Monday, August 14, 2017


I wanted their warmth
on the top of my head
like sunshine pushing
through the clouds

your forever broken hands
fractured by the rules
and the ruler
of the rule of the come-to-colonize

your forever broken hands
that grew like trees
always facing toward the ground
always prepared
to fall

forever broken hands
with fingers that could only clasp
around fishing poles
and garage sale ten speed bikes
and tits
and bottles of Black Label Beer
and bibles
and keys for spam
but never me
never grasp the concept
of what a daughter was

your forever broken hands
that pointed a crooked path
to my forever broken heart

I followed those hands
to the shattered places
you left behind
and pried them open wide
lost myself inside
along the forever broken path

and found my medicine
weeping out

Thursday, July 13, 2017


it makes no sense
to this world
but it makes all the sense
to this connected soul
to want to join you
in the cave of Filippov
to free ourselves
to free the world
or seek our wisdom
as mute and painted dolls
of grand Marceau
with some kind of
agnostic psychomagic voodoo
like Bowie caked in white
and breaking glass
to prove we do not bleed

I don't need a lover
I've got nothing left to ask
of anyone
including me
I only want to share a breath
with one who understands
the thoughts my heart
can dream
and how she keeps me
wide awake for days
swimming in obscurities
of the fluid world
beyond the rigid walls
of tomorrow and yesterday
in the cabaret of intellect
of whores
for the lack of shame
these thoughts could care to have
and apologies that wouldn't matter anyhow

I can light my way
but for a moment
just be unrepentant by my side
for the feel to be
a band of thieves
stealing back our dreams
to feed the starved out
and alone
we who feast
the bread from corpses
because we've got the strength
to know
there is no sin
so you don't need
to feast from me
and I won't feast from you

we'll just transmute
to grow
stitching our wounds with poetry
and offering healing
disguised as show


Friday, July 7, 2017


this between us
was birthed in the darkness
so what could ever take this shine
the indomitable of love
found in alone
the resilience of harmony in this song
burst between the notes of silence
like seedlings burst through the portals
of their sidewalk cracks

time
it takes time
for some things to grow
and more yet to bloom
but there is nothing delicate here
to wither with the passing of the days

these roots have reached
through darkness
to touch
the centre of the earth

Sunday, June 25, 2017


crawl inside the window
of my mind
some trickster
Peter Pan
my heart is growing old
to know
that love won't come tomorrow
or any other day
so share a little magic
of how to opiate
with the joy and with the now
where evolution isn't found
in wishes or in echoes
but only in today
I'm tired of growing tired
I want to wake inside a dream
where everything stays lucid
once the reference point
is found
and youth comes in the shedding
to reach the baby skin
and the fountain of the cleansing
that washes off the pain
is an ocean made of drops
of every internal connection
we have obtained
and to fly we only close our eyes
and focus on the light
and rise to heaven
with the stardust of forgetting 
to remember
and the joy of now

Thursday, June 15, 2017


I am envious of the universe
that has so many fingers
to forever touch
the alchemy of you
and the sun and moon and stars
who watch you shine
and the earth and sky
who hold you between them both
mother
father
joyous child

but sometimes I walk
in the still-warm footprints
of your light
and dream myself a dream
the universe is having now
and remember in the cosmic psyche
who I was dreamed to be


Thursday, May 25, 2017


these fingers are blistered
and calloused
reaching with sign language
that can't be heard
for what can never be touched
when what wants to be soft
must defend itself
in the battles of miscommunication

I have so little left to say
these hands of mine
making shadow puppets
in the dark
when darkness tells its story too
and shadows show
there must be light

if I could love you
then there must have always been
a part of me that held
those things too
but in the juxtaposition
you see what isn't there
instead of what there is

the shadows tell a story too
they tell there must be light
if you could look beyond
what is cast against
the armour of your wall

my medicine has never been
the bringing of the dark
but the stories one can make
of the resilience of the light

stories only understood
in the context of the glow
haloed in the outline
seeping from the blackened shapes
stories understood not only
by the unafraid
but the ones who do not hide

I am not the dark
but darkness always comes
and all the spirit can ever do
is trust in its own light
and the stories it can tell

darkness tells a story too
of tomorrows shadowed
by what we never face
or monuments painted
to stands against our fear
to leave yesterday behind
and risk the future
of kissed again by light










Saturday, May 20, 2017

The Stain on the Livingroom Lamp


when I was a kid
there was always Indian blood
on the shade of our lamp
something about a nail and a board
and the redneck neighbours
from the apartment below
who let me watch soaps
when I was sick

