L’appel du Vide

L’appel du Vide

This is one of the tallest peaks in the entire valley. It’s called dive rock.
Fog people have spoken of it for eras and eons before, and it is rare.
This summit is known as legend, but it exists everywhere at once.
It has this so gravitating name, that begs those so enraptured
To see what lies so over the side of those deepest abysses.
To understand and give into the temptation for knowledge.
To meet the view with full acceptance for curiosity.
Maybe all the legends tell true of a grand beyond.
Maybe all civilization is completely ignorant.
Maybe the native’s warnings did ring true.
Something about jumping into that vista
Seems so very heavenly at the moment.
Seeing the forested valley as if it
Was nothing in the palm of a hand
Up above it all, like something
All powerful and all knowing.
Looking on at an odd place.
I can see the cliff rocks
At a deep bottom, under
A light fog from my
Highest peak view.
Above any edge,
Come and live
And see me.
The Call
of the

Vernal Equinox

Vernal Equinox

Cold water
From a tap
Sharp breaths

These are the things
We miss to fluoresce

In figure eights
In meadows
The fields
Feeling the wind

Sharp turns
In a trail
Cold breaths

These are the things
We all possess

On hot blacktop
Walking with meaning
And intention

Cold shade
Over a trail
Sharp sensations

These are the things
In animation

Blue beams
Hitting warm worlds
Turning red
At capacity

Sharp scents
Infiltrating a
Cold galaxy

These are the things
That happen naturally

Warm degrees
Above a pathway
To the next

Cold water
Sharp breaths

These are the things
We yearn to progress

These are intentions
That grow carnations



Little spine

Perfectly pink

Pulled down
Pulled up
Pushed aside

Revealed to
The air

Black lacy
Pulled aside

One strip up
Another down
And another down

Exposing a bosom
Of two pale rubies

Two spinels
Two garnets

Melted plasticity
In between fingers
Underneath onyx
Coral pearls lay

White hot stars

With their
Rose quartz


Saying that
They have vigor

For something

Muscle contraction
Nerves tensed
Thoughts bonded

Let loose
Finely glassed

Globes of
An entire world
Never explored

Fitted with fine
Marking landmarks


With the cold

Clusters of quartz
Forming underneath
Lacy fabric

Mischievously awaiting
To be uncovered
And seen

A Lodge Vista

A Lodge Vista

It stormed that day
Just off the quay
Not here on the shore
Or even inland
No, that day
It stormed in the bay

No anchored vessel
Safe from struggle
No fortress castle
Stemmed the bustle
Of the many vessels
That did down rain

On the coastline
Down the hillside
Just a trail of
Pressed down grass
Leading in a line
Down the shore to find

Sand gone damp
With the downpour
In between feet
Out the lodge window
It can be seen
These drops in sheets

Blanketing the grass
Field outside in heavy dew
Where from the longhouse
It can be seen
These drops in sheets
Falling evanescently



Sometimes I miss
That childhood haze
Of digging holes
In my backyard

And constructing forts
Standing not for long

I miss putting up
Pretending I commanded
A loyal land

Underneath the particle board
A sovereign nation in my hands

When the only thing
That worried me was
Whether or not
It was raining

Before I started
Feebly complaining

I miss dirt on my hands
I miss having rust
From excavated artifacts
Through my wrinkles run

And then I would
Refuse to wash up

I can’t remember
The last time I
Dug up an anthill
Or had an insect crawl on me

After I had
Disturbed the queen

I remember hitting
Rocks with a hammer
To be captured by
The geodes inside

In the summer

And never going
Even when it got dark

I always had at the ready
A stash of flashlights

The gopher holes
And goat heads
I always had to
Wear sandals for

Being outside
Used to never bore me

All the filth
All the fauna
To explore
Was all I ever wanted

At least today now
I can remember

Wearing sandals again
In the hot burning sun
With rust on my hands
And arms bruised with dirt

By falling into grass
Or finding gems on wooden anvils

Anchored to a wagon
Before much more appreciated
I discovered stuff
I never would had seen if not

I hammered on thick stump chunks
And opened metamorphic rocks

When the sweat on my forehead
Wasn’t as big a deal
As if I could repair
This bicycle wheel

I could only venture to guess
At the grime I tracked in

Even then
On a rainy day
I undressed
And walked out in it

It wasn’t a big deal then
It was just what happened

Where it was my curiosity
That wanted to know
Whether or not
I could climb that fence

