Soundless Thoughts

To bed with me, and that wild soundlessness in my head.
A mental rinse cycle agitating in its canister, silent, and voracious,
An abstract blender of subconscious unknown to the clueless bystander world.

I’m gone far, in the vacuum of thought, dreams
Where screams don’t echo
and whispers don’t float

But light, and idea, yes
They are quick and direct,
shifting, racing
everything coalescing,
grids and planes,
bright eyes and laser beams
paisleys in cream
revolving, rotating

Thought does not make a sound
And the deaf world does not understand
why I am damned:

All night, I slumber
headlong full
of a psychedelic circus
buzzing circuits
and to no wonder,
wake exhausted

Published in: on March 11, 2016 at 2:33 am  Leave a Comment  
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Shearing Skin

I had lost all hope
I was a fixture
a figment
a ligament contracted
in fists and fits
a misfit unfit
for fitting in
shearing skin
falsely thinking it let them in
Too grave to give
And given in
Gape gowned to the ghost
I gave way in ghastly grins
It sadly seeps and sways
In sweeps and says
“The cloth that hangs
Is wearing thin”
The naked haunt
Who has my heart
He harped and harked
Into the dark
So, to fall I followed
The invisible hollow
That fallow fellow
I met at my pillow
To pluck the plantation
Of flesh-cotton sorrow
No sheep can spin
That ripened skin
The fluffs of buff
I’ve given him
And gauged the girth
Of all his grim
On graveyard shifts
At the cotton gin
Of my frightly frocks
He dawned at dusk
I hemmed and hawed
“He has a husk!”
Hushed and hidden
Till head hits hay,
He woke me as I slipped away
Although remained in his remains
He reaps with me, now
In the rags of wraiths
And raves in tones of razor blades
Too visible to vanish
and too vanquished to be vain
We traipse along
the brim of night
showing our skin
Our dark burning bright
And haunt the fringe
of flocks in flight
and frighten the fowl
with hues and howls
how we flash and flaunt
our cacophonous cowls
and dive back to the morn’s burning sun
with jaundice yellow yowls
and our skin undone
Each midnight I mend
The shredded shroud
and cackle as I count it down
My hope, it seems
In seams, so soft
Are cloaks where I’m
no longer lost.
Published in: on May 5, 2014 at 12:26 am  Leave a Comment  
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White Rabbit

There is so much I can be doing,

so I procrastinate sleep

there is so much to dream,

so I delay waking

Where ever I am,

infinite possibility

making me late.

Published in: on June 15, 2011 at 12:38 am  Comments (7)  
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The Beckoning

I step outside tonight

to find the source of the beckoning.

I creep among the garden roses,

mere frosted rubies,

on spotlight beneath the ripe moon

with today’s raindrops now iced.

The air is quiet, cold and still,

but those back lit popcorn clouds

are afloat and fast drifting

like a leaf in a stream.

I close my peacoat tighter

around my gown

and wish I had worn shoes.

My head pirouettes to behold

all the bewilderment

within this mystical sphere.

On the garden path

glowing pebbles like fluorescent olives

unfold before me, in strands like pearls.

I follow them

to pacify my quixotic curiosity.

That curiosity is a growing tumor

squelching the Siberian tingle in my gelid toes.


With every step,

another gathered pebble is cupped in hand

until there are no more.

My anticipant eyes climb

to meet a tree spattered with the glowing green orbs,

the trunk,  a chair,

begging me to sit.

My clasped hands tickle, tremble and quake

until the green,

it sprouts wings,

spreading my fingers,

and with the illuminated specks from above,

dissipates like fireflies into the enchanted heavens.

Published in: on July 24, 2010 at 12:48 am  Comments (4)  
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Silent Night

When the neighborhood rests
snug in their stucco nests
and the air conditioners hum
competing with the crickets
and the moon is slung low
in the midnight horizon
you will find me
all agaze and in revel
of the peace and the still
The porch is the precipice on the edge
of my sweet silent world,
infinite swirls of tranquility
the air that surrounds me
breathe wide and smooth
I’ll have a slow dance with my cigarette
let the mosquitoes get their appetites whet
and linger in my mecca
until exhaustion grabs me
with its imperious undertow
and stuffs me headlong
into quaint pockets of dizzy dreams
Published in: on July 2, 2010 at 1:08 am  Comments (6)  
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To the Nth degree

I’ll tell you a tale

(I promise it will be brief)

about the degree of  othingess

that plagues my etity.

ightly it visits  i  various stregths

holdig me captive to its predictable restraits

ad should I have ay reservatios,

it would succumb me to self preservatio.