I never forgave my mother
for trading my dreams
of an elegant foreign father
for friends who never were
but I made my own intimacy
with the stain
of the Punjabi man
I would never meet
but knew like a Rorschach
for seven years

because the Indian father I never had
left me a message
in the code of his blood
and so I always knew
I'd rather be the evidence
of a beating for the difference
of who I was
than the lost chance of love
for acceptance that never comes 







Friday, May 12, 2017

Notes on a dream scrawled on a sleepless night


your sacred revolver
I found it in my hands

you who are not
a violent man

you who honour the ancestors
with your mother's name

the trickster who placed it there
with the medicine that knows
a gun is only holy
when it can be
and yet is never used

and I wanted to
but I didn't have to
so I never gave it back to you

because all the power
and the answers are in me
and you were joyous just to watch
how I could discover this
for myself

and because you were
I did

with your sacred revolver
in my hands
kinda like a sacred trust

you trusting to trust me
because I did not give it up
nor use it to replace the power
of what I already was

me trusting you
because you didn't ask

Monday, May 8, 2017


I want to know why
but I'm too tired to ask
for answers that never come
when the stories I tell myself
never seem to shut up

I am scared when bitterness
does not emerge
that this is no great state of evolution
but only the growing comfort
I've found with disappointment

I want to turn back the clock
but I don't belong to time
and somewhere in the ghost realms
something else has slipped
over through the other side

and I am learning now
that dreams can only 
live their lives
in the shadows of the light
when I have closed my eyes




Sunday, May 7, 2017


find me the ancient spell
that makes a husband of a man
who can love a crone

the one who holds
the alchemy to understand
now is not the time
for florals and polka-dots
but for nipples that have suckled
the future generations
and bellies that conceal
their wombs stretched out by love
naked and dancing
beneath the moon

find me the one who knows
there is dangerous and vulgar magic
between the lips
and between the hips
of a woman far past
the visual of her long dead
fuckability

because my vanities and sanities
and apologies
are all drowned
in oceans of where I couldn't belong
but had to learn to swim

and now I've found my solid ground
these roots run deep deep down
though still the girl can weep
the memory of saltwater
for hours or for days

but the woman can also laugh
her magic too
just as manic as the wind
and wide awake for days
just to be in love
with what it is to be alive

find me the man
with nothing left
to teach the girl
and I will be his crone
and student
and inspiration
and in the dark
his maiden who forgets
that younger women are mostly made
of the modest and the shy

it should not take a woman
so many years to be full grown
and so many sacrifices
of the suppleness and glow
to stand before a mirror
and see her beauty
between the sagging lines

but I will cast a spell
to find the looking glass
that sees the secrets that I see
and I will name him Eight
then tell him back the secret
he maybe does not know
that the power in a prophet
is to understand the truth
of what it is to love
and not to claim or conquer
the flesh of woman
nor the earth







Wednesday, April 19, 2017

From the day before today


your smile breaks sunsets
into golden dawns
spilling mana
and honey afire
from the rupture
of the promise
of a new day to be born

the rapture of how one heart
can inspire another
to the forced and rusty
mechanical breath
of one inhalation
after another
when to breathe
is more effort
than to not

and the automaton
that has been sleeping
wakes to grind her gears
inside the prison
of the clockwork tower
where she has been the centre
of the working parts so long
to free herself of dark machines
means to wear away her teeth
and then to fall

and how many centuries
does it take for the earth
to reclaim her
to cover her with moss
and let the ripe of flowers
grow up through the ribs
of the steel that forged her bones

how many centuries
until she can give you stems
yearning toward your light
only just to bloom

who says machines don't bleed
when amputation is the only way
that they are freed
and tears are oxidizing glue
that make each movement
too arthritic for the the dance

but when the sun shines
she remembers
this was never where she fit
inside the shadow of the clockwork
of a life of trapped
between the cogs and gears

and somewhere she wonders
if maybe she has a heart
when the music of the sun she hears
does not fall upon the ears
but melts her from the grooves
of where she's been fighting
to extract herself a century's time
or more

and soon the clock will strike the hour
then never strike no more
and the automaton
who dreamed herself a butterfly
will be something in a garden
inviting birds
and breathing without the need
to count the breath
unhinging the fusing of her bones
just to dance
in the honey of the sweet
of the dawning of the sun

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

thoughts from yesterday...


