Lightning strikes somewhere,
always does
strike
but chance, that long awaited anticipation,
always destructs. Darkness, 
on the other hand, lays its weary head 
across continents bracing for the worst.
Will we look up and see the drift
or hang helplessly and oblivious?
There are things to do
like nothingness. 
Just to know the silence, 
the sound of time passing by.

line by line
i move through day and night
in foreign tongue
the suggestion of,
the possibility,
the inevitable outcome.

flashing in time
with the past,
the unexpected
resurrected.

with the longing
of endless nights
and lost days in your arms,
future past,
imperfect,
imperative and 
present tense.

rescue us from transparency
and thin disguise
wandering aimlessly,
unavoidably exposed.

over words and broken dreams the new emerges
tattered and worn as the last forgotten scene
played out but never ending
time elastic
dates irrelevant
the slow progression imperceptible but apparent.
resistance a futile exercise in self flagellation
whipping boy of desperate measures
wild abandon, cognitive interruptus, coitus excess
fading into oblivion, the weight lifting
interior by design.  

the embodiment
the presence
the essence of love as it expands and contracts
as familiar as the haircut you gave your baby brother before you pushed him off the porch
as foreign as a language, beautiful and incomprehensible
looking for gesture and nuance as the years add up
mining deeper even though depth is always risky as any miner will tell you when he descends into the darkness

slithering under the fence,  
coiling without shedding a skin
seems almost criminal.
loss has no meaning in a timeless universe
where life and death fall some where 
along the spectrum of infinity 
and no one is waiting on the other end.

The Prophet Motive
Prophet: The Motive
Soul, the collective angst.
Prophet, the Movie
To believe is selective.
Who do we leave out? 

Speechless, listless, confused.
No Birdy under my desk warming herself by the baseboard.
No Birdy waiting on the mat by the front door ready to inform us.
No Birdy kissing, leaning, staring into our eyes. 
No Birdy humming every time we walk by. 
Birdy, our love, our big love, we are without compass
to navigate this merciless road. With a heavy heart, we liberate you
incapable of saying goodbye. 

Longing for the we of us,
inseparable, invincible and free
the you of us,
art and mindfulness, tender to the touch.
Stronger than carbon steel,
consciousness higher and deeper,
always gaming the years 
and trading up.
Visions in broad strokes
from the strange to the bizarre.
Visions of loveliness, delicate and perishable.
Exquisite this life with you...

Beauty incarnate, my love.