The Minotaur’s Maze

A black light paints purple sheens
of liquid love on memories
supposed to be sepia

but vividly impressed,
childhood’s fertile ground bursting
with moments of the Now,

Flitting, fleeting sights and sounds,
blue skies vivid awareness of the moment
stilled, time non-existent,

Early memories whispering secret lessons
to minds too young to know
yet wise beyond life

Still filled with that which came before,
smiles sly and fey,
ask me not that which you cannot ken,

Age is for the fearful,
young love is eternal youth, brilliance
unbound flying into the sun

Prometheus stole the flames
that stole Icarus’ glory sending him
spiraling into eternity smoky with grief

The Minotaur roams the mazes of Knossos,
again, faint traces of distant dreams
roaming isles ancient, timeless and torn,

Night terrors beckon form stilled, fearsome,
epic struggle against shadows unknown, wrestling
in dark glades filled with moaning ghosts then

Blinking back into the Now,
computer screen blazing electronic light
memories fade into the Present till next called, to mind.


The Circumvention of Fate

Desperation is in the air. Can you feel it?

It’s in that thousand yard stare you see sometimes, walking down the streets, gaze fixated mostly upon your own feet but looking up sometime, catching a glimpse of gazes, phases of mental gone medieval, often wild and feral, telescopic scopes above a cocked gun barrel, burning above tightened and frozen lips.

A sublime trip into the mind of the divine. You can see it in the eyes of many lost and bewildered members of the human tribe, hearts tendered upon alters of greed, frozen screaming, lost in the tribulations of their own half-unconscious but transcendent need. Almost everybody you pass is ass out, minds elsewhere, worrying about cash, about the job, about making ends meet. It’s that mad dash into the future we’re on, trying to appear strong while inside we’re quaking and outside we’re shaking, more or less, tested to the extreme, worry and regret struggling in the middle of life’s turbulent stream.

Time seems to be passing way too quickly, it’s sickly. Choices being made that we regret almost instantly, surrounded by temptation we forgo the mandatory oblations, giving in way too freely, it’s a mess. Really, it’s a damn shame, tested, like Cain, caught slaying brother Abel we swang, private parts in the wind, buffeted about by our own sins, looking around for someplace to hide, but we can’t pretend, there’s no solace from the wrath of God’s eyes, in the end.

But, we try. Finding those hidden corners in our minds, caught out, we gesticulate wildly, babbling like some kind of hideous street mime. Lies attempt to win the day as we play the game of life, causing strife, as if this is the only way to be, as if this is the only way to see through the illusions, trying not to fall, catching yet another contusion on the brain, half-lame we stumble through the mist of half-forgotten crimes, committed to do the time of life on earth, forgetting that we’re really here to experience a rebirth, of spirit, of soul, the goal almost beyond grasp, the sacred asp of the ancients the last gasp of mortality slipping from lips agape, awed by the utter immensity of Creation’s fell maw. A truly unenviable state.

And, by the way, maw means jaws for the uninitiated, open wide, our hearts pounding inside, words not accompanying intentions, our misguided actions necessitating the Circumvention of Fate, the intervention of a higher state of being, seeing beyond the mundane, the limited visual capacity of the temporarily insane. How inane is that? Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result, all the while pretending to be an adult.

And so it goes. And so we grow, deep in the throes of potentiality, creating reality with every breath, evolving as spirits of light with every test, committed until death.

That desperation that you see? It’s really a call to action for you and me. We are indeed our brothers and sisters keepers, street-wise sweepers of the detritus of life, we clean up our acts to move higher. Going through the dark night of the soul, hearts catching afire, becoming the phoenix of the dark morning’s dawn, harbingers of spiritual desire, becoming the angel that lost souls count on. Exemplifying the higher aspects of consciousness, forgoing the prideful excesses of pompousness. Yes, that’s the answer to it all.

The answer to our fateful and often inevitable fall.

Choose differently. Live gently, being kind to yourself. Release the pain and gain the clarity of peace, find your center and witness the turbulence and drama cease.

It is indeed possible. A choice to be made like any other, the choice to overcome any obstacle, to find the solution in the soluble, that which dissipates in nature’s flow, synchronicitous instances of life’s journey that cause us all to grow.

