back beyond bewildering

cloud mists:

the incoming reek

remembering low tide

and last night

the pyrodinium

the agitation of night diamonds

and the twinkling of kicked rocks

swallowed up in that dark

bit by bit

save for the flashing

the momentary eruption

and then nothing

save for the darkness

the infinitude

of water and sky

the devil's in the details

in the morning
we are squares each to our own
bodily boundaries coming to
from the deep:

there is no telling
where we have been, no explaining
just eyes
slowly opening,

breath being drawn.

sea medicine, road dogs

inspired by my beautiful friend's stories of sea life, i went in search of the ocean. it's been six months (!!!) since i've set foot on that cool oregon sand, half a year (!!!) since i've faced down the end of the land. trust me, it is such good medicine... and was prepared thusly: one part self, one part soul-homie, one part spirit guide, one part trusty steed, a couple jiggers of rosé (to taste), a hefty dose of sea mist, mighty ocean waters, vivid greenery and coastal forest splendor... and there you have it.
here's the evidence.
la luna bea, aka lunabeast, groovin' to the soul music of the ocean waves:




the panorama from cape falcon:





big love to my karmic voyager sista.
what a beautiful day.

what's your passion?

last night i was at a bar in my neighborhood checking out some local musicians. the bar was slammed, the air was charged with great sounds and the effect of so many people together in one room. a woman leaned in close and asked me if i knew the name of the band playing at the moment... i did not. she was wearing a medicine pouch around her neck, spilled her crystals and shared them with us. she asked after my passion....creation. the soul shaking down the guts...

so here's a bit of what i've been working on lately.

small insistent thuds

becoming

rain

of the fleeting kind,

makes you wonder

when you stepped outside

that

you were to face

the face

of the one that sticks around,

makes you wonder

of the one that sticks around,

the face

you were to face

that

when you stepped outside

makes you wonder

of the fleeting kind,

rain

becoming

small insistent thuds

metallic blue dream blues

it wasnt because of the smoking

it wasnt because of anything

that was

but wasnt

a lack large enough

to populate a world

the muffler dropped

and the sides fell off

(all corvettes go to heaven)

five a.m.

this depth of dark

could almost be night-

the suns about to crack

my sweet, my love

of the unfurrowed brow of

the dreamful sleep,

the world outside

is a hazy wilderness,

dew spattered frayed unwindings

of sunny summer string;

your warm face pillowpressed and

sleepdamp breeches

the waking surface

of the placid velvet waters, and

sinks back silently beneath them.

im a criminal

for even wanting to wake you.