ten years + old


My muse, shaken vigorously, 
slowly dragged over the rocks- 
curdled blood injected 
into the lifeless, empty, creative vein~ 
This well's run dry 

The old fix; 
a standard of "poetic" living 

To forget, 
Is to be cleansed 
Is to see things afresh 
Is to know 
that at times
when one feels alone
in their need 
does one feel compelled 
with anger toward self 
enough to create
at any cost 

Forgo what's right 
Forgo good health 
in order to find 
freedom from self.

The Great Release! 
The hunter 
The taste for Blood 
and the Hunt 

Bow before me, 
this is my game, 
I'll do the killing here

A beautiful foal 
solid almond eyes 
longing for life 
helpless in this
its hour of departure... 

Surrender now 
to all that is profitable in the business of spirit 

Create at all cost