All Fall Down

The black door opens every night
Allowing the invasion of black weeds
Mottled, pointed leaves
Iridescent beetles
Sandspurs in the wind
Briars ready to burst
Full of blood and anger
Hunger in the billowing, red shadows
Glowing, growing
Crossing the ways of the world
Vengeful ghosts riding in the thunder
Demanding justice
With voices of
Volcanic explosions and poisonous gas
Hot air disturbances
Unable to breathe
To watch the shivering of the stars
The river rising again
Earthquakes eating dust
Sugar coated embers burned to ashes at dawn
The past turned pastel
Overwhelming my dreams
And, the morning mire
Every moment a trial
Nothing stops
Nothing slows down
Understanding unknown
Nowhere in sight
The keys misplaced
Angels unable to rise
Entanglement refusing to allow for escape
Magic exhausted by the challenges of yesterday

April 11, 2021, a difficult day

The Moon-White Poppy Grows

Am I the only one who knows,
The place where the moon-white poppy grows?
It is not too far, if you want to go,
To the other side of the emerald river,
Beyond the fields of purple flowers,
With the fence poles laying on the ground,
Beyond the mimosas and the blazing wild fires,
Behind the mirages,
Between the echoes,
Inside of the reflections,
Where the crevasses turn into craters,
Where the cliffs begin to crumble,
And, the tumbling spiders are as dark as the wind,
Where the clouds turn into rust,
And, the leaves becomes radioactive,
Where humming turns into howling,
And, I become a billow of smoke.

The black birds will show you the way,
If you ask them politely,
Unless you have already frightened them off.
In that case,
I will go out
And, show you the way,
If I am able to survive my own dreams,
One more time.

The future belongs to the strong,
To the throng of predators,
To the ruthless, the uncaring,
The daring,
The empire builders,
The achievers,
The decievers,
The tricksters,
The illusionists,
No holds barred,
Anything goes,
Whichever way the wind blows,
Play by your own rules,
Out of sight,
Might makes right,
Ready to fight.
Unnecessary violence.

The warriors have put on their armor,
And, gone to Mars,
For the conquest of the solar system,
Or, to prepare for the arrival of aliens.
I am not going.
Instead, I ask you to walk away with me.
The green earth, with heavy breath, is waiting.
Electrons closer to the nucleus have lower energy.
Those furthest away are always traveling faster.
I am going as fast as I can.
The pressure of curved space is inexorable.
Intolerable to an electric bubble,
With a shell of ice,
Ready to burst.
Behind my mask, in the flat void,
There are one hundred thousand, colorful stars,
And, uncountable, radiant, clouds of seeds.
Warp speeds. Riding on a comet’s tail.
Have the monsters chosen the same trail?

Am I the only one who knows,
The place where the moon-white poppy grows?
It is not as far away as they say,
So, follow me,
If you still want to go.

Tripping through the Wayeb

Last night we were hit by lightning. Blazing light. Shocking sound. Extraordinary. Everything out. Everything down. But, being the fourth day of the Wayeb, it was understandable. This has been going on for thousands of years. The Wayeb Days have no Gods and are always days of struggle and strife when Monsters emerge from the water lillies and wrestle with power. Take whatever they can get. Does the Black Water Turtle fight back? Do you fight? Monsters fight Monsters, trying to take over the world. And, the Gods just close their mouths and watch. Which way are we going now?

This is the Lightning Capital of the World.

Its a free for all. Where will the world go if free will reigns? With no guidance? No, stop go. No, right wrong? No, beware? No, don’t you dare? No, don’t go there? Even the war dances are frightening. The war howls are frightening. The war paint is frightening. The War Winds. The whirlwinds. The rattling leaves. The hoof beats. Howling. Clattering forests. Chattering teeth. Falling branches. Who wins? Who cares? Does it matter? Do they set the rest of the year?

All of the early flowers are down. A massacre of azaleas. A carpet of dogwood petals. Black Eyed Susans aren’t blooming yet. Maybe tomorrow. Eighteen hours later the phones are still out. There is probably a rainbow somewhere but it can’t be seen from here.

I have asked the Oracle what will come but she isn’t saying anything while the Wayeb is underway. She does advise you to cut your hair and trim your nails before the new year takes over. Brush your teeth. Fix everything you can. Put things back together. Start out right. Are you ready?

Wayeb Days

Sandy Point Interface

Sandy Point Interface – Cafe Poetry

Sometimes I am on the dark side.
Sitting on a barstool.
Without a black and white checkerboard floor.
Polished wood, darker than needed.
On the wrong side of where an ashtray used to be.
A reflection in the mirror. Looking for someone else.
Not two peas in a pod. Just someone else.

