look into my orchid eye
and I'll tell you a story about psilocybin sex,
how to melt into another
with full chimera absorption.
honeycombed echo’s of deep earth
as red sandstone soil covered
of soft flowing unconditional red fur.
grief and earthen closure, follow the sound
of The Churning Machine of Decomposition
welcoming, one and all, into its subterranean cocoon.
an embrace we all must accept, with adventurous willingness
like stepping into an azure portal sea,
gasses swirling around bare feet in great currents,
gently sucking velvet toes with its silk waves
into the cosmic Great Unknown.
Friction, oh sweet Friction,
the core of pleasure
of lung walls swelling with rapid silver breath;
of winter woodstove warmth, igniting the spinning gears, in new loves' lubricated stomach.
Friction of cinnamon-spiked mouth
tasting raw animal flesh
blood dripping along edges of deified full lips
bowing in cult worship for another;
for another sacred bite.
of exquisitely applied pressure
squirming bountifully on oyster pearls
inside secret red bedroom dream caves of exalted Himeros.
All innately know the steps to
connecting, one and all, to Mother Earth's life-spawning orgasms
twisting our bodies for that end
firming and softening in tune with another
delivering, onto, another
an expression, expressed, with full anatomical devotion and giving over of one's body.
to be stung by the wasp
itched by the black fly
fall from the swaying tree
summer scraped bicycle knees.
swim with jellyfish, not fearing their tentacles.
allow the knowledge to build up
to soar above Mount Ganymede.
Be purple-hazed Experienced.
use the tricks of nature to learn more about The Melting,
and how pain can lead pleasure
can be the connection to the Eternal.
requiem for smoke, for ashes
moonlight plays around your features
and I feel envy at its proximity to you.
at the thought of being that close.
seasons pass, rebelliously I’ve reached
the sun’s fruitful energy spent
growing in your direction
longing for that, excruciatingly, divine
- first touch -
that woven entanglement
with a nature assured rhythmical beat, I inched closer.
things have grown between us
and I watch
as others touch you
in ways I long to.
in ways I hate to witness.
I’ve tried to smother the softfire
but then the breeze stirs in the west
and the fire is stoked anew
when we were young
sprawling for our own space,
trying to anchor ourselves in this harsh world
your fragrance intoxicating the air
I loved you from afar.
your vibrant glow warmed winter.
I sent hidden messages for you to unlock, unravel
heated pulses covered by soft moss absorbing spilt rabbit blood,
beneath lush emerald ferns hiding decomposing tiny bird bones,
below standing water surrounding the squirrels hill of pine cone scales,
under crushed biliverdin robin eggshells,
and thin, translucent snakeskin, cast off, like last falls crispy sepia
and, bending, around feasting ants dining on curled up sleepy grubs,
you, sent signals back.
along the highways of sacred brown mushrooms,
between layers of soil horizons,
feathery-down mouse burrows,
through the tips of our ever-longing roots, into mycorrhizal messengers.
if I could only banish these heavy roots
- for one moment -
weave these anchors into boots.
but now, my love, the moon has set
blue paints the sky
yellow dips playfully around your shape
and sunlight glints off the tip of their sharpened steel
the ground vibrates as the chainsaw cord is pulled
in horror, I feel their footfalls approach you.
helpless, I stand, stoic, strong on the outside
inside, my rings churn, grating against each other in fiery friction.
a halo of empty-grey, ghostly-grief envelopes everything
knowing this will be our last love letter.
knowing, we will never wind our roots together.
~ When the world spins backwards
and Time meets her own footprints,
when stones awaken
and birds sleep,
when the oceans still, cease their constant churning
and We, lift our roots and step out of the warm buttery-red soil ~
~ When the rivers flow through the air around us
and lightning explodes out of the ground,
tornadoes twirl in place, stationary, endlessly,
the cats’ footfall breaks the ground with earthquake noise
and humans feel, and act on, the pain of another 5000 miles away, as if it was their own ~
~ blindfolded they will see each other
so no judgment can be passed
voices filter into their ears as one sound
beauty found in the words they choose to speak
instead of the accents sitting on their tongues ~
~ When our dreams dance in sunlight
our nightmares walk freely around us under bright sky
and step off this planet, into space
and humans current reality folds itself up
under warm blankets of moss, eager to grow over their stale perceptions
hiding it from view ~
~ When the masks they wear disintegrate
their hands open at their sides
all that was, clutched tight in fists
of shame, of pride, of grief, of regret, of guilt
and they agree to join the bond that's been waiting
they stop fearing their own imaginations
for what it may reveal about their souls
the warm nest constructed for their tender, elastic minds
then, We shall live out of lives to the fullest extent.
I look out from towering height
the wind gently blows through Earth’s wet clouds
caressing her green velvet grass, her reddened clay skin
the river licks her erect cliffs
the mist hovers over her mountains, stimulating hard peaks
and this bodily planet shudders volcanic shivers from the pleasure.
not to be h-bombed, napalmed, gassed, bulldozed
ancient forests levelled to make way for plastic fields
but for flesh, taste of meat, warm coves, lover’s blue lightning,
phototactic moths summiting the stars
Earth's orgasms shared for fertility.
