Organic Me

Dogs and their masters
Changlings and their grown-ups
Rays and their intentions
All converge along St. Kilda’s

Waves and their stories
Weeds and their sways
Foams and their yester-years
All along St. Kilda’s

The horizon and its constancy
The scent of the breeze and its orgins
The laughter of joy and sadness
I take it all in, all on St. Kilda’s

This is the time to weep
This is the time to laugh
This is the time to live
This is an organic time

I am better off without words
Without politics, without agendas
I am better off with just my senses
This is me, the organic me

Hold on to the organic you.

(Boats without their oars are still boats)

My Things and I

I hibernate for greater things

fornicate for smaller things

get stoned by slighter things

exfoliate with warmer things

gravitate from heavier things

smoke healthier things

trade for higher things

break for even things

gamble for odd things

pray for ideal things

love simpler things

pine for everything

risk for crazy things

listen to wavy things

smell lighter things

touch similar things

think silly things

run to pointed things

am made for greater things

have achieved nothing

Us, Retold

Alone, listening
I am listening to you

Feeling
I just want to feel you again

Smoldering, glistening
Making it what it should be

This intimacy via waves
Waves of memories that hold us close

The beauty of this moment
In time

Your hand and pulse will guide
As I make my way through

Come away with me
Every now and then

This is Us
Retold

Periods in this Paper Place

I am seeking consistency for
We can only pretend so much
In this paper place

Periods of play, pleasure, poetry
Just periods
In this paper place

Mourning is a moment’s folly
I will burn with this paper place
The phoenix emerges to take us in
This period will stay, this period will resonate

I will sweep up the remnants
Powder
Plough
and Prepare

Periods of this paper place
I will remember
And keep them close to me

Perfect. Period.