Freedom of Fascination

Walking through the bazaar alley
through smoke of mid-day's roasts
and sting of spice
& droning of drum,
sweat of toil

He was struck by the desert imp
again, waves propagating, chiming
visions stirring before the eye

of Within;

Unfurling theatre of What-then;
a geni's carpet, reality-woven
to carry the gaze
unto her, mirror'd memory,

painting with light

shimmering representations
of the poets' own stirring
serpent of fortuitous fire:

that which falls into the infinite
plunging deeper, always deeper
into the heart,

Within descent
the interlock rising

unity of intent & vision
collide in the art, contradiction
become contrast

And the abiding vision
of symmetrical perfection
that did slay
and stir unto mockers

Did awaken and Push
the slumbering driver
as the coach near'd the cliff...

Thus was the tale of Hugo the Hypnogogic.


Cinematic Pleasures of Epiphany

Washed upon the shores of past earth,
I came upon the low house in sand.
Therein, shelter, darkness.

Light within to see
the word written within bone
and nerve, breath moving
the frames, building
a charge of years.

Swelling with divided unions,
I came upon the sunrise afar.
Burnt star collapsing within
that low house, pulling everything

to the center,

focused, beaming,
emitting signals
not heard before.

Yet rotation of realms
about the fixed center (it too moved)

resolved the creativity of speakers
and painters upon the street, coming forth
to articulate

a genuine eidolon.

The Rune Reading in Autumn's Red

Turning, light and rush
of liquid memory caught in
my summer's end, the glances of eye
brushing with gentle lash upon the skin
of the book's pages.

Color of wheat in autumn's rain
tinges the vision, the writer of listings
listing in the seat, in vibrato of the chanting, rolling

tongues and parting lips
meeting in permutational interlock
and release, spilling the icons of action
upon the skin

of the book's pages.

From leaves coiled in leather
arises word in thought's smoke,
turning, 'volving and slipping
in upon itself and out, spreading

into voids-between

Inhaled in the upshoot,
fitting key & lock in nerves'
endless branches, alighting fires
upon the grey-floor of the ancient bonework;

The air becomes electric laughter, rising.

The View of Earth & Sol from the ISS, Nov. 22


On Navigation

Over red-iron mountains of wrought age
through tangled weed of million-years,

the mover glides and falls some.

Looking at the span
of possible permutation,
experience of other
is of utmost sacrament, no time
or space for anything less;

Choosing the collection of ports,

there are Universal Gates
to consider... each
working in context
of the individual's
unique permutations,

And thus openings create

lines of chosen action,
bifurcating, exponential,

and very possibly
aligned with the free-fall of

The mover dips and glides,
leaps and looms,
gallops, dancing,

and falls some.


Iris Unfurl

Allure through open windows drew
forth the eyes,
heavy with sand and rain
from the nights' storms;

scented wind, of dew and ion
washed within and over,
spaces without four walls.

Time, passage
through rough hewn tunnels
of memory and motion, accumulated
gestures soon called the heavy eyes

with shade
and echoes,
and primal.

To the symposium to be supposed
were not all present, but suggested;
suggestive of the internal
where union is clean, well adjusted;

An old scribe notes
and compiles, sure and ready
in communion with the regency
of enacted trials.

The work proceeds
with letters to write
and temples to quarry;
Beloved to be honoured!


Aura of Change

I sought the remedy,
and it came without sound.

Quickly, presenting a picture
of what needed
to be done.

Overwhelming tasks
are accomplished in

One, then two,
then infinitely more
to come and

each step, dissolution
and reformulation.

I let the shades drop
one by two, allowance
of new form
through and

edging closer
to the crowning acheivement,
a new grave being dug for passing
fragements of what I could have

Letting them flow,
letting them go,
letting them fly
unto clouds of thought
which change in the wind.

I am blown away.

Mortality of Thought

smooth mountain rising in my dream,
what tales do you bring?

Removed of fir, creatre, and spring,
your stone rises without life.

I dreamt of bulging earth tonight,
without life within or without;

There are few days left to count...


Last of the Day's Shimmer

Further afoot, the gatherer
covers ground, searching fields
of market and niche for the kill

Or seeding to till, fresh sprout
or tender shoot to guard.

No birds in the yard,
and the oven's nearly burnt.

Simmering, shimmering fumes
bedeck the haze of sunset
through the screen.

It's now coming forth in song -- move!


Ursa Soi


Land of grown form
beneath softened feet,

breathing mist of
soil and green,
a haze past noon.

Tilling, revealing, churning,
and sifting soil from root,
I came upon the treasure
of time, the golden royal fruit.


