The Surgeon

How is it then

to choose to live anew

and so severed must your world of now become?

I am no surgeon

but I stitch

pieces I know to be true

into the whole-new

(dripped in my own blood)

where harm is removed.

The whole-new

out through existence buzzing

becomes the surgeon –

the felt bestowed a tool which pulses

the harmonies of the heart.

How is it thus that worlds are severed

so that new ones may emerge.


Pleasure I understood as theory

where now sensuous enjoyment lives.


my body demands the one that shall drink it,

the one with whom energies bind in ecstasy known to consensual givers unhindered,

flowing in and through one another, as one delivered

to places only gods may recognise

and mortals who choose to break with earthly binds, fused

with the gods,

moulded into that which brings woman to understand her divinity

and man his rightful place beside her.

For she shakes the structures that must be shook

if we us humans are to move further.

This is what must be done,

what we are being asked to do –

to discover divinity within or perish

as the lowlives we aspire to be,

inferior to all that we thought ourselves superior to,

lost in the destruction of our own making

which shall regenerate, only without us.

Hearts of Love Forgotten

We walk and

we talk and

we cycle and

we flock

after months where we rested and

we waited and

we laid and

we missed.

Suddenly emerge and

we gather and

we bud;

ready to embrace and

to kiss one another and

to dance in the day and

in the night.

Forth with all the color and

the light and

coming thunder as

our hearts of love forgotten

to the early rays besotten

lustily we offer.