That twinkle in your eye—a pretty little bundle of light going toe to toe, fist to fist with Sirius vying for the highest howl of bright. How my origami heart folds into countless variations of adoration when you floor me with your red-hot knuckle punch. So lay into me deep, smack me with another kiss. Bring me to my knees. Humble me. Take me back to my shimmering origins. It’s a wonder how we so thimble-sized when born grow to achieve such gargantuan goals. That twinkle in your eye—could be a child soon to arrive. Or a combustible love waiting to wildfire its way into the real.
When I open my shirt, the moon scribbles notes across my chest—all written in first-person luminous. The moon tells me each of my ribs is a rung leading up to her shine. Says the holes in my soul can be patched with courage, devotion, and an ample amount of crazy-for-life glue. She warns me to never allow my spirit to write a Ballad in Plain D-funct. Says to strip away the excess anger. Let go of old hurts and grudges. Find the exit wound on the body of bliss, the moon tells me. Then trace the bullet’s path all the way back to the love gun.
An excerpt from my forthcoming novel, NEW JERSEY ME, is now up at Sensitive Skin Magazine. Happy reading one & all!
Lone coyote composes verses on late-night air. Those howls: guttural thunderbolts sprung from the tongue; a fuse flaming night with songs far brighter than stars. Those howls: wailing guitars harmonizing with sirens in the key of urgency. The song of life & death. Bone to dust. Breath to breeze. Blood, heart, desire, hunger—pulsing. No flutter of forgive me. No murmur of pity me. Howls electrify, testify. New revelations written into night’s bible. Howls crumble sleep’s walls. Razor-fanged echoes cutting through satellite static, slingshotting off canyon walls. Moon-loving. Soul-mending. Howls prowl the air, roam in all directions. Follow the sound till it leads you to your inner wild.
The Art of the Hustle, the Bustle, the Huge Scuffle & Tiny Love Muscle.
Armageddon & insanity are running for president. The gun is elevated to sainthood. Racism, terrorism & imperialism are mistaken for the three wise men. Human existence has become a war of the heart, mind & senses. To best engage ourselves in this battle against hatred & injustice, we must arm ourselves with outrage. Yet those energies must be funneled into positive, purposeful actions. Just as evil rises like a Goliath, it can also be crippled by concerted acts of compassion, kindness & enlightenment.
of what’s already been said,
what remains left unsaid,
and what soon will be
To make peace with this imperfect world—
all its bumps, blemishes, freckles & scars.
To walk a truer, more fearless path
through its battlefields
of politics, lunatics,
racial wars & discriminations.
To reduce anger’s brain wattage,
dazzle dizzyingly through nuzzlelick wonder.
To witness bullets birth tender kisses.
To text message the divine,
have it reply with a smiley face.
To dance cheek-to-cheek with serenity,
while society’s mosh pit
gyres madness & mayhem.
To take this world
by the scruff of its neck,
shake it till its fully alive