But, alas, here am I

a dugeoess, tedig my shackles like sheep

coutig dow the alphabet for lack of restful sleep.

The fathoms of dreams, escapig my gills,

my blak mid like a sieve that spills air

o the pages of isipid depravity

suspeded i vagrat gravity.

Gratig vacatio of thought,

stagatio of cogitio,

ihibitio, deluxe, how it sucks

at the teat of this futile icarceratio.

Ad should I get through this ihil state

with wits itact,

I might have a poem to redact

with the kik of the Nth degree

Published in: on February 14, 2010 at 11:51 pm  Leave a Comment  
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I want to feel the effervescent foam of a symphonic tide crawling up my toes





I want to be a fluffy tuft of dandelion, carried to the heights of foreign landmarks

I want my ears on a string that I can cast into a quiet room and let them bob on the silence until tranquility takes hold and pulls them under

I want to be possessed by the ghost of effortless decorum

I want to be a crescendo in history’s most astonishing symphony; the one where hearts hit the ceiling and the well within the listener is spilling over with awe

I want to be a flock of blackbirds that fly above farmland, darting uniformly in multifarious directions. I want to be the whole of the flock, scattering myself  into pieces to briefly rest in branches.

I want to live in a prodigious towering city inhabited with bright minds that are employed by Common Sense, inc.


I want to be bound and strung up at the gates of the city with barbed wire wrapped in baby’s breath and cherry blossoms

I want to inhale gravity and excrete it until I’m weightless.

I want to be the prognosticator of white lies and summon bees to sting the tongues of the tellers

I want to burn memories into the climes of my mind until embers fly, so that when I wake, perspiring, the scent of romantic ash fills my panting lungs.

Published in: on February 11, 2010 at 12:14 am  Leave a Comment  
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Couch trip

A relationship in its formation
is a battery of tests
to determine the roles
of each partner
there is indulgence
in exploring boundaries
and determining if setting them is just
to give a rise when they’re crossed
So many psychological games
are played cutthroat style
each player trying to clench
the victory for themselves
The two islands, collide
in a mess of laconism
and psychic vibes that get lost
in the retreat of mute desire
But those whose tests
Lead to results, discover,
who has the deed and
who is the property
Out loud they speak
reciting dreams
the mate gives no analysis
but caters any infirm urge
And after some rapturous kindling
the two gratified souls
can observe on the sheets
rorschach blots
Published in: on March 10, 2009 at 8:26 pm  Comments (5)  
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Movie idea #1

This one came to me in a dream. It scares me that good ideas are possible in dreams, because, well, aren’t we all accustomed to things that don’t make sense while slumbering?

So here goes:

Al Qaeda has scientists on their payroll, who have discovered how to take microscopic atomic particles and launch them into the atmosphere. The particles hitch a ride with a particular weather system. At first the world is dumbfounded, but through time and a series of discoveries finds out that Al Qaeda did it. The particles swirl around with the jet stream and travel the globe affecting one region after the other. It leaves the vegatation and crops burned, people who are exposed get radiation or horrific skin burns. It takes years upon years for humankind to adjust, until mainstream science discovers a way to get rid of the problem. Many lives were lost in the process, many disfigured, and bouts of famine and panic ensued. What AlQaeda didn’t realize is that by assaulting the entire world’s population, it caused the people, who care to not to die for holy causes, the ability to come together and adapt to maintain life. Roofs were changed in material, different textiles, hats, clothes were adapted to repel the radiation. Sensitive groups had to remain in at all times during this ‘passover’, and hydroponics were the best way to keep feeding our population. To the weather person on the news, it became commonplace to report that the atomic jet stream is here again for it’s (how ever many times a year it came around) bi annual visit, and it would be indicated on the satellite map showing red streaks in the jet stream.  

I haven’t considered characters, dialogue, how it ends, or any of those important details. Just the concept. The thing with sci-fi and suspense movies/books is that, to act as filler, there always has to be some interpersonal drama or issue with the main character that is aside from the actual main point in the movie. I’d like to leave huge back story lines out of this and just use a series of random people as characters and describe the emotions and natural human nature that occurs when problems of this magnitude occur. If you want to write the book/screenplay, let me know. I’m too busy. But don’t steal my ideas. After all, this was a dream I had! I’ll work with you on it.

Published in: on October 29, 2008 at 8:56 am  Comments (1)  
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