BlackOut Poetry #3.
The silence that vibrates in the soul
touches all those brave enough to feel.
Like the writhing body of a restless dancer
forced to move to an unheard rhythm.

Looking Up.
Oh to sit and watch the sunset reflected in your eyes
as the moon and stars swirl with delight
Nothing seems better than this night
but for the end of today
I will be your cliche
as we settle like dust in this town.
But his ambitions returned
dissecting the winter of lucid insights
as a doubting painter before his death.
Slipping between fiction and reality
the heart is a twisting motion belieing itself, wringing itself.
 

Catch me coz I'm right at the edge and ready to fall. 

Kitchen Poetry # 23.
He slashed.
He whipped.
It was refreshing to press the rind to his lip.
He was smiling.
He felt young.
As the cool liquid washed over his tongue.

Kitchen Poetry # 22.
He granted her one more day of life prepared and served with anticipation of phantom caresses amidst the tickle of spices that teased the senses.

Kitchen Poetry # 21.
There's a silence.
Eager eyes look to me for wisdom, a sound bite, something to keep in their file of 'things to never forget'.
Don't you know I'm clueless too?

BlackOut Poetry #2.
In the fleeting moments of pleasure
we find happiness.
For we can’t have everything we want
without effort and suffering and problems and tears.

BlackOut Poetry #1.
Even though
you are
in good shape,
it is easy
to hide the true cost you're paying.

Manmade Constellations.
The smell of dust lies heavy in the air
like dirty boots in muddy waters.
The pull of the moon is grasping and clinging
as melodious songs drift soft and sweet.
Gently stirring
as lovers heave and sigh in the midnight heat
like pink blossoms on a silk tree.
What is embellished and what is left out
when in the woods we return to reason and faith.
This measure of life is a transcient game, when
an absurd proposition relatively considered reveals 
  the moist
   the wet
    the warm
     and almost indefinite ethereal imagination of you is appreciated by all.

Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. That is near insanity. Do not misunderstand me danger is very real but fear is a choice. We are all telling ourselves a story and that day mine changed.
- After Earth.

I Don't Fit Where You Won't Look.
Between night owls and early birds there are spaces in between
Staring at the infinite indifference between a hello and goodbye
Falling through the gaps of recalled experiences
Those memories dance about
like dreams studded on transcendent celestial clouds
They echo and fade into the abyss of time
those who are left to reminisce
Tickled in suspended animation
Making us more then what we are
Blow them out one by one
Blow them out.

Working hard to keep your medulla oblongata screaming for hydration.

Kitchen Poetry # 20.
She was mysterious. Like the dancing shadows of a naked flame.

Kitchen Poetry # 19.
You read as though you want the words to wash you clean, to envelop and cover you. I wish you’d let me.

Time Slows.
Your eyes have little specks
that look like stars
whirling together
galaxies and solar systems
planets and the unknown
secrets kept
hidden behind heavy eyelids
in them I am lost
like running across a beach of diamonds
and if I was ever searching
I’d think I found
my infinity in you.

Kitchen Poetry # 18.
I thought you were the boy
with faraway eyes
and then I discovered
that you were
just dumb.

Kitchen Poetry # 17.
Today will end tonight
but memories linger
taunting and teasing
like the dying embers
of a stubborn flame.