Uncolor Your Hair (A Psalm of Fine)

I am a dragon, spun in a cavern, I am the shadow of mind. What is you want to, to make yourself stronger, you do as I say all the time. Be you young fellow, or girl shaped a Sybil, I speak what you should look, and it’s all in your mind. Still there comes a young knight this way. He’s poor fighting windmills, but in his own thoughts I have heard him say.

(Uncolor your hair)

Come step to a mirror, a solid reflection of those ghost of your body’s way. Can you scream louder, your looks come not prouder your hips need to learn how to sway. Here in this hallway, high walls that fall round you, your dragon says you have to play.


Make your eyes, look up at the pictures, lights that spin quicker, so it goes for that some fella, did you take your birth control oh my, dismay. Come this way wash your naked body in the river of grace, and don’t you cry, for this sweet spring of love it taste your life, and uncolor your hair, be anything in style, your soul can bare. A dragon does not play, he lets your soul fly, and eats all your conscience away, and snares all your promises, takes all your ego, he bends yourself over, and starves you of time and dear space.

(Uncolor your hair)

All the promises your mind could ever snare, a feminist of time but do you care. Fly into another place, break the sound of barrier space and uncolor, oh my love uncolor, your own hair, be the strange virgin that knows your place, uncolor all your hair.


Rapunzel come on down. She found her grief in color, spinning blonde oh turning colors of the day. Comes through a sharp blade, takes your strength away, and you in the twilight, while her naked body turns, and you so grey, why did you ever learn to color your hair to play. Oh my soul, I try to meet the strands of color, television runway yellow, is it all the dragon sends your way. Teeth so white, baring skin into the dark black light, you spin around into your place, what’s color bright has turned to gray, a simple word that would beg and say.

(Uncolor your hair)

Uncolor your hair, be the way I ask you, be not wild or strangely desperate, and know I always love you, in a simple way.


Comes a place, when life has surely bit you, took your body to a temple, that fades away. All skin and bone it surely drifts away. Uncolor your hair, be strength of what you want to know its lessons, that he wants you, to play. In all the lovely features of your face, my, my….Uncolor your hair. You my friend are beautiful, so full of what your made of, my, my….uncolor your hair.

(Uncolor your hair)

I am a sorceress, lit by an apple, I am a sweetener that ruins in my rhyme. What is you want to, to make yourself stronger, you do as I say all the time. Be you young fellow, or girl shaped a Sybil, I speak what you should look, and it’s all in your mind. Still there comes a young knight this way. He’s poor fighting windmills, but in his own thoughts I have heard him say.


Oh very young and very old, uncolor your hair, he hath made you fine, he hath made you fine! – 04.26.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Kiki Sang (She Just Wants to be thin)

All rights to photo to Debbysh at Deviant Art

She wasn’t an old man, a year ending in review, a staff carried, a cane, a tattered resolution not come true. She wasn’t a scorned bitch snarling at the door, talking of her anger a revelation underscored. What year was she then, this, that ended in pain, the one that started with promise, a thought, and a claim? Was it then, she was a baby, a chick, with a dream, that thought of the days ahead starting clean. Did she hear Kiki, hear what Kiki sang, when the previous year ended, no resolve, no gain. The day at an end, and she just wants to be thin.

In tides without moonlight, the ones moving fast, the dream that just happens, when the years closing fast. The promises of January, the ones without sin, still she’s a little uncertain, just wants to be thin. She still needs a reason, a thought that shows real, to leave all that history of food and the thrill. It could be this death now, this passing of year, will bring her a new time, a shattered mirror. Through monochrome speakers that lie shallow deep, still in the flood zone, Kiki’s voice leaks, and Kiki sang. Because it could still be better, “the dream she can’t show”*, the starving of selfdom, the losing of soul, and if next year’s better, then wonder it’ll be. December is ending and still she’s not free.

