A sound not a bay.

I am the subtle magnetic force trying to kindly shift

your aged space and the immediacy of your moments.

Or, is that you?

Pulls of the polarized enliven me.

Maybe I am your current, optimal conditions,

an ideal, unidyll ether enabling materialization.

I see from the lonely vacuum without feeling alone.

Electric light and natural radiance.

A backlit screen,

The sun striking the pages of written text in a newly opened book.

Lidar and black holes howling in polite algorithmic rhythm.

The Oxford comma not being used within

sentences always running-on.

A’stood between two pillars of trees

with bark gnarled from time,

coarse like hands that can carry wood and graphite,

my writing flows

forward and backward.

And, simply saying, “hush” can be a come and turn-on to the fretted strings.

I see success is your proof; and, it

arouses need to draw your reaction.

Your attention.

So when you ask: Do you see?

I respond: I know.

Because I want to hear

You ask me: you know what, exactly?

i know my eyes want to watch your eyes: I reply with sheepishly calculated vulnerability.

I can see you enter a hypothetical room and

stand still.

Hell knows what I’d be doing, but

I know

I would stop doing it at the sight of your site.

To read you, without words,

your reaction. The response received from your eyes, without smiles.

Feeling as a fool tossing a coin with the Fates.

I ran with you in dreams last night: I say.

And, I understood the difference between a cagey connoisseur and a common collector: I think.

A coattailer or a partner in crime.

You tell me: your hair is a kudzu trail twisting down a terrace in tresses of winding locks.

These things are integral, like a well-timed laugh,

yet, they reduce to simple vibrations and shudders.

I live by a body of water

that is a sound oft confused for a bay.

But, my bays sound

like a whispered suggestion:

Come and bathe with me, Archimedes.

Verba Eclipsata

The ascent of a scent,

warm and humid like southern nights.

A recollection of something never had yet still known,

like the smell of a world existing prior to the industrial revolution.

Encoded in all minds, like a forgotten dream suddenly recalled.

“It’s curious how ‘illicit’ is used more than ‘licit.’ ”

“That’s not what I’ve come to discuss.”

“Are you sure about that?”

The livery stable holds a horse rode hard and put up wet.

From the projection of the rider’s own limbic system,

thereby was a scythe observed

being cleaned

off in a river of cortisol,

and, then, resheathed into the odd, wrappings

made of hide.

The harmony of the discord between a




nervous system that is only given rest through

relentless fight or flight.

The capture and surrender of two individual, respective attentions.

Things contained and separated by encasings of skin.

Verba Eclipsata Intende A Dinspir.

Pearl eats Oyster

The wex of supplication

The hex of self-sacrifice.

An aloe juice applied.

A smoked cigarette.

for supplication

of abasement.

Simplicity may dissolve into

a unity of psychic diversity.

Four bases produce

endless genotypes producing

infinite phenotypes.

The nature of nurture or lack thereof.

The art of service:

The difference between

I’m happy to help.


I’m glad to help.

Private humility

Laughing in the darkness of that which gifts you discomfort.

Where strangers are seldom seen.

I make circles. Keep up with my eyes.

Let it all be a tactical, tactile trick.

Kind brats of men move my pen.

See and know. Bathe with and clean.

Tepid water tested by toes while the ewer of a

faucet head drips.

Wake from a lucid dream into sleep paralysis at a touch of skin.

Churlish obstinacy and insubordination.

An affixed clothe-spin stinging like an inability to articulate.

A sheet hanging until until no longer wet.

The silence of the narcissist to the empath.

The empathic, giggling punishment of a narcissist.

A fretted string strung too tightly,

coiled to snap like a cobra.

A mouse that

turns out

to be a mongoose.

The extension of legs when moving from flat footed

to en pointe.

A swan taking flight.

A hunter knowing a swan strays not too far from its pond.

The thrill and repulsion of an irregular pearl who consumes

and swallows the oyster muscle.