Or that hill
Or that tree

My palms would grow white
With friction
On salvaged ropes
And cool looking sticks

Hiding in trees for no reason
Long before they were pruned

Wearing mismatched clothes
And had open toes
To the air
To breathe and be

Getting flecked with soil
When on castles I toiled

Exploring and moving
Around my domain
Embarking on adventures
In my small acre plains

Boards setting up
Ditches to be dug

Geodes split
Cuts on my shins
From laboriously
Moving cinder blocks

To make dowel rod fences
Cordoning off my beloved clubhouse

Where I splintered
Two by fours
And endangered the local
Water reservoirs

All to sate a curiosity
All in wake of something called me

I miss that dirt on my hands
I wouldn’t call it innocence
I wouldn’t call being carefree
I would simply call it

An old friend



Secrets and gemstones
Ancient daisies
Wings gave
Gentle resistance
Shyly futile

In action
A curious
Careful wanderer
Who scouted
And came upon
The pyramids

Pressing aside
Doors to the labyrinth
Known to no one
As dust shakes off
The carefully carved
Designs on the door
Floor and walls

Revealing a soft
And fleshy
Diamond underbelly
Watered well
Feels like a soft
Silky smooth petal
On an alluring stem

What venerable
Fertile masonry this was
To carry on nurturing
These little clusters of
Primary colored
Flowers and shrubs
All covered in time soot

Tarnished silver platters
And the attentively placed
Ornately paved ceramics
At the cusp of
Wandering hands
Filled with flowers
And precious stones

Eyes of the pyramid
Both in an underground
Atrium vault
With elaborate grottos
Holding up ornaments
Feather stems in flower pots
Petal stones discovered taut

Droplet Mass

Droplet Mass

I stumble.
As I reach toward
A neutron star drop,
My wrist snaps.

All the fluid in my body
Gathers at the edge
Of gravitational

Yearning, begging,
Bursting to fall
Horizontally, elegantly
Towards the droplet.

It has me already.
I won’t be able
To get away.
A chassis grey

Droplet gladly
Absorbs and spheres
Of a willing me.

Blowing Kisses

Blowing Kisses

For desire

Of raptors

Like solariums

Tickling fiber

Glowing connected

Swells crashing

Heliopause boundaries

Past sensations

Grand constellations



Cold fingertips
On a spine
Stretching after waking
Pleasant soreness
All day

Looking in a mirror
Seeing the smudges
Knowing where
They came from
The day before

Your touch
So intoxicating
Perfectly comforting
And nothing I will
Ever shy away from

Something lovely
Borne so lucky
Under a shirt
Over a band
Peppered with lip prints

Adding to
Surreality of mutuality
Would never have
Believed a year ago
I would be on these sheets

Never did I think
A seed would bloom
Into a sapling
And tenderly glance
My aching back

Every new moment
Is a snapshot in
A scrapbook
I must fill with good memories
And you’ll be in every image

I don’t like jumping ahead
To conclusions or speculating
But the coming life
Seems positively

Hair sticking
To our lips
When we lock
Eyes and then
Kiss so much

With every curve of your body
Prone on the bed beside
I think now of the sheets
That were never before
On my mind

A pile of clothes in your room
Sitting on a chair
With your pink letterman’s
And my jacket
Laying atop it all

A modest amount
Of makeup you put on
Before I set out
This morning to drive
Here slightly smeared

Smudged by your eyes
And a little on your cheek
Covering the things
I tentatively yet
Ravenously exposed

Irreplaceable, the place
All I knew up until now
Altering what I believed
As anything realistically

As you glance
With those fingertips
The sweet spot on
My back you proudly found
All by yourself

I recoil and look at
Our jackets on top
Of each other on your chair
In your room In a house
I would have never before known

In a time before when
We missed those connections
Now I’ve found myself here
In disbelief
At this surreal place

Happily at your beckon
Happily here and yours
There’s no more direct
Way to say that I won’t
Have enough of
Misaligned stanzas
Or clichéd stars
From hours to years
I won’t ever have
Of being yours

Steam Tractor

Steam Tractor

Billowing ash
Spews from a chimney
A flue open
Brimstone shooting

Steam bursts from
A pipe above a frame
Of wheels with pistons
Locomoting positions

Strong as an ox
Coal ignition
With slag spouting
Fiery crimson

Fragrance of clean linen
Fabric on ground
Cooled under a bed
Of cinders abound

Raining as brimstone
Embers drifting
After they’re shot up
From a boiling hot engine