All of the characters sit at the bar,
Or lean against it with a nonchalant elbow,
A cocked hat, eyes in the shadows.
Every ego bigger than the last.
Every story longer.
Tattoos. Wasting time. Body piercing.
Smoke demanding. Nail polish.
Entertain me. Flickering lights.
Variations moving off in every direction,
A fascinating fractal, spiral, stretch, turn.
Jump down. Turn around.
I am not alone.
Nobody understands.

This barstool isn’t really very comfortable.
It is just like all the others.
And, so am I.
But, I am the piece of the puzzle which doesn’t fit anywhere.
Another black sheep. Not to be trusted.
Its a dangerous world and I am only one person.
I can only see from my side.
A black and white checkerboard floor.
Play the game.
Am I enigmatic because I am so unique?
Obscure because I am so dark and deliciously deep?
Ambiguous because I am so mysterious, so complex?
Or, is it just confusion?

You watch me from your vantage point,
Overhead, penthouse, room at the top of the tower,
Come on up to the roof. Calling dragons.
Everyone wants something. Dragons calling.
Always wanting more. Too much excitement.

Desperation is easy to come by.
It comes in many colors.
Goes in many directions.
Boil it down to its essence.
Clear it like sunshine, Ladies.
Light me up, Big Boy.
Try to catch me, Baby.
I don’t think so.
No one can keep up with me.
I am still trying to catch up to myself.
Reality is no longer relevant.
It isn’t convincing.
Too far away.
On the far side of the invisible division.
It doesn’t matter. I love you anyway.
Everything feeds on everything else.
Everything is eaten in the end.

 March 2021

Bazooka zooka Bingo

The wind is in the tree tops
Dancing with the raindrops
Ghost clouds are gathering
Lavender and blue
Now that we have settled that
What are we going to do?

Bazooka zooka

Follow the river 
Follow the river
Follow the golden birds
Follow the songbird’s words
We can go here and we can go there
Together we can go anywhere
Taking whatever we have to take
Leaving sparkles in our wake
If you stay with me
I’ll stay with you

Bazooka zooka

Now, that we have settled that
What are we going to do?
Diamonds, dust and diatoms
Dancing feet and merry tom-toms
Confetti, fish scales
Snake skins, land snails
All aglow
And, river’s flow
With mellow tunes
With silver runes
With a treasure chest of gold dublloons
And, a toy chest full of bright balloons
Our life’s a series of cartoons

Bazooka zooka

Now, the world is falling apart
But, this is nothing new
This is what we always do
The river washes it all away
Ready to start on another day
So, we all go together on the flood waters ride
All swept away in the surging tide
Spring is in the high, warm breeze
Busy, golden, buzzing bees
Gardenias by the garden wall
And, rainbows coming if I call
The wind chimes make a lovely sound
The roots are growing underground
The grass is happy in the dew
And, in the wind is in the sunshine, too

Bazooka zooka

Now, that we have settled that
What are we going to do?


I am living life’s grand folly
Blinded by my own silver, eye shadow
A flash in the pan
But, I do what I can
Break up or make up
Is this the one?
Going over the moon
Going under the sun

Now I’m playing the game
So, don’t wait, deal me in
And, this time I’m ready
I’m going to win
I’m going to move up
And, then move over one
Going over the moon
Going under the sun

I’ll be playing real nice
I’ll be throwing the dice
I might throw them once
Or, I might throw them twice
I’m going for a laugh
And, I want to have fun
Going over the moon
Going under the sun

Although words never do
Quite what I want them to
And, nobody knows
Where the winding rose grows
When all’s said and done
We have had a good run
I am going to tell you
I think that we won
Going under the moon
Going over the sun

Bulletin Bored

I am standing
Under the orange moon
Wearing black silk
Drinking black milk
Snake’s skins in my wet hair
Wishing I had fangs
And, something to sink them into

I am wearing
A rock hard, snappy, neon, radioactive, exoskeleton
With clenched jaws and jingle bells
Disguised as a purr
I have venom in my triple tails
Under my nails
In my wine glass
On my breath
Trying to guess
Why I am wearing
Velvet panther fur in my throat
Covering my flaws with a growl
Wrapping my wet hair up in a towel
The weather isn’t going to give me a break
And, lipstick isn’t what it used to be

These shoes aren’t adding to my stature
I have nothing to illustrate
This isn’t going anywhere
And, neither am I
Swimming about in a fish net
Happy as a box of frogs
I am wearing iridescent perfume
Dizzy under a spinning moon
Unsteady in the wind
Irresistible as a car chase
No time to waste
Take me for a ride
Nothing new
Just like last time
In the same room
With the same wine glass
With the same laugh
With the same mistake
Everything is exactly like it used to be
Except, there are a lot more corners

The leopards have nothing to say
They have all turned away
They have forgotten what to do
And, how to do it
The weather is getting wetter
Am I really getting any better
Or, is it only getting later?

