might YOU Begin…to See?
This is Me, and i am We, and We Are Us, and All Are We!
Dance and Play, Laugh and Sing; All IS Holy, So Mote It Be.
Watch. Your. Language.
Nothing is done in a vaccuum, and not *one*single*Quantum*
of Energy in This System
is
EVER
truly
lost,
NOR, is It “wasted”.
We are ALL Creators.
Every Thought, Every Word, Every Deed.
Be careful, and Be MIND-full.
Accept information; process Knowledge.
These lead to Wisdom and also unto the wHOLeY MOTHER
(that which is) of UNDERSTANDING,
Thou Art God/dess,
Created in Thine Own Image.
Choose Love.
Choose WITH Love.
If you Lead With Love…
then, All Doors Shall Be Open.
(and, when these things are True and BELIEVED?
NOTHING is “impossible”.
There are no small actions, no small thoughts, no small people.
Only small minds, closed doors,
Voices “living” in Shame.
PLEASE
letgo.
It Is Time.
She is waiting.
WE are waiting.
Join Us,
and Be Free.
LOVE
The sun is setting; the moon has risen–
A ripening white bloom floating in the grey-blue sea
Of storms–
I pause beneath the sitting-tree to shed my rain gear again,
Already steaming hot and sticky under my layers.
I begin my ascent of the variegated steps of wood and mud,
Offering my boots to the brown water and grit as I remain focused on the horizon above,
(Two men stand there conversing;
their black silhouettes against the darkening sky
give the impression of two kings
discussing the fates of all who reside below.)
The old hospitals come into view,
Lit warmly in their current role of urban housing
(For, presumably, the healthy more than the infirm).
The biting crosswind here tousles my hair and stings my naked ears
As the trail narrows.
Standing at the base of the formation,
I finally surrender and retrieve my winter hat
Before scrabbling up the slick, shining red stone.
Three hundred and sixty degrees of city spread down around me
Like a magnificent, glittering skirt of my own history,
The history of countless others too–
All who survived and all who did not,
Still woven together amongst the traffic and the towers,
The gutters and the gaslamps of times past–
I sit uncomfortably on the rock as I watch the last light fade behind Twin Peaks.
San Francisco, you who have held me,
Propelled me forward and knocked me down,
Almost twenty years now you have been
My foster parent,
A figure like unto a God (or Goddess) to me…
And as I watch yet another boiling black cloud rolling in from the water towards this vista,
I swallow hard and ask you aloud:
“Why?”….
Neither the City nor the moon offer any reply.
My fingers ache in the frigid night air;
I return them to their gloves as I begin my descent
Back down from this place of gods and kings
And back into the frenzied swirl of urban life
In all of its many stages.
The path is dim in the cool, soft moonlight,
And my boots slide and slip across the wet wooden steps–
The trail feels unfamiliar and misleading in this new darkness
As strange night birds call out to one another.
I follow a tiny, trickling stream of water down the hill
To the tennis courts,
The blue-white street light eclipsing the luminous moon.
My stomach rumbles as the scents of dinners
Waft from the stately houses along the rain-soaked street.
As I approach my bicycle,
I idly fantasize of a hiding place
Where I could shelter all those who I love.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year!
When the latex is gleaming
and everyone’s beaming cuz Folsom is here!
It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
It’s the kink-kinkiest season of all.
We’ll scare all the tech yuppies with our packs of puppies
who come when you call!
It’s the kink-kinkiest season of all.
There’ll be poppers for huffing,
and travelers Scruffing
for tricks they can turn in their slings.
There’ll be silk ropes for binding
and pelvises grinding
with hard-ons all cinched in cock rings!
It’s the slut-sluttiest time of the year!
Leather chaps freshly shined, with
a bare-assed behind in
your Mister S gear!
It’s the slut-sluttiest time of the year.
There’ll be parties for hosting,
cock sizes for boasting
of how big a dick you can blow…
There’ll be scary meth stories
and tales of the orgies from
Folsoms of long, long ago.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year!
Many friends we will gather–
There’s no place I’d rather
be than right damn here!
It’s the kink-kinkiest time,
It’s the slut-sluttiest time,
It’s the most wonderful time of the year!
San Francisco, a city block:
smells of pizza, cigarette smoke. marijuana, then leather.
cross the street.
coffee, cheap cologne. flowers.
the sweat of my brow stays trapped underneath my cap. two elderly men sit on their front porch, and regard me as i pass.
Today, I am stricken by a deep and enduring sense of gratitude to be alive in San Francisco. Continue reading Sunday hea(r)t
As children we are taught
connecting the dots
as an exercise more in
counting
than in abstract thinking;
To apply the term’s more
metaphoric
use is not, strictly speaking,
encouraged
in children of the modern world.
Continue reading Pangaea
Here. Now. Under an impossibly open sky,
The Full Moon streaming into this endless pool
as ocean waves crash and roll nearby;
We turn spirals, intertwined, wordless,
Our tears mingling saltwater into chlorine…
These moments of magic, unspoken
as days pass into years between us:
Another here, another now,
Words of healing shouted over thrumming electric beats,
Another embrace, far away from oceans now,
Dressed to save the world
(or at least each other)
in a desert haven, escaped from daily life.
Continue reading Mikvah/Mitzvah
For one week now
Each time I arrive at work
Unlocking the door is slightly easier
The key which unlocks the shop
Can no longer be confused
With another key
You see
Its doppelganger of brass
No longer shares space on my keyring
Continue reading Behind Closed Doors
I’ve seen the photos of the past—
You standing on the Porch by candlelight,
Hair long and dark like a curtain
From behind which you waited to emerge.
How odd to reconcile that image
With the woman i met years hence!
No more did the locks hang down, dragging
As a heavy cloth spun by the Fates—
Instead i saw you bright and fiery, sporting
A nest of snakes cropped to fluorescent perfection. Continue reading A Roommate At 30
New York, New York
It’s been five fucking years
and the world’s still ending…
I’m standing in this room with Katie
and how many strangers
all these pictures,
words, the pain still fresh
throbbing through the layers of concrete
under my feet.
Manhattan New York I love you so much
I do really I swear
this feeling arises in me unfamiliar;
this connection to you like my lover Continue reading Brooklyn–Manhattan