So there you go.

Choose wisely, and slow your roll.

Paradise Lost

Starfish fall from the sky
doomed to commit social suicide,
their limpid eyes alight with bubbly sighs,
their teary cries indicative of
pain-filled lies
spread by dolphins and whales
whispering dolorous tales
to sailors lost,
star-crossed by kraken-sent dreams,
tossed by waves of cerulean eyes
blinking at seahorses flying high
above, the songs of mermaids and mermen
undulating strong,
wavelengths of sin, the eternal rights of wrong,
blending harmonics cresting diatonic scales
crooning Niad love songs
whilest below,
the sharks and cuttlefish stew,
barnacles rumbling, tumbling through
electromagnetic currents
and whispering torrents,
cockles and mussels desirous of more, grumbling
and stumbling along the sea-shore,
staring fearfully at volcanic peaks
emitting steam, belching flames and
preening, no longer only dreaming of
hell on earth, but prepared to witness
the rebirth of catastrophic times,
humbolt squid and jellyfish dance,
prancing conga lines happy as clams
and oysters gleefully clapping
their halfshells as oxygen fails
and chemtrails line the sky,
the travails of humanity pass on by,
their toils only the minutest of boils
taxing Gaia’s skin, the timeline begins
and then ends without remark,
their egocentric tribulations purely a lark
embarked upon by signifying sea urchins and
lobsters, hurling insults and curses like mobsters
attempting to shatter eternity’s bones
but failing, sailing into oblivion
nailed to a butterfly’s cross,
transformation promised,
paradise lost.

Black Holes

Black holes conceal trolls,
mental troglodytes employ carnal delights,
questing for souls to keep
disturbing the innocent’s sleep,
flights of fancy or sorcerous geomancy,
magic and words of power, flower in a heavenly tower,
banshee’s dream-like wails draw billowy, pike-laden sails
through deadly froth-foamed travails
a medly of ethereal bells,
enraptured europeans moan, groan, atone alone,
their sins renowned
wind-swept swells prevail
hekau intoned, gods or men named El,
enthroned within tombs of bone,
cyclopean forms encased in stone,
the Sidhe flee ethereally before
ancient sciences, lore, mental montessori
their godless alliances, soar, metaphorically
cryogenically-aborted giants cavorted
retorted with gibbonous styles
while libidous demons hold court
demonstrating their frivolous wiles
in the dungeons of viscera-spattered forts
truncheons crush skulls culled by viscious blood-sport
trial of arms, heros lulled by a slave-girls charms,
slivers of glass quiver, flash and whirl, crashing might,
blades of silver clash and twirl, sordid fights,
spiteful dwarves score without remorse, hoarsly
screaming, gore-encrusted pearls kill with force
dreamy, pixie-dusted quadrilles do-se-do
trolls defoliate souls in mines of gold
eyes so cold, pale and fell, the truth is mute,
druids quail, blackness swells, nightmare tales
whispered true , days of yore last past before,
becoming sorrow, beginning after tomorrow,
seances obscure answers, meditation builds a nation,
aeons of mages, sages of ages, questions of why
plague all who die, lies twist and multiply,
misty myths, Valkyries cry, Valhalla’s lie
cosmogony supplanted by demonic antics,
philosophizing frantically, pedantical mantra’s plea
GOD IS DEAD they said philosophers three, see,
Plato, Pythagoras and Socrates,
we have discovered god, SELF, I, eternally
none escape and none return from beyond the sea,
hope is quelled, desire burns so solemnly,
fiery urns rise into the sky, Ra’s eye follows,
as darkness swallows light, meson’s follow quarks,
madness obscurs true sight,
black hole solaces, outside of time,
promises peace of old, spirit, body and mind
beyond death’s grasp, feared
asps wear masks, revered
magnetic static,
holy tantric fire,
soothes manic panic
and sexual desire,
from naught comes ought,
Elders sought through the void
Orishas, Neters, Original Thought
the human lot
life’s heady draught
in a black hole juggernaut

Heart and Soul

Soaring wings
upon winds of soul’s
most intimate yearnings
carry me

Above the storms of
life passing
marching against horizons
wending violet and crimson
against storm clouds of
desire and destiny