February 2021


Oh, what a restless and relentless way we weave, way we achieve, we seize, we tease, we do not leave. Believe. Deceive. Retrieve. Disillusioned. Discontented. Dissected. Infected. Inspected. Circumspected. Insurected. Dissolved. Involved. Infiltrated. Disintegrated. Filled with doubt. Want to shout. Wonder what its all about. Now, its starting to look like we’ll never get out. All wrapped up. All wrapped down. Lost in a maze, in a daze, in a clown. In a spider’s silver web, an unexpected face slap, a sudden, viral Venus fly trap. Caught and haven’t got a map. Hypnotized. Drugged. Bugged. Mugged. Dancing on the edge of the ledge. Singing a song. Can’t get along. I’m not wrong. A celebration of confetti. Cut up. Shut up. In the fog. In the living room. On the fire escape. In the wind in the tunnel. Underneath the volcano. In the roots beneath the trees. In the wings of bees. Behind the shadows of the breeze. In the darkness. Without a sound. Halfway out the door. Halfway to nowhere. Thirteen levels down. Don’t slip up. Don’t slip in between. Don’t go into town. Don’t end up on the wrong side of the solar system, on the wrong side of the track, going forward, going back, grinding, whirring, way too fast, running out where nothing lasts, out of breath, without a mask, without a match, without a disguise. Without a weapon. No time to waste. Hurry up and make haste. Run with an hourglass and shark’s teeth ’round your neck. I know that now its getting late and I think that I’m a wreck. What a grand, slam bang, quicksand, last stand. Going down. Waterfall drown. Doesn’t matter what you found. Everyone’s trying to not make a sound. Circle back. Go on around. No one is coming out to play. Black is night and white is day. Everything I see is gray. Nobody’s going to want to stay. No one has anything to say. So, I think that I’ll just go away.

Why Art?

5 & 1/2″ x 7 & 7/8″ Collage from Wonderland

Art for the sake of beauty is not possible as beauty is too idealistic –
Art for the sake of love is not possible as love is too intangible –
Art for the sake of dreams is not possible as dreams are too ephemeral –
Art for the sake of immortality is not possible as immortality is unattainable –
Art for the sake of imagination is not possible as imagination is too untruthful –
Art for the sake of glory is not possible as glory is self aggrandizing –
Art for the sake of money is not possible as money is meaningless –
Art for the sake of control is not possible as control is too corruptible –
Art for the sake of enlightenment is not possible as enlightenment is too unreliable –
Art for the sake of morality is not possible as morality is a tale told by liars –
Art for the sake of the gods is not possible as the gods are not interested –
Art for the sake of humanity is not possible as humanity is too capricious –
Art for the sake of celebration is not possible as celebration is always passing –
Art for the sake of entertainment is not possible as entertainment is frivolous –
Art for the sake of art is inevitable and thus art exists for the sake of its own madness


She was the daughter of Nagakanyaka, the primal Snake Girl and Behgonay Ghizig, the Galaxy, and the sister of the River Queen, Amaratatini, who married the Sun and became the Mother of Beasts, and the sister o f the Snails of Creation who taught everyone how to dance.

Kraken was acquainted with all of the mysteries of life and some of the mysteries of death. She had studied long and hard and she had earned her esteemed title, “The Octopus Wizard”. She understood beginnings. She knew all things began with energy and once nothing other than energy had existed. Nothing but movement. Vibrations. Reverberations. Waves. No space. No force fields. No directions. No time. Neither before nor after, not above nor beyond, not over nor under. All was One. One was everything.

In those days, since time did not exist, forever did not exist, and so, nothing went on forever. Instead, One changed, fractured, split into Two. Energy became polarized, both negative and positive. Electrons and neutrons. The atom. Matter. Yin and yang. On and off. In and out. Up and down. Two was the creation of matter and matter was positive. What was not matter was something else. It was space, which was a negative place, filled with nothing, the void.

Now, One had not gone away. One was still around, the forward movement, the energy, the spark. It moved into the void and turned into a myriad of frequencies, a flame, a fire. Transformation. And, when energy encountered matter … One met Two and Three was created. An idea was born, an invisible vapor, a consciousness, a mind, an awareness, a gas, an atmosphere, a breath. And, once there was breath life followed. Feeling. Emotions. Water, liquid, in which everything was created.

Kraken knew all this and more. She knew about the darkness and the depths. She knew about the shore, the ocean and the earth. She knew about science and magic. She knew how to come and go. She knew what to say and to do.

She knew what others were thinking and she knew how to disappear. She knew how to live underwater and she knew the way to the Heart of the Ocean. Besides this, if she had not kept her promise to her mother her half-sister, Atum Khepre, the Sunrise Sunset Queen, might have never returned and if she had never fallen in love with Adribarhas, the Steadfast Stone, and become the Mother of Lizards the Mermaid Seer of Atlantis might have never learned to see the future.

But, all this did happen and so it is that we are where we are today.