you come to me as the wind
that holds the wings
of the albatross aloft
the music of spirit
the stars have sang with light

but you are also of the earth
the immaculate temple
of the sacred geometry
of molecules that could dream
no better dream
than to manifest themselves
as you--
you the warm and beating earth
and home to celestial being

and all I have sent to dance
was my voice
when earth should be held
between the hands
and honoured with the soft footprints
of a journey toward a journey
and the warm and beating heart
should be touched with
the naked glory
of nothing left to hide

and for my hunger
to reach into the soil of you
I pulled this stone up
from the ocean floor
to pretend it holds the music
that comes only on the wind
just to have a fragment
of some imaginary land
to convince me
that I can reach the shore

and every day I'm drowning
with the weight of its illusion

for you
for the love of spirit
and of soil
today I let go of this idea
of an idea of you
I placed inside
the burden of mirage
and if you would see me
sacrifice this idol
you would think maybe
it is you
I have just let go

when I have only learned
that to swim across an ocean
one must have faith enough
to surrendered the weight 
of a fragment of earth
to reach the earth

and I am forever swimming
to reach that shore

Thursday, April 13, 2017


flailing to find a refuge
in my mind
some place where thoughts
are safe to think
some corner
of light and calm...

would you know how often
I find you waiting there
and that I am no longer
in my head at all
but safely in my heart

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Chocolate Chip Anarchy: I Owe No One Pretty

women around the world
are dying for emancipation
and Facebook is trying to sell me
leggings to compress my ass
like asses are public property
we've been charged with the sacred duty
of keeping manicured
for the aesthetic pleasure
of whoever wants to view

fuck you public aesthetic ass voyeurs
sometimes anarchy and rebellion mean
it's time to eat another cookie

Friday, March 24, 2017


climb down from the shelf
of the subconscious of my mind
an archetype Pierrot
remind me that to be this way
is to know
the difference between the neon
and the stars
and that scars are the consequence
of surrendering the placenta
of glasses tinted all in rose
to step into the truth
of this reality
and that joy is best achieved
in the authentic of really seeing
because anarchy of the heart
is the only cure
to put this nihilism
in its place
and that to wear the painted face
is only the disguise
to keep safe what is too much
to take so much
of this disjointed world
when the price we pay
for the art we make
is to fall through the existential plummet
of the propaganda fail
and the only hope
for love to be what love
is meant to be
is to bring the laughter
to the places
that have often made us cry
and innocence is not so rooted
in the luxury of ignorance after all
but gets it's chance to bloom
in illumination that's reached
in hunger for the truth
where clarity of reality
in the exfoliation of fantasy
is all a part
of how the alchemist
crafts the dream

Thursday, March 23, 2017

sometimes I dream you
like rain
falling on my tongue
sprinkled in salvation
sporadic and random
in patterns of chaos
that calm the mind on fire
and blossom the shrinking heart
that withered in its parched
like the taste of cactus
or the the swim
in the river beneath the river
where these secret thoughts
are quenched
and I am here bathing
silently
only in the idea of you
drinking the words
falling from the heavens
of your mouth
without the time to question
what is or isn't real
because even mirage is inspiration
to step closer to oasis
when it's the sacred
that gets us by

Tuesday, March 21, 2017


let me send this whisper
my voice is hoarse
but let it soften its wings
upon the wind
let it carry what words
are never enough to say
and like a ray of sunshine
who can say which it was
that gathered with the rest
to turn the light to warmth
but let this whisper
humbly flutter in
among all the beautiful
of today
to add its voice
to the music of your heart

Monday, March 20, 2017


the most important moment
isn't the moment
but the moment before the moment

when the bud has opened
its tender mouth
with vulnerability
either to be stung by frost
or kissed by light
before it can fully meet the world

and the thirst that is quenched
depends on what drops
escape between the fingers
and what remain in hand
to make it to the tongue

with fate delegating
every moment
the moment before the moment
and fear choosing
the moments that we let die
and so all that each of us can do
is open our mouths
with faith
and take our blinded chance

Sunday, March 19, 2017


time forgets me
it leaves me behind
so that I am in this dimension
that only looks like here
and all that is really real
is all that is not
and what of me
there is to see or know
is a hologram
projected on the screen
of this reality
and love is not a verb
that holds physical space
but only the light I gather
to dream
and what light I can flower
from inside the bud of dream
with hopes the illusion of perfume
will sometimes inspire
the illusion of beautiful here
and let something lost
but eternal in the limbo
hold my name for just a breath
in the way that time forgets me
but still the inspiration
of the light of love
sustains the beating and the evolution
of the phantom of my heart

Saturday, March 11, 2017

For Richard (the words that came after the breath)


this is not your end
this is only your dot...dot...dot...
the way you taught me
never to terminate the thoughts
with a stop
for playing elusive
and hiding just beyond
the other side

and from you I also learned
all you need is one more try
than every time that you fall down
and that trauma when it catches you
is only the white space
when connection is momentarily paused

but what tells the story
is what we write
in the in between
and look at the story you painted
in life
and in words
inside your in between

and now you are out there
swimming in that cosmic stream
ready to share your gifts
with all who take the breath
and then dive in
to find a story
that they can touch and share

somewhere in that ancient river
I know the generations
will find you there...