Hearts aloft
we sing the hymns of
love born anew
desirous of Mortality
we fall into
each other lost
within the depths of
souls in synch

Hold me in your Angelic
arms cradling my love
against the bosom of
your sonorous spirit
caressing my Sighs
with soft and sensuous

I’ll carry you
into the Heavens
with a love
promised before Time
till the End of
Creation comes.

the basement

mirrors twist my reality sideways upside down and all around as the circle turns and my soul burns in the embers of another ego-trippin’ episode of pain and heartache, black american style. the cadence is counted by fleetin’ affairs and distant loves, bereft of a dove’s purity of existence by willful fire and callous desire. dreams flow like streams and pleasure obscures the treasure of a perfect love, hidden within by layers of sin and distant chagrin. i go outside myself to come back in, spin and watch the sky as love dies the slow death, nagged ceaselessly by false expectations come round again like an old friend, faithful till the end.

round and round i go, tired, but checkin’ the flow as life wanders past, pausin’ in fits and starts; some parts comin’ clear, albeit framed by fear. i check my stylo every now and then, recognizing my patterns, my shame and my sins. in seeing my reflection in all that i do and say my truth is flung back in my face, no waste of time or space in this eternal race every sweet taste of pleasure is chased by demons of lust and loathing misplaced.

i gasp with bliss as i am soul-kissed by greed and the seeds of material need that bleed the blood of my ancestors. their tears trace paths of mercurial fears through the haze of my self-induced daze. i lie to myself about myself as i wait – in the meantime – undulating beneath my own caress, undoubtedly blessed, whinin’ about fate as i commit the ultimate act of self-hate. gratuitous spiritual masturbation murders afrofuturistic nations, melanated gods and goddesses of infinite conception, victims of unconscionable psychological deception, imparted at the cellular level.

as a metaphor, music soars loftily, in tune with my doom. the neurotic treble tones bone the bass clef, which acts as the most def function, linking sexual harmonics to junctions of material compunction and unconscious urges that surge to be purged.

such is the state of my slate and i progress in spates of determination, persuaded yet jaded by life, served cold on a broken plate. the warmth of unconditional love passes through the glass. divine, white light shines, multiplying sight and i revel in its soothing glow. the past and future intertwine as joyous laughter denies the sorrowful cries that overlie my sighs of soul-ache, crooned soon after.

love permeates all, has since the fall of divinity to the physical plane, i am but a link in the chain, a lock in the mane of god. i am risen and i traverse death aloft on the breath of life, above strife, selfish gain and gratuitous pain, above love denied or quantified.  today, i pray.  amen-ra.



i suppose it is a


in the mundane quality of
sleeping and
sexual orgasms

the question of how
where and when

can be
so simply expressed and yet
so central to the
great unknown
that is

how does time fly
where does time go
when it
when the now becomes the future
and the past becomes

is the future more than just
a possibility
is the past less than our
chosen realities can adequately

in between yesterday and
then and when
before and later


how does a thought capture
the impression of a passing moment
with no end
no beginning
measurable continuation or
definite form

how can a nebulous state
be ossified except through
imaginative interpretation
through art and poetry
through science and religion
through facts and beliefs
through dreams and waking

what if all of these formations or
conceptions of reality
were created only to represent
what is
beyond freedom
beyond the capability of a mind
to comprehend
beyond the ability of a thought
to represent
beyond the capacity of an artform
to realize

beyond time
beyond mind
beyond intellect
beyond passing breath and heartbeats
beyond experience of mundane reality
superimposed over


something deep and encompassing
holding within its super-reality
all possibility iterations of a
quantum dream

something sublime yet mundane
which we all experience directly
yet recognize only as a subjective
part of our individual realities

the jungian collective unconscious
the biological mechanism of symbols
and archtypes
the unconscious observer which regulates
our bodily systems automatically which
perhaps also regulates the functions of
the sun and the moon
solar systems and universes
the electric omniverse and dark energy
the emotional currents which
break then remake
our hearts

the superposition of a conscious
imposition of subjective perception


now becomes
and already it is a mystical journey
into a fictional account as memory
is forced to become reality
mythologized into

the question of how
where and when

so simply expressed and yet
so central to the
great unknown
that is
which is
i suppose a