Ice Age


Four walls. Invisible and made of glass.

A frozen prison, filled with pieces of sky,

an echo of universe; shimmers of

swirling white, rotating quietly within.

The soundless hum of blue, the ageless

glitter of stars, a sun in the center;

solid, bright, and cold. A dream; trapped

inside. Drifting, dimming, fading.

Drowning light.

Sometimes We Forget We Are Human

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Sometimes we forget we are human,

fall past sights induced in swooping dizziness,

jagged lines of darkness, and blinding magenta swirls,

and enter the worlds beyond three dimension.


Sometimes we forget we are human,

ride on jeweled dolphins in oceans full of stardust,

sing in languages forgotten or yet unknown,

walk on blood orange sunsets and drift through scarlet seas.


Sometimes we forget we are human,

our frozen prisons no longer solid blue,

we grow wings chiseled of weightless diamond,

and abandon our sadness to die in echoes.


Sometimes we forget we are human,

we leave pathways to dance on silver meadows,

shatter mirrors to splinter sight,

and we capture sunlight with our bare hands.

Hadean Child



the swell of skin

the bloated belly

a scarlet pulsing flame

a burning heartbeat

raging, seething,

in infinite dark fire

a blistered, lividly red,

weeping child born with

shadow hunted eyes

and broken thoughts

from the dying body



In the gaps between stories;

a life of pale blue whispers,

lilac syllables, almost voices,

dancers of nowhere that spiral

in careful white lace

Where Broken Souls Go


The moon emerges from the mountains a monstrous, swollen apparition; gleaming and pulsing like an ember.

The souls surface from darkness behind the mountains, their bodies the deepest midnight blue, yet translucent, and full of stars. They transcend downhill toward the ominous outline of forest beyond my house. They seem weightless like they are walking on air.

One caught me watching once; lifted its strange face dappled with muted moonlight, and stared at me with its wide vacuous indigo eyes. A shiver had run down my spine and for a moment my heart was frozen. Solid. Ice. Piercing in my chest. I was drowning in their indigo emptiness. The entirety of it. But the moment dissolved quickly, along with the figure, becoming only another shimmering shadow swallowed by the mangled trees.

Others enter the forest; soft-featured girls with long blond hair and men with large rifles and dogs with gleaming teeth. They enter the forest when sun is high in the sky, casting golden rays to glitter like sprinkled fairy dust on the leaves, dispersing the darkness, pushing it aside to wait its turn. They are under the illusion that is safer then. They aren’t aware of how fast darkness can surround you.

I never see their faces again. The forest swallows them.

Sometimes I see other faces, peering out from the silver birches, from between the brambles, and blackberry thickets; wisps of women, green with flowing leafy hair and fingers stained in crimson blood. Faces thick with pelts of dark fur and wide, aquamarine eyes. So quick to disappear again that most of the time I am not sure of whether I imagined them or not. I wonder when I will enter the forest. If I will ever come back.



The last body waits in the center of the room

and listens to the echoes;

the receding colors that dance on walls

painting landscapes dipped in falling time

the hum of fading stars

the ach of forgotten promises

abandoned shadows left to whisper in the corners

The body waits.




Until its wings slowly dissolve,

drawn up and up like thinning mist,

into a vast emptying space.

Another shadow.

Another Angel left to sing in an ancient sky.

The Colors of the Desert

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Dense atmospheres vibrate in scarlet discord

Arid melodies simmer above colorless oceans

Parched soils wait for frozen songs

Angels to walk through blistering pathways

Orange sunsets move slowly across burning horizons

Golden tears fall like memories of ancient water

A feverish heartbeat shudders as heat advances

Every winter a dream in worlds of endless flame

For Mother’s Day,




Your first word,

your first smile,

your first tea,

your first laugh,

your first wound,

treasures in her memories.


In sleepless nights she sung in sunsets;

golden lullabies to paint away

the darkness

She rocked you back and forth;

motions like a silent sea


She let you fill her with your sadness

your frozen cries of pain

She helped carry it when it got to heavy


She kissed away the crimson blood

without worry of staining her lips


She jumped in swirling black oceans

fearless of the crashing waves

as she saved your shaking body


She danced with you in golden rain,

In waterfalls of stardust,

In worlds of pretend.


She helped you learn

in patient syllables

until you understood.


She braided daisies in your hair

whispered smiles on your face

wiped away your tears


Her’s is the heartbeat you will remember forever.

The Ballerinas


The Gates are calling.

We hear their voices vibrate,

quiet silver lights in days full of mist,

a faint draft from the Underworld,

as we wonder on grey sidewalks,

lined with fading skyscrapers.

Now we dream in visions leaking from raven blackness,

in dwindling hope of another dance.

We wait with lavish masks of chiseled diamond,

in lingering dust that breathes in soft silver chimes.

The music of the Underworld a thick hum in our ears.

We listen and forget to listen all at once,

our bony shoulders touching, pallid skin sparkling,

dark eyes glistening, hearts beating too fast,

Stars fall from the sky and tangle in our hair.

We move slowly, with heavy, broken breath,

until we pick up from the ground, and rise.

We fall in the belief of flying.

We fall endlessly from the cliff we climbed,

plunging through the Gates,

diving into the blackness of the Underworld.

Magic Lives

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In the glistening white light

shinning in open doorways

In the thick coils of rainforest

gleaming and dripping in sinuous dance

In the deeper realities that shimmer

Like a heat haze above the surface world

Magic lives.

In the huge oaks and sprawling hawthorn hedges

leaves turned luminous against iron-grey sky

In the blazing heart-shaped pendants

hanging around little girl’s necks

In the twisted pathways

strung with silver birches

In rain clouds and glimpses of sunlight

Magic lives.

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