She’d have shown them the hidden path to space,
the glittering gate,
the cosmic road,
but has sewn up that knowledge inside mushroom caps, peyote, Sonoran desert toads,
ayahuasca roots and vines - for only the daring ones ~
~ the ones with open doors, broken shudders, ripped curtains, torn blinds,
with newly born hatchling struggling through, awaiting new life,
magic and absorption,
awakening survival knowledge.
Mother Earth allowed their evolution
repaid by battering her, killing her children
of wing, of branch, of paw, of fin, of slither,
dressed in a sloppy white, greasy wife beater with bloody fist; blood-splattered shirt.
the undeserving inheritors.
they can be expelled, expedited, and Earth will shudder on with her deep boiling spasms
producing from flesh and pleasure, life, life, oh beautiful life!
of flower, of insect, of animal, of mushroom magic caps sprouting from deaths decay,
mustard bird, oaken stardust encapsulated tree, of LIFE!
the sumptuous dessert of transcendence taken off the table before the first euphoric bite
softly, between quest-intentioned teeth,
hop scotching around space, planet to planet, moon to moon, no tethers, no ties,
yet bound to Mother, safe with Mother.
transcendent dessert replaced with garbage lined highways for your visual taste buds to crunch on,
gravelly and bitter, like rusted metallic pennies,
but swallowed down, in the name of square boxed comfort,
square fire complacency, dependency.
I am left with this last, aching plea
all my electric waves now flow forth in hopes of being soaked up into determined cerebrums
to please, let them spare you.allow my love, my strong white pine, to continue to grow
who would shade their tired skin,
clean, their toxic air,
to stand tall,
And thank you, my love, for these meagre hundred years of longing.
our love may burn in the pit of their fires
but our ashes and smoke will drift back on the air
~ a requiem ~
to where We now stand
- there -
We shall meet again.
leaning against the fog
dropped carelessly onto evergreen masterpiece floor, of this ~
our oceanic spaceship,
like bits of plastic amygdala-gum.
drunken, swirling, pole femmes buried in the cracks,
of Notre Dame, stuck in crevices of asphalt sidewalks.
of lust-bright, curved curtains swaying in the red-light district; heavy-metal
steel toed working class hero’s of Calgary.
you'll see me out there
where the trees split their fortress strong trunks
I slide between
leaning against the fog
you'll find half of me
forgotten memories, breathing, in the trees
drifting into auburn leaves
slow cascade, sway in ode to gravity, fallen ~
to rust on moss
soaked down to the roots
streaming into lichen network
to sprout as mushroom caps
to be eaten
released, at a certain bodily depth
into screaming ancestral vortex
spinning, caved in, then ~
swallowed by a place outside linear time,
like the black crow decomposing, achingly slow, by the bus stop,
its flesh, a quarter frozen on a bed of dirty city street snow;
like the eyeless finch,
feathers stroked back handsomely, lying on a coffin
of dried, old-year grass, as if a mortician had come, embalmed sweet joyous bird,
but forgot the black eyes in his supply room.
taste again, chocolate brioche by the Seine, feet hovering over the flood, as tongue wraps erotically around sumptuous French bread.
touch electric heartache that’s fallen under shaky knees.
feel, for the first time, the warmth of slipping into another.
see anew, awe and fear inspired by quick sand on film,
see anew, wondrous airplanes displacing clouds, silver dollar pancakes, alien jellyfish,
through the bright eyes of life created inside your warm spring body;
small life, that drew a hopping frog, out of mythic muddy puddle, into marshmallow-soft hand;
small life, filled with unbridled ecstasy, to
dance in honeyed sunshower downpours,
jump monstrous Atlantic navy waves,
roll down grape-scented lupine-blanketed hills,
hear an eighteen-wheeler trucker salute,
to brush stars off your shoulder.
face again, connective fear
of newly born, bright-warm daisy palm encircling maternal index finger
for stolen babies breathe
white flower turns blue
tiny petals fall
paternal hero lungs breathe magic for budding hazel fruit
until sirens wail,
an ocean of sacred milk spills from blooming lungs.
hear again, choir of pigeons cooing, in the Lilliputian close behind cobblestoned World’s End,
providing backup vocals for private fortnight serenade,
staged by magnificently bearded homeless tenor in Edinburgh glow.
the sound bigger than what can rationally be perceived.
smell Cork at midnight. sleeve heavenly stuck to brightly lit counter of stale beer,
as aged tweed men sing,
ornamentally, of lost sacred ground, and we of,
privateers and Canadian railroad trilogies, watching their wrinkled faces light up,
their sad, ragged voices spectacularly join
in the sharing of east coast, 2am songs.
you'll see me there
with ale in hand
singing too loudly, too intensely, “time has no beginning and the history has no bound”
where the old, split their fortress strong spirits
I slide between
leaning into the fog
you'll find half of me.