Parçigal bemoans

Has Comte de Saint-Germain simply imitated Guillaume Postel, who desperately wanted people

desperately wanted people

to believe he was older than he was.

Why had the Maistre gone to Wilhelmsbad to sow dissension

You will change clothes and do as I say. Relent and give in to me.

Through sheer passion and devoted imagination,

I hope to draw you back to me of your volition.
Relent and give in to me.

That low throat voice, that angry sounding breath of desperate need and wanting posturing as powerful loudness.

and wanting posturing as powerful loudness.

So good, sweet thing. How i howl.
desperate need and wanting posturing as powerful loudness.

By my word I will you show your will that I am your mistress and also your mastered.

also your mastered.
I am your mistress and also your mastered.

God|dess to your God|head. I crown you and declare you divine. I show you what I see of your divine effulgence.

I show you what I see of your divine effulgence.

Your head bursts with creation.

My uterus becomes a mystical fire of muse, as well as bemused.
I show you what I see of your divine effulgence.

The Alchemy Feminine: Transmutation of the uterus to womb viz a viz the push of seed in the push for life.

viz a viz the push of seed in the push for life.
viz a viz the push of seed in the push for life.

An empty chalice found, earned, deserving of, and filled through ecstasy of passion coupling with

ecstasy of passion coupling with

romance, attenuates our attunement to become love’s incubator

of the burning flame that smelts away and disposes of impurities.

But without a reason to refine, love can flee and leave the incubator to entomb itself.

entomb itself.
leave the incubator to entomb itself.

A simple supplication to my nape, back, breasts will rekindle me; is taken in as prayer.

is taken in as prayer.

But my Mastery of Ecstasy flows from your oral obeisance,

dearheart. Your enjoyment and desire to

bury your face and lap and eat.

Watch me. Until my eyes narrow,

my smile becomes a pout of lips, my voice goes

deeper and the fry deepens.
will rekindle me; is taken in as prayer.

Let’s un-domesticate before their eyes. You are branded, but I am not.

You are branded, but I am not.

No mark torched my skin and

I usher you to the Maverick underground which

magically exists above ground.

Giggle. I do this for you only, because that is how this gal works:

on a one gent basis (remember punk, it doesn’t have to be you).
You are branded, but I am not.

You ask, “Won’t you ask me my second name? The name you want to call me?”

The name you want to call me?”
The name you want to call me?”

I laugh, “Dummy, that was me that asked you that question in a dream a month ago.”

you that question in a dream a month ago.”
that question in a dream a month ago.”

Your gaze drops as your head lowers.

Bit of a grin gives you away.

Lovely tough guy eh?

Parçigal Waxes for Æ

A man I pass every morning told me, yesterday: you must be a native, dressed like that.

I wore a pallet of grey, black, and brown.

I assumed it was these colors that made him say such a thing.

Then, I saw myself.

A native alien in this strange land,

but four hundred years before now.

An imposter amongst the indigenous.

A civilized lady gone native.

A warrior savage with hunters who fall with her.

And, now, I see that

the Sound is water and sky together.

A point of infinity from whence we cannot distinguish air from liquid.

And, now, dearheart, night became itself.

The moon waxes nearly full,

jumping from one side of the street to the other,

as I snake around two city blocks. And,

even clearer now does the tower

with twenty seven windows crumble before mine eyes.

I built those eleven steps to its front door two decades ago.

Where many may think: what has become of my work?

I think: that old thing is still standing?! Didn’t Æ cry “to dispose of this” as the Philistines yelled at Daniel in a Lion’s den.

But, see,

I know: a lioness does well in a lion’s den.

Ariadne Howls to Æ

How is it that, I, Ariadne, she whom gave you the string to trace your way out of this labyrinth, now finds herself strung along by it?

When did the slipped, sleeping pill take æffect?

Am I woke or lucid dreaming

Or sleep walking?

I came

from whence rhythm first flowed and then flew.

I return twice slain.

Yet, still

I return,

by choice,

hunting on my tip toes.