Untitled: 2

Drop a tear of love upon my whoring heart
and i will find bleeding conviction to glue my scattered emotion
upon your dusty traveler face.

You find me ,on the shifting cliff of old wounds:
Bucket in hand,
frantically scooping remaining clots.
A poisoned whirling sea beneath me
Dark , ugly and twisted

I asked you to stop walking here a long time ago
...this sea will take you now

RE: on anger, timing , change and truth

In this place: where truth be not told for fear of loosing the lies that have come to be our bedfellows.

You are the victim of my fallacy and i, my conscience.

But through the veil, i find a way home.

Home to my brick conjugation of safety.

Home. To where i can approach you without a scald.

I may pass again, a stricken stranger on your path of citizenship.

Leave a sign so i find it quick enough to stretch my hand.

Will you take it? Or will you be again a a man of honor? and draw pins through these emptied veins?

Your Diary In My Hands.

Your Diary In My Hands.

Untitled 001

You hold my hand in flight
each time my spirit flees this settlement of reason.
It happens at full moon when only the wind can  follow
and bend the path we blaze.
...come with me.