Indian Summer

That flash fire in January has come.
The touch of warmth that sooths
Like a trickle of warm liquid just drip
dripping down the spine.

A small taste, a tease, a tickle of
spring to surge.

Like gentle lips brushing across an eyelid.
Quick licks that smell like lavender.
Subtle strokes in that soft spot where the neck comes to rest.
A teasing taste of delight, of dance, of
perfection in contact.

The months to come stand like soldiers before the lusty red coals
that will bring warmth, sex-filled flesh, fantasy formed figures
reeling in the hot
days that lend themselves to delight.
Lend their guiding touch toward freedom.
Lend their dawn, their noon, their setting to fulfilled longing.
To nature covered days, mud covered nights, and saltwater sweat.

Yes. That flash fire in January has come.
And soon,
soon the sprinkling will cascade.
The warmth flowing like a cataract to cover all with delirium
and a halcyon daze.

Indian Summer

Bird Song


Birds don’t always sing sweet
Sometimes they cry.
Their song sung
Soft from their feathers
Moans bellowed before flight
Tears before the air.

I saw a crow once.
Squawking at an owl.
The crow loud and angry
Screeching beak bared,
His wings flared.
The owl turned and stared
His black head paused
Stunned at her glare.

Birds don’t always sing sweet.
The hoot does not always mean meat.
The wind flows with movement
Tones of emotion like
Notes on a page, words of matter;
Stone, aether, water and fire
Elemental mixes like chemical
Potions that intoxicate;
Like moxie, music, migrations;

At their finest, Eros.

Bird Song

No to You Me.ans Me

This must be it, you know, you know
Your final act
Your final word, your final cut
You, whoever you are
You beast
You cruel to be faced
No beast is too good for you
Beast is made of sinew and flesh is animal
You are worse than animal
You have no nature
You are rose then crew
You have no love for even
The wood the stone, your own skin
Nothing of Nature

My will to hold is dying
Again and you know it.

Why is this? Do you want me?
Or is it the want to watch
Me go, to fall, that is so hot?

Who are you? What are you?
How can I even reject you?
Without rejecting me?
All that I hold dear?
Dear…Fuck you!
Fuck me!
No…just no.
How can I even say no?

No to You Me.ans Me

Sound Issues

(UPDATE: by god I’ve done it & will post fixes shortly. only “no visitations” and “You are tired” ARe CURRENTLY up to snuff. Thank you for your help & patience!)

Dear Reader,

Please forgive me – it seems when exported from my software the new format drops the volume of the sound files I’ve recorded significantly. I am figuring out the best solution but it may take a bit of time. Thanks so much for your patience and feedback. It means more than I can express adequately. 




April Fools’ Day


Does each month have it’s own particular kind of fool? I kinda hope so – maybe April is simply when all of them decided, once upon a time, to unite and boldly and brashly trick us.

That’s how they, Puck like, really slip it to us – right under our noses. Off we go smugly ignoring the other 364 days.

I kinda like that idea.

April Fools’ Day