song and dance.

death by all the flowers into my hands; moon-struck in the deconstruction of the womb in night of envying cults of orgasm, her prime ashes moon taunts and she rises the black lily until such thorns are wounds upon the sculptural song and dance, as our silhouettes weep, to die. © 2021 All Rights [...]

Heroes and Villains.

I recently submitted a short story to the Reedsy writing contest, one of the prompts being: "Write about a first date that surprises both people, but in different ways."This prompt intrigued me, so I decided to use two of the characters I created from Identify, an ongoing novel collaborative project, and apply them to the [...]

in one key.

flower-envyingthe day of the seafor dance of tragedy in one key bleeds, the rootand laz crawls like a dandelion. shame, shame of the gardenborn naked; wastrel-limbscrawl rain,winter of pearl sinkingfeet poisoning againa bodybreaking their wispsand bones, come leaf, god forbid if I meant it,lies the stone where i lookthrough dooms of starsand fragility of love [...]

take my hands?

fingers of earth lay thy lady of bones a garden of have died and have not; shan’t you take my hands? my skin, a linen from the sun weeds, we share parentheses as eyelids kiss the sleeping trees; littleness death we—the serpents we sleep with. © 2021 All Rights Reserved.


i look towardmy blood, root of the daisyeddeluded in each vein;rain flutes midnightthrough weeps of winterlaced over the moon-hothand and foot, a gardenof bones as us where we lie like pearlslittered in our elusivebeds © 2021 All Rights Reserved.

no more.

i carry the small roselike a moon of your bodya syntax of fools,that if the sun and the sky and the rosesfall to the garden i will let your name climb upon my bodyand head until iam no more. © 2021 All Rights Reserved.

the poet

Check out this wicked poem by George Ellington.

George Ellington

The words, the power, the very syntax
of your verse delights me,
says the linguist in me.

The imagery flows like molten clouds
over my aging soul,
cries the artist in me.

Your rhythm reaches into my heart
and entices me to sing,
chants the musician in me.

The sensuality of your voice caresses
my pulsating skin,
moans the lover in me.

To be a poet is to passionately embrace
so many untold selves,
says the me longing to be.

[inspired by Lucy’s “The syntax of spring“]

Me almost looking cool in Turkey (Jan 1992)

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hot suns.

breasts upon a kumquatsundown from the pied-piperin the woman’s moon, I’ve seen before I can’t even recognizewhen I rise fromthe hot sununtil a dream takesthe land in sultry menace upon the fire-flower’smouth to kiss. © 2021 All Rights Reserved.

dance (with me).

all winter, their bodies of yokethe apple blossoms, like a child,waking into the sun; I see the siennarise in the kangkung flowersof your hair, the immobile, the henna; and archaic sandsin blue fibers of fields,as the moon-eyed dreamers,you and I—we’re in anamnesis of the womb,our cerise, skins to the lemon moonand velvet landscapes in the [...]

The ocean rises.

Fossil bone, a maiden’s cliff throwing ghosts in the stalactites there, my ocean is there, and I will die with the thorn in my side; abyssal shadows are empty, sandstone splits at my cheek, look at the full-bodied ocean, their fish bones below the memorial, from so close, I can stand upon the ocean’s bosom, [...]

Guitar Instrumental.

I recently created a guitar instrumental with both rhythm and lead parts. It is currently untitled, but its genre delves into, I suppose, flamenco and a bit of folk country. I recorded each section and layered it together through Soundtrap. The guitar model I use is an acoustic-electric Fender CD-60SCE, the strings I use are [...]

“Fantasie Nocturne” by Dionysius.

In my visionSpins a color wheel With fauns and gnomesWhispering to me: Give in to NightHer bacchic songs This dreamI slipped in Her choral maskHer Thyrsus to whichYour head belongs Since the movieWe saw thoseYears ago A paradiseRuled byYour constellations And your moonProtecting usIn its shadows Be like the tideSubsumed byThe gravity ofYour shadow side [...]

do not.

centuries dead moonpretty ladies on the streetby death, clothed withwhite snow; winter’s blue waterfingers in stardust, snitching ice redhingingas though I had seen, dearest,your physiognomy of spring,moved in black craters; (like tall roses),whisk, whisk,swaying a face, sun gardenedand unlike, cleaning osprey eggs.try beyond,do not turn from me,twitching your oceanid weeds,in symmetry twistingshyness in ice, eyes [...]

she loves you. Albert Memorial, London SW7 2ET, UK. in sanguinolent dances we tradeour flowers for knots of the moon,cracking until the leftover asylum of poetryturns and explodes in our veins, Let it be the tongue of rocks, whereserenity will kiss you in due timeand frozen fingers wed in the plow of the womb,floating, innocent of madness, [...]


the oscillation from Apollo’s lipsbury me, this womb of glass seas,relief—a meronym of death’s facesthe last dream my mother gaveto me. Embalm the clavicleof the tree, widowedto the eyes, mesmerizedin celestial dying things;broken sunlight(s),and milk from the bosomancient of womanin dark places. Bury mewith my fingerslazuli to the Erebusthrenody, first a dreamwithin the red-hillsthe moon’s [...]