Time does weave a magic thread,

It binds all things in beginnings and ends,

In life so full, new births, and deaths,

Exits ongoing in what is further sent.


what hand overcomes the last?

Evolution spirals and dies along,

After last setting’s past.

We cannot decern a new dawn,


Great walls of challenges met like imposable waves,

And thought that what sinks is gone,

Alas we forget that time’s waves.

Have depth beyond our own.


Nothing is born and nothing dies, such conclusion is an illusion,

Our fears of ends is in fact a lie, rather it is a transfusion into infusion.







Drunk Haikus From the River

Hey hey how are you?

Not bad, but how are you, dude?

Pretty great, How are you?

Genessee is a beer

But then again, so is papst Blue

But beer sucks tho, dude




The fire is bold,

But, I am not impressed though,

Other things happen,


Broken windowshade

Blue sky and sunlight lazer

It is too early now

The scarf is proof.

I scrape and slide along through my coarse life,

While you seem to glide so smooth,

Directing your off glances like a stabbing knife,

Puncturing any effort I desire to smooth-

-the wrinkled sandpaper of our entanglement,

Which seemed to burn softly just past,

Now we sit and pretend our arrangement,

never did come to pass.


We move like chess pieces now,

Avoiding what we knew we felt,

How you pretend it never happened

I’m grinding my head with doubt.


I can understand your convenience,

if nothing had occurred,

but my god! I hate the barrier we’ve created,

where through it can penetrate no delicate words.


The well building inside me could force that barrier down

one sentence could batter away my mystery

the gulf of our worlds once more solid ground,

walk to your shores again without guards or history,

Without dismissals or strategy.


bare to the world once more.


But I am a spineless creature,

meek and stupid to this game

a fowled and awkward preacher

I can only hope that you are the same.


I can at least take solace in this,

When our passions were then flesh and groping thought,

Our nations entwined like people

and only our human treaty was what we sought.


The soft scarlet silk unwrapped and flattened,

is proof…







The fence.

How broken are our ties,

When words and hate surround,

When those charged with truth spin lies,

And spill pollution in minds abound?


The alternative is useless or risk,

Drift out at sea with a meek little sign,

or stand and throw stones or bricks,

what is worth to stiffen my gutless spine?


To say that I can fight what crushes us,

or feign peace to cover my fear,

Of the bludgeons and tearing bullets,

That lash upon those who do not adhere.


Though I may cast no stone, I still may still yet be broken,

Words are not so easily killed and safety is an illusion.









Arrie the Kitsune

Twas back in time of woe-sung rhyme
That one of the fox-folk, Arrie so named,
Did from the high mountains so wooded in rime
Came down to the lands of men to play games

At forest’s edge she went in disguise
Where the trees and fields make their meet
A glint of mischief she held in her eyes
For a trick or love to toy she did seek

Through fields she set off like wind through rushes
Arrived at the road near fall of night’s cowl
Feared not she be looked on, such is,
Silver moonbeams never treat he so fowl

How eyes do trick in the night’s light
None could be wiser to the maiden’s sight
The waving grain made a windy part
Silent footfall upon dry crumbled husk
Gust of wind rustled the tarp of a cart
The driver admired the cooling dusk

Enjoying the sounds of his wagon’s creaks
Wound down the road this village merchant took
As the way ribboned its way to the east
Never a rearward glance he took to look

Saw the heaps of thatch rise from yonder hill
Little known to his passenger’s fine feast
The little demon took up her fill
Enjoyed his shipment of fine meats

So filled with prospects of his new venture
Heeded not the puzzling sound of laughter

To the warm light of street shops she crept
And snatched up a dress remaining unseen
Unwatched by the throng she needn’t repent
Placed it on neat by two buildings between
Yet then by eye a luminent gleam
With a gander across from alleyway nook
She lent on the corner to gather the scene
Orbs of orange marched like embered brook
Demons masked in festive preen, lanterns took
Like painted pagans the townsfolk danced free
Music weaved sateen through the crowds they shook
Arrie smiled at the mirth she did see
“What curious sight” thought the kitsune

Needn’t she fear the scrutning eyes of men
guise she dropped taking on her true form
danced among the music seen as a friend
Intoxicating dew, firelight warm

Around the great blazes they sung their sounds
Of all mischief Arrie seemed to forget
Mask among mask pounded foot against ground
One foxian face shown through bare, there yet

Food and stories the reveled folk shared
Returned with steps of tumultuous laugh
Though some thought her tales were quite rare
Not one had guessed from where she made her path

With jokes and wit told here and there, Arrie did not fail
And she smirked at the compliments on the craft of her tail
The festival reeved with a drunken muse
Lines hand in hand ran through the streets
Salty snapping meats running with juice
Smiling eyes to joyous tambourine beats

Arrie drank nearly the whole of a cask
Witnessed’ agape with curiosity
How easy for her to drink through her mask
And wipe her mouth with ferocity

In the midst of the mirth then caught surprise
The watchful eyes of a man clad in grace
To show under her mask he asked for comply
And wished he to set upon her true face

