words. music. randomness. life.
New music: Kibo’s Dream
No legend came by it ignobly
It was a rickety rack and a rook at risk, all chess to be checkmated, I swear.
No man is an island, though he designs to be.
Not for the forethought of it
For the chance, his chin took it
Give me the prick of suffering, then.
Like pines that chase the fawn.
Roads that’ve splayed my way
A high five-ku
Are clouds good for skipping stones? I’d like to know…
Circle the wagons: the bonfire burns.
Your salted instance, a glinting bastion.
I let them go. I flail them in.
Stay the hell away from why.
It starved me then. So I ate from it twice.
To hold a naked note at your trembling waist…
Maybe you’ve never seen a man lose his hope in the smoke…
Let me be…more than that bitter-root wine.
Maybe it doesn’t matter if you do right.
Leave me to live on your ceiling and, between us, well enough alone.
Happiness, I swear…
I fought four decades of demons to be sought, bloodied-over…
To what sunset should I sweat-lay the rail?
Jazzy Lou would be a song
the gulls would sing…
It rhymes its rack-and-ruin rise to the hope in my glacé eyes.
The Drive (Updated Audio)
Strange does fit the recluse, dresses up a bit the riddle of it.
You…pulled the breath from my lungs.
The toil and over-turned earth of it, for but a dearth of believable dreams.
Read me with a genuine desire to see me.
My heart has become gaunt of fate, my traipsing twisted.
Sushi me again…
Show me the stone that sings your melody…
Originally posted on WINDSTREWN: I’m neither young nor old, but I feel like both. We always seem at war with…
No hands have grip enough to seize a hope,
no whip sharp enough to crack out a wish’s wheeze
Originally posted on WINDSTREWN: In myriad ways, now and since, I’m less a formidable force than then, When I was…
Hope bore you home and when you came, mystery fell and broke open wide.
The children…called him “Tristeza del Padre.”