Monday, March 6, 2017


I can't count the days
because they are more
than I have even lived
that the distant light
has been all that I see
to believe
there is something more
than this
that somewhere in this world
that disjointed me from its bones
there are places still to fit
warmly in the warmth of flesh
and that this reality
is only an illusion
imprinted on the skin
as a brand
but not the truth of the spirit
within
and I am sorry
for the darkness I have offered
because I am lost and cold
and that is where darkness likes to go
to find its fit
when all these days
of too many to ever count
I have thirsted for the sun
even in the times that I have dug
the holes
to burry myself from all the world
and the ones when echoes reverberated
like ricochets
that wound the heart again
there are so many days my dreams awake
to watch the light arise
then find the light within

sometimes the peacemaker
is only the composite
of internal wars
they absorb
from the world around them
the cage of their bones
buffer zones
for all the demons
they swallow to appease the calm
and what looks like weakness
is more strength
than anyone ever sees
and the only way to be free
is to uncontain the chaos
and let the casualties be
and the wounds inflict themselves
on everything
that is dear to the heart
because the peacemaker
learns to take responsibility
for what the wager of war does
when there's no other way
to stop the destruction
than swallow its bombs
to keep the innocent safe

Thursday, March 2, 2017


come and dance with me
my light is tired
remind me that the best music
has always come
from the exhausted and the hungry
who know it is all the world
will give
and all we really have to give
remind me that victory belongs
to the passionate
and empowered
not the ones who wield oppression
in the shade of shames
they cannot face
share the Tarantas the gods
have taught you
to keep you strong
on the days the notes have been
the only food
to feed a famished soul
awaken me from the numb of sleeping
to see my light is not so comatose
at all
and it is only my eyes
that carry the exhaustion
of malnourishment of the heart
and that dancing is the truest way
the light of the heart
may be revived

Tuesday, February 28, 2017


wherever your feet
fall when you dream
wherever your gaze lands
when you close your eyes
whatever you seek
when you lay to rest

if I could be there too
it would be as the dew
that softens the earth
to record the sacredness
of your memories
in its skin

I would be the flecks that glisten
on the wings of butterflies
virgin again to the light
and the scent of the mouths
of flowers
opening to welcome them softly
with serenades
of the sweetest nectars
perspired in desire
just to touch the soles of feet
that leave the ground

I would come as the rays of sun
that warm you
and also the comfort
of the shade
that lets you choose
the balance where balance lies
and the grass
and the rivers
and the songs of birds
so that every step
in every direction
and every stop to rest
would answer only beauty

because all we ever really seek
is the answer to ourselves

Monday, February 27, 2017


I am starving
for the taste of your lips

thirsting to drink
your breath

I warm myself
with the dream
of your hands

I come alive
with the sound of your voice
inside my heart

somewhere
butterflies and birds
are opening their wings
and preparing for flight

somewhere that can't be seen
but still is dreamed

I lay against
the not yet thawing earth
and give thanks
for the hunger and cold
that has taught me
to know
the depth of beauty
to be revered

Creation is my god
but your heart
a sacred altar

I dream to bless this life
with the reverence
of from the earth
and to the earth
celebrating
the spirits
who somewhere
have opened their wings


Thursday, February 23, 2017


to feel the rivers of life
flow beneath your skin tonight
to remember to be alive
is the gift so we can love
your heartbeat to drown
the chaos and the noise
and all the silent screams
when capsules of tears
get swallowed
like cyanide
I don't want a place to hide
but only a safe place to dance
to the music of your breath
not to forget
but only just to rest
and celebrate
what illusions cannot conquer
and tell you you are a beautiful
until I remember
that I am too
when all the moments
of every dimension
and every time
every smile
and every cry
have contributed their share
to the miracle
that somewhere in the world
there is a light
the darkness cannot blind
against my eyes
and when the dark
has made me tired
still I can close my eyes
and somewhere safe
I touch that light

Friday, February 17, 2017


it smells too clean here
take me to a home
somewhere where the earth
wears the scent
of my grandmothers' placentas

and wayward dogs
and yowling cats
are showering in exhaust

and love made out of nothing
fries over open fires

where music is perfume
with the musk of hibiscus
swelling in its loins

and the sun bakes stories
from the culverts
with the whispers of
the subterranean secrets
of the fermenting underground

and histories chatter
in the bare feet
of the boys who dance
with balls worn to the rough
like their future hearts
driven forever toward
their glory

let me smell the garbage
and love it too
as the sacrifice of sustenance
and memory

give me mangoes
and red earth

and sweat that glistens
beneath the stars

and oceans
that spray the sidewalk
with the temptation
of the adventures that it holds

let my heart not be so sanitized
as this world that carries
the void of poetry
in the lack of its cologne