“There’s no easy way now, to learn how to fly”*, to bring in the New Year, and leave life behind. She see’s moving shadows obese and grotesque, waving and willing, to weigh than attack. What words in pure logic, that lie in her wounds, that tell her, to try again, the new year starts soon, and Kiki sang, “wasted, so wasted on the floor”*. The truth it resolves her to try just once more. So when this dear woman stands tall on the first, and stares at her waist line, deceived by her girth, she’ll promise earth’s models, the ones, she’s told win, she is just beginning, she just wants to be thin. – 12.29.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

It is estimated that up to 4.2% of females will have Anorexia Nervosa during their lifetime. It is estimated that 4% of these Anorexia individuals will die from complications of the disease.

*Sugar on the Floor – Kiki Dee

Sugar on the Floor – Kiki Dee

Delicate Story

Graphic courtesy of http://www.whitewingmessenger.net

There’s a delicate story from your neighbor to the east, who just needs someone to talk to, when the shakes hit his core. He’s been dry for sixty sunsets, and he’s seen a devil’s moon, still he craves his balm of hot clear flame, and his brand of eighty proof. He went from dark haired warrior, to a craven shrunken man, when he came upon a village with a rifle in his hand. There were little girls screaming, and he shot one as she ran, that’s the story of the solider and his ghost from Afghanistan. In the mirror she taunts and teases with her open bloody wound. She beckons him to sorrow, use a rope high in your room, tie it tighter with no reason, and I’ll see you here real soon.

There’s a delicate story from your doctor’s only nurse, as she wraps her pain in lithium, stolen from her trusted perch. Lies of self that tell a story, hidden marks upon her arms, darkened armory of self-turned weapons, climbing nightmares in the dark. Modern health it tells a story, in a hidden practice ruin, tightened veins in chemical glory, chase the heroin with a spoon. That she screams in obligatory torture in the pieces that she sees, patients pass her as she’s crying, too sick of dying no relief. Solemn pledge she took of purity from the modern nursing book, her veins collapsed in flame filled fury from the needle that she took.

There’s a delicate story, when your children say please or I can, place me first before your wisdom, or the business that you ran. Did you not know G_D’s a sailor sailing conscience on degree, placing small hearts as a tempest to see if you believe? Did you not believe their story when they say they need you most, have you not given them the glory, when they try in solemnity to tell their delicate story.

YHWH breathes in beautiful stories, structured rhyme upon belief, takes a child with delicate story, builds that epic from belief. Arms of credence, perseverance, that won’t die when you’re cold, wrap you up when you’re dying, and let you in your marvel, never fading, surrender your delicate story, your worthy story. –דָּנִיֵּאל 05.13.2014

STAND (Earthquakes for Tomorrow)

Loneliness is memory, misplaced upon by sorrow, used by some daemon, to take you from my hand. Shallow is the mystic, built on faded feelings, depression of the failure, a place you did not stand. Delegated feelings, begotten by some history, an instant of reflective, chosen when you’re sad. Concern built on illogic, misshapen isolation, a curse of antiquity, a curse upon your land. When you feel dejected, invaded by no virtue, rejected by the living, alone in disrepair, perceive yourself taken, perception of my thunder, receive an essence speaking, I will, reveal, I AM! Yesterday by mourning, anxiety for tomorrow, a present place of mercy, that ever place to stand. Stillness is a marvel, an instant tender healing, a circle of repeating, reflection when you stand. I’ll rise you like a phoenix, replace your hate with wonder, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand.

I don’t want to be bad, I rather not be scary, I’d prefer you to see me as I am. It’s true there are times when truth gets crazy, but I’ll pledge to be as honest as I can. There are places you are going, you’ll need me to understand, that’s okay, you’re just a little shaky, I’ll carry you to safety, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand. Present words stay constant, their sturdy structure persistent, not nearby, there, or future, just current here I am. Change I built on endless, continued in the boundless, perpetual, when unceasing, an elemental hand. This is love unknowing, spirit built on present, a verb that you can count on, not a description built on sand. Come and face the monster, the essence of the rumble, I made within you magic, there’s earthquakes for tomorrow, but today you’re going to stand. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/28/2014