A coiling dancer, matter darkened
and damp, eased lithe and curved;

brain and bone, the sinew bending
in pump and blood, sweat, the work of action.
Steam, and cooling salts to sink the heat
bathe the shadow-screen witness in kinetic vapours.


The gases of proportional thought
crsytalize in the alembic, faithfully
prepared for dissolution. Again,
and still further -

the eyes open
in nested wonder -
fourwise, then up.

See! Seeing
the hawk see,




Echoes, returning visitors of nerve's traffic,
children of body's past empires
greet the dawning mind;

the moment of repeated wheels afresh
bubbling up in ecstatic union,

these memories dissolving,

Wake me to new visions.
A moment's hostage of condition
quakes the grip of sight,

saturated in the flood of
singing scrolls, the ear cannot cleave.

The array'd pallet of scenery calls the mover to motion.


Arts of an Arrow


Familiar friends through a veiled door,
I'm set to waking
through slumber.

No sense of exact measures,
the teapot is humming with vague whistle.

Time is cleaving the air.


Trace -- silhouette of former image
luring the eye in a torus-dance, by
degree, resolution snaps in.

Webbed currents of pathways past,
leaping forth with harvest and feast;

budding deep in singular action.


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Folded waves of evening heat
gild the eye and hand
in a glow of scintillation,

walking, moving
through paper razors of
shadowed faux,

Dismissed, and set to motion.


Choked opening, the strayed light
returns a flood, mirrors tremoring in
their load.

The tiny vessels burst, dissolved
in their bond with a lover unending;

Splashes of the foam in which it sings,




Tangled Weed of Noon

The coffers of gleaned coin
hover in clouds
of my expectant glory.

This is a vision
only trolls could enjoy,

For I am too busy beating a Path.


Prudence in Sunset

The fields of memory
are yielding up fruit;

First signs of Summer's
scorched crop.

Waiting, while
cow-hands rush
to aid the harvesters.

"Storm's a'comin!"


She calls to me from afar, Sweet Ovation!

'Fraid Not

Magic carpets
can take you high

so high, I think I can fly,

with wind of change
and blazing rays
the seams of fog won't stay.

Drifting thought, my greying clouds
still in rolling
thunder bound.

With clenching mind and easing bleed,
my soaring floor comes crashing down.



Streaming light
and colour to the day

wrapping me in
feathered clips
of memory;

Tracking an elusive
species, catagory
of experience

for animation.

Are the tracks True?


Drumming Gazes

Mobilizing mass
swift to crash
in the lonely hiss of dusk,

What comes of mice
to throw themselves in
swift mud?

To gaze with
open eyes
coming far to claim their homes,

Seeing true
what the Reserve has been

With calling songs,
the people raise a pen,
and set a glass;

Let us see what the
New Storm Exposes!


Bubbling choked charms...

As I write
within the skull of this frame

I can't escape the
draughts of flesh.

Only, coming into
beholding tasks which
call me forth,

I etch these realms of dawn
with gates to the Coin.

Deliver me now, traffic!


Crystalline Quiver

Silver ebb, herald of coming lux,
shimmering drafts upon me

Indigo seeds planted by Moon
ripened by Holly, an' goatweed
in bloom.

I tasted of the moonstone's wine,
and it brought forth the Dawn.

Saturn's Guffaw

Hematite drips from my pen
In close quarters of symmetry

The eye catches rough,
Rough shades of charring

Through a paper, caught
Momentarily dry, with sunspots
The words finally come.


Vulcan Inspiration

Coiled dances unfurl in the twilight's drift; the sediment
of being, layered pressures of the ages coalesced in nerve & bone,
spinning, spinning about the gyr;
a stone that is loosened mineral
and water, the body of me
a burning stone in the moonlight.

Such a stoney-thick mantle, my thoughts!
The echoes of cavern & fold, crushed in accumulation,
fulfilling necessity above. But O! I drift,

at least on the surface. Below the sea of fire dips and dives
anon, wiley rivers of liquid light, carving the serpent-tunnels
of brain & heart (ever ever between)

And the hum,
sweet drum! Curving rains in the spiced air, thrown
from high, that which was rushing below. And two were coiled in one,

for the depths ran quick with the rubbing of bodies,
plates of personae above, vibrating as they slid upon & below
one another, tectonic

pressure released,
healing forth, energetics of suns
anointing the air with ash and ember,

and I am touched with sky,
wavicles of charge, awaiting,

Though worlds be tossed in my birth,
mine own is but the buddling of one more
dawn of lightning... to the west, mine eye,
the heart, imagination sails --

letting the eruption-azure rain its
blessings upon the land.