To a dear friend and co-conspirator

Pain and sorrow, when genuinely felt, is the bedrock of constructive will. The sadness you feel over Valeria's fate reveals the depth of the friendship you share. That friendship is worth more to many than any palace of success. We build palaces of glass and indeed they may easily shatter. Such a friendship cannot shatter; nor can it crumble, for it is the earth itself. Feel the pain, embrace the sadness, and recognize that your roots in this earth thus expand. And from great roots, and from them alone may the tallest and the strongest trees grow. We all must choose our forest, our land, the place and space into which our branches will spread and also from which we will take our share of light. Fortunately for us, in the abstract landscape of our "existence" there is no scarcity or limit to how much light we may receive or release. Unlike our cousins in the forest, we need not dwarf and starve our neighbor in the service of capturing light for our own growing branches. This is miraculous. It is the infinity made possible by our minds. And we have already given it a name:  soul. All these souls are ours, are us. Not every soul will touch the infinite in life, but those who can feel the deepest pain also may realize the nearest sensation to that which we also named, as God. Although our most recent physicists may have demonstrated that every action does not actually have an equal and opposite reaction, Newton and his contemporaries were not far off. And thus, I advise you to take heart in the likelihood that the depth of your pain--over Valeria, over anything that is truly hurting you--may yield a creative recoil of similar depth or height. Channel that energy. If you feel the spontaneous need to translate your sorrow, or your happiness or your breakthrough, do so, as I do now in this soliloquy. Only from that rootbase of emotional energy can we move in ways that will move others. I'm excited at what you will do, and amazed at what you already have done. Not bad for a kid from Winston. ...takes one to know one ;). 

A Dreamer's Waking

A thousand days dreamed far
Not wide nor weary nor wild
Imagined loves too known
Each but every embered trial
Believed beyond what boyish may
This these that are memoir many
One seen wiles others simmer
Buried molten belying whisper
Bye those eyes desiring
Some thousand Eves each not every
Bloomed full passion's flower
He loved them all a minute more
No less so many dreams
No more so few days
'Til one was all

Vivienne

Out from under, 
some swallow’s tail dead, 
from the cold no child will know, 
a poison trickling, 
a stopper wished but faintly, 
to fate’s ends, dreamt awake she would, 
to make out or off, 
but reason nay, 
for mine own spring it is, 
that swallow wing, 
my throat did breathe not hers, 
only echoing did she muster, 
or so memory would bent be while, 
delusions like steam, pulse forth anon, 
fogging the view ever more, 
of my dearest my darkest, Vivienne.

Some Amusing Thoughts

Perhaps the more salient question is not why does the universe exist; rather, why do we, who evolved in this universe, possess the power of imagination?

Humankind will never be able to validate a teleological construction of the universe looking backward.  We may only look forward to the day when we might validate it by recreating the future.

We are not Gods, after all; we not only create, but enjoy surprises from time to time.

In Our Eden

walked stalked the slightly brightly

shimmer and shame, sinner and dame

do don't make the rounds

your broiled coils spoiled and foiled

out in fake the sounds

bitten, smitten, eaten then beaten

stocked, shocked the whitely knightly

hammer and bane, manner and same

don't do stake the bounds

my soiled toils oiled and boiled

in out wake the hounds

written, kitten, paired then snared

hawked, mocked the lightly rightly

slam her and deign, laughing and pain

do don't ache the sounds

who be the cat of many hats

and who then the snake e'er awake

in our Eden.

Passion Flower

Why you, again, my sweet perfume

Hanging over, dripping on,

Real and knot, still and caught

Sauce upon, salt along

Haunted trails in dreams I've sailed

Remembered 'til,

Luscious, ever.

You now, again, in our lagoon

Do taste my soul

Did haste our tole

Extracted out and 'bout my neck

Were it yours, my lips crave check

To dine, to feed, then seethe and roil

Our passion known, our stars embroiled.

Will decades ebb, flown by, our nights

Tickled under, throbbing through

Direct and sot, perplexed yet naught

Could tame such bleeding, ticking, heeding,

When uncaged, why do we

Deluge our room with heavy see

Escaping, never.

Would echoes drown, grown by, our heights

Wishing after, wanted in

To more than pique, inside her case

Flesh sweeter, softer would she deface

To more than be, in his embrace

Shell off, claws bye, awash in lace

Our key to lose, Pandora oiled

Our love to make, though future coiled.

Naught but a world may derail us

Eternal, not merely,

Our novel,

Semantic.

Naught but suffix may divide us

Full, not less

Our hope,

Romantic.

To Ours

My ode to Katherine

sung sweet and silent 'neath

August's longer shadow

some tempest forewarned then

in breeze not seen

Now

miles counting ever

sands echoing thither

selves knowing other

and another

Is unto these two given

from what sweet and silent song

they need care not

for it is singing

And

they are listening

and awaiting

in ardent

love.