Pulled from her daze she turned her back to him
And re-turned with a kindly illusion
Visage of a stunning woman she passed
With hair of black and eyes of icy blue
Her form seen kindly subtle, now while masked
Eyes met Gazing, dizzy warmth flutter flew

His face was less than fair as fair may be
held something yet behind those auburn eyes
resisted strange gravity, held she to see
her mind had set work on him with apprise

Asked he then with an outstretched steady hand
To join him in the last festive dance
Arrie the demon could not understand
How this mortal could put her in a trance

With the flutes rising she took the offer
Swept in the masquerade to his proffer
Knowing no dance, his guide was her portal
Lively the veiled casted their costumes aside
In bacchius haze she danced with the mortal
Less known her the truth to be descried

To his arms she fell, and he did embrace
The music background seemed to fall fell
In soft current of their step, all erased
Warmth of touch driving unholy impel

With eyes that betrayed, she looked upon him
An earnest presence returned his graces
Desire takes aside all forethought whim
In the eternity of meeting faces

Replaced with a whim of desire sore missed
Did in the harvest, the lord and the demon kiss
Be what be and be what may be said
What kindled with the thicket fires
That in her tale when awoke so fed
And lived new where lived her desires

Sprang to realize what desires displaced
Fled she away in the morning hours
Gone she was, never more a trace
Far to where lived her old powers

And when awoke he to empty sight
Recalling what in night he had seen
Startled struck with a sudden fright
And pondered nothing more than a dream

When the night winds swift  to daylight’s break
Not one sees the fox’s flight as they wake

Years are Dishes

There was nothing more comforting then when I would return home from work and see her washing dishes. Sometimes I would have the day off or she would be the one to return home after me, but after we made dinner she would always go to that place by the sink after the meal. She wouldn’t say a word, she would just begin the task as if it were a meditation. The water flowing across the dishes and her hands busy in the suds across the smooth porcelain. I would help her dry, stand next to her and put things away, but I could never take my eyes off of her there, her eyes down on the task. Content with her apron on to keep her outfit from getting wet, tied in a nice bow on the small of her back.

I could have watched her for hours if we ever made enough dirty dishes. But the moments would usually never be too long. I could feel myself, as I wiped each dish,  gravitate closer. It was intoxicating to see her cool brown lips, her tan skin, her curves and her black hair. I wanted to be able to reach into her head and feel the thoughts she had, sense what she was thinking and lounge in whatever wanderings her brain took her.

I would move closer to the sink, dry with an impulsory motion and place dish on dish with a lightness that pervaded all other tasks of the day. Eventually, the hollow warmth that would fill my stomach, chest, and diaphragm would grow. When I felt the soft skin under her sleeve brush against mine, the curvature of her hip nestle with mine. I still could not look away, but she would be set unmoving on her task. Perhaps a smile would grace those sacred lips from some joke or story from another time and place.

I was there, she knew it, but she would perform the task as if I was not. It only streamlined my desire for her.

And as she handed me the last dish I could dry, I would do so and step behind her. Hold her in my arms, feel her form in sinc with mine, her hips, and curves, yet her mind just beyond my reach. She would always giggle and shiver with excitement and warmth. I would smile and coo before finding myself kissing her cheek from behind, her neck, her shoulder. And while I did that, I could tell she smiled, I could tell she waited for this, I could tell that this was her favorite part of the day, because it was mine, and we were one in that moment.

And yet she would keep washing. Her hands in the suds, the motion of her shoulders between mine.

She still would be silent, smile and even sigh at times. I would be unable to contain myself in those moments, the curse of my body in her presence. But a blessing for those moments together.

And when she turned around. Dear God.

Now after all this time…I can still close my eyes and feel…

I can feel the physical youth of it, but, sometimes I hear things, I feel the silent. “I love you”, “Stay with me”, “never leave” “where have you been?” “I’m scared” “hold me closer” “why has it been so long?” “Who am I?” “Why is life so short?” “Who are you?” “How did we find each other?”

All the words that could not be said or heard in those times come to me with clarity. Like mortar to fill the cracks between us it was not words that bound us, but…dishes.

It makes my breath draw like a cold spring.


Someone to love.

I want someone who will love me, even if I forget.

I want someone who will rub my belly, and treat me like their pet.

I want someone who will whisper in the dark when the night outside is cold.

I’d like someone to love me before I grow too old.


We’d dance among the raindrops and sing in the pouring rain,

With them would cradle sorrow and wash away my pain,

We’d laugh and sing and dance and play,

With them I’d give everything and every living day.


They would smile for no reason and laugh without a joke,

They would bring fresh air because the world around can choke,

They would tell me their secrets and we’d smile at our faults,

They would know it as no burden to trust in eachothers hearts.


We would take a stand against the world with war cries so shrill,

And when one would fall before their time, the other would love them still.


Yes I would love them without regret, if they would love me back,

and therein lies the ultimatum one cannot take back.

For the more you give, the more exposed

To hail of social rounds

And as another pet, be whipped into the ground,

For fear holds so tightly from straying into the open,

Fear of soft whispers becoming spite and broken,

That time will surpass the love we share and death take us alone,

And nothing but regret rains upon our shores


I do not fear for I am a rock

I will remain after the waves have stopped

And if you want,

We can both make love below the water.