Grey Night

The night is
painted grey.
Amorphous shapes -
the prehistoric bodies
of the foothills,
trapped in the murky waters
of the lunar wash.

I see them
in my peripheries,
movements and flashes,
brief glimpses
of those that rise,
like me,
to bask in the light
of this grey night. 

Pure Expression

How to describe with words, 
a place beyond words? 
Recently I traveled 
through immense cylindrical cords 
of pure nrg, 
liquid metal turnstiles 
stretching infinitely 
above and below me. 
They ushered me through, 
bending and twisting 
to allow passage, 
yet also moving 
within themselves, 
rotating inward and outward 
simultaneously. 
Beings of pure expression 
that shone gold, platinum, 
copper and silver, 
yet none of those colors.
There are no thoughts,
there is only information
throbbing through me,
slippery things 
that can't be spoke.   

Nearby my friend is lit from above,
the top of his head gone,
a cascade of buzzing nrg
throbbing through.
This is it, 
he is being downloaded. 
A horizon
stretches infinitely,
from the line
where his skullcap
is gone.
His mind is empty
of thoughts,
completely clear,
and yet he can speak
and he is soberer
than he has ever been.
He can see.

Beyond the mind
play-dough,
and the oddities
that guard the gate,
there is something 
that can only be felt. 
And we must translate
with rudimentary tools,
and bear the burden 
of its heavy load,
this thing 
that we can only
talk around. 

Wild Wolves We

Wild wolves we,
who travel three dogs deep,
the timber towering overhead,
the snow crunching under feet.

You're on point again
nose deep in a cool wind current
that will carry our prey.
Comet and I nip at each other's heals,
taking turns as the third one in line.
Your undercoat colors bleed through
the sunshine bleached fur…
darker than obsidian,
richer than Orion.

This season pushes us forward,
provides us time to grow roots,
from which we will harvest our fruit.
But for now
we must relish these cooler days,
this lack of light.
"This cover is really camouflage"
you say without opening your mouth…
the Moon speaks for you!

And then,
we're off,
canine legs pounding
through the crust of white,
three mouths salivating at the sound
of crackling underbrush,
and the warmth of the kill 
close at hand.

You reach it first,
fangs and fury up its spine,
forcing it to the ground.
We aren't far behind,
but we let you take your time.

When it's all said and done,
and we are fed and fond,
we sleep three deep
atop the white canvas,
our symbols still steaming,
drawn in long crimson arches
over the snowy terrain. 

Tormenta

Galavanting clouds
with rain sarongs.
Misty gowns sweeping
the scrub-studded plateau.
Hitching skirts high
over mountain protrusions.
These mysteries 
we marginalize
with words. 

Awakenings

When your skin lifts up in prickly peaks,
and your fine hairs shiver straight
like antennas receiving
some anonymous transmission,
that's when you know.

When you see something inexplicable
out of the corner of your eye,
and you turn twice just to verify its origins,
that's when you...

When you experience a knowing
that goes against your logic
and the screaming siren inside you bleats:
PAY ATTENTION,
that's when...

When the word coincidence
is a glass with no bottom,
and fails to contain the water of experience,
that's...

When patterns emerge like intricate ice crystals
from the random downpour of reality's rain,
...

When all things in life seem like vertices
on some extravagant spider web,
separate yet connected by silver strands,
that's when...

When hidden meanings leap
from the dry text of life...
when you hear not what was said
by what was meant...
when the impossible becomes possible
and straight lines become spirals,
that's when you...

When the totality of these mere moments
becomes a weight reality can no longer shoulder,
that's when you change.

Excerpt: The Whole Package Deal

Jules was sitting at a poker table in a well-lit casino. He knew he was dreaming. He could feel the players looking at him, waiting for his play. He could taste the sour leftovers of a cocktail on his tongue and smell the aroma of expensive cigars in the air. He had yet to check his hand and everyone was waiting for him to bet or fold. Turning over his cards he was aghast to see that the pictures on the cards were not Kings, Queens, and Jacks, but rather mutilated children, and the suites were implements of torture and death. Looking over the top of his cards at the table he realized that the chips in the pot were circular pieces of skull, some of which were spider-webbed with thin dark veins. He wasn't sure how to react. A part of him was horrified, while another part of him was concerned about his facial expression giving away his hand. A man directly across the table smiled a wide toothy grin. Jules noticed dark, brown chunks between the man's teeth. His eyes darted down to a small portable tray near the man, where a plate of steaming severed fingers was piled like some kind of macabre Halloween appetizer. The man eagerly gobbled the flesh from a finger which he had fished from the plate, taking time to first pry the fingernail loose with his front teeth. After licking the bone clean he tossed it back onto the plate and cleared his throat.