Sunday, February 12, 2017


the courage for affinity
the heart for anarchy
where seeing is beauty
in alternate realities

if dreams are more than dreams
your path will cross mine there
somewhere east or west
north or south
where we have carried our regions
of joy
across borders
smuggled in our songs

the contraband of unlegislated love
traded in the dark parque
where music brings the light
of interconnection
that is meant
for the human to be human

and streets and continents
and oceans have been crossed
on passports that bear the stamps
of personal emancipation
from the re-evolution
of the natural state
by muses that dance
as much to love
as for the sake
of being loved

Tuesday, February 7, 2017


you and I
we know the truth
of the irony
in waiting on the system
to yield our share
of anarchy
when everything is all
self serve
even if they hide it
from our plates
because it's up to us to take
and up to us to make
our joy
and of course it isn't fair
that gluttony leaves
only skin and bones
the greedy still pick bare
but sometimes the only protest
we have left to give our fight
is the way we dance with our own light
and the laughter we won't surrender
from our hearts
to outsmart their every move
with a way to live our lives
as ours
and the fearlessness in the rebellion
of the anarchy
in how we love

Wednesday, February 1, 2017


we're not the enemies
of the state...
the state of natural being
don't colonize
our minds
with your lines of status quo
if you are quoting
from artificial power
cause now is time to listen
to the power in our hearts
where our ancestors are playing songs
so our descendants
will one day dance
to something more
than this white noise
of this unreality TV nation
because your alternative reality
does not matter
it holds no matter here
in this world of from the earth
and to the earth
infused with all the stars
where dictators don't dictate the scars
only just the wounds that are inflicted
and our anarchy
is in the way we heal
again for generation after generation
and the reality is
it's coded in our DNA
to be the patriots
of the state...
the natural state of being


Tuesday, January 31, 2017


I did not choose
the earth that was there
to greet me
as I exited the womb
nor the bullets nor the blood
nor the drought
nor the poison nor the walls

I did not choose the shadows
that met me with the introduction
of the light

the only dream I carried
with me to this world
was to have the room
for this heart
to just be free
to beat


Sunday, January 22, 2017


maybe there's a difference
between knowing the depth of reality
and opting not to play
and being weaned from the womb
straight onto whatever
makes you numb

like wearing sun glasses
in the middle of the night
doesn't hide the dark
nor make you forget
to bring your light

the way injecting glossy mags
and neon signs
keep some from ever waking up
to learn the truth of dark
and that we are here to shine


Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Crone's Dance


she shook her ass
no less than seven times
and with every flick of her hips
she created a star
her pelvis intoning inflections
birthing gyrating galaxies
hungry to be filled
with planetary forces
and the insatiation
of gravitational charge
all of this in the dark
to hide the truth
that she was not so sexless
as she had claimed
but a woman
who perspired worlds
between her thighs
invisible on the other side
where she folded quantumly
and disappeared
in the black hole
of their eyes

This woke me up from the first fifteen minutes of kinda deep sleep I got last night. Heard it and wrote it. For whatever reason.  And forgot it until I found it in my phone notes just now.

Saturday, January 14, 2017


I cross the desert
without knowing
if you are on the other side
without knowing
if I hold enough years
to barter for miles
for the dream of a quicksilver sun
dancing always from one horizon
toward the next

I wet my lips
with the thought of you
keep my skin from cracking
with the dressings
of your illumination
when you are made of silver
and silk
and I have become too much
this sand
and would not know how
to touch and cup you
if ever I reached oasis
where dream bubbles from the ground
to be tasted on the tongue

while my left hand
is Hamsa
its dexterity only for dream
inside of dream
my right is rough and blistered
from guiding too hard
with these reins
and it can only be the journey
for the journey's sake
without an end to reach
thirsting with the dream
of a destination that comes to seek
the one who seeks to find
to deliver its quicksilver love
as water in a cup 










Sunday, January 1, 2017


sometimes we forget
this place is a place of forgetting
too
because we are wanting
to remember
and we think that it's enough

and then when the movement starts
we don't always recognize
the rip has come
to carry us
too far out to sea
or if we do we fight
without the strength to overcome
and drown

sometimes remembering
means exiting out the side
of the path of most momentum
to wait for the natural movement
of the moon
to guide us back to shore