Greyrock (Precious Things)

Her eyes are on Greyrock, not invested in what I believe, not interested in my virginity. She likes the cool end of the clear, cold water, and when she breathes, she sees, from all the lonely, barren trees around me. Her thoughts whisper come bathe with me. She says, “I am your G_D, these are the better of precious things”.

The white light fades upon Greyrock, the ending of my hopeless faith, of what Tori Amos sung, she said it was her reprieve. The human skin that we trap ourselves in, when we go to war. That we determine is our sex, the life skills of our sum. The stuff we think we are built for. Adonai, Adonai, better I see you, your spirit, fastened brief across the July Colorado sky. You, you, dancing before me, spirit elongated within, without. An ever daring letter, (Ruach) embedded, character, for you I think I’ve sought. That in its self is my precious thing. So better than flesh, a precious thing.

My sweet Danny, Danny, it’s not a part of your virginity. Do you feel me, understand me, want to bathe with me, on Greyrock, here on Greyrock? It becomes for us a precious thing, to know by water and breeze.

The river, below, the great, great plains, the bosom, that part of life, that is real, that constructs your pain. That illusion, that most would call the bed where you have lain. Here on Greyrock, maybe you are fragile, maybe you are strong, may be, just may be it is your precious thing.

The meaning of the day up on Greyrock, the sum of the passion, I sometimes seek. The betterment of all I ever had to offer, was the knowledge life does not end with loss of virginity. And while this world may be spinning in its classless form of struggle, for what means skin or substance, or a better form of me. Greyrock is a lesson of the precious point of living, for it taught me that breath, is blessing G_D while on your back. Taking all you have lost, bowing let it all be cost, and taking your precious things. Those blessings inside your skin that rage. Building them higher. Like Greyrock sits, there higher. Knowing you are filled with precious things. Precious things.

Her eyes are on Greyrock, not invested in what I believe, not interested in my virginity. She likes the cool end of the clear, cold water, and when she breathes, she sees, from all the lonely, barren trees around me. Her thoughts whisper come bathe with me. She says, “I am your G_D, these are the better of precious things”. – 07.06.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Forgiveness מְחִילָה


Today is the day!

Together we come to seal the vault, hand in hand, a stroll through the desert to face the storm, and that sand that swirls and blows, lifeless shame that binds. It can no longer make us blind. The secret you see doesn’t matter, not the me or the you, for sorrow is not love, neither is loss or gain, for everything is in time, and all this stage belongs to G_D, and his compassion belongs to us. Who is a king, a rich woman, so beautiful and clean, a social justice warrior in Queens, a soldier of the Crips, when they have lost their future and rage? Where goes the deviant, the strong, the wise, and the tortured of ISIS, the new car we lust for, when emotion takes all, that has been stored. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Are you pagan, or brother, white witch that seeks a fire rite, Muslim, disciplined with pride? Do you cry for Jesus, striding in rose petals like a Sikh in the rain? Have you climbed great mountains, found your wilderness, is it your home? Are you cut deep, that tomb holding vampires that in your night, that eventide that last forever, rise from their cold, cold graves? It seems to me now, maybe we are not we at all, that what we learn to live without, makes us learn to live again. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Together we come to seal the vault, this spirit and I, and the desert has bloomed, the struggle for water, has never made me appreciate forgiveness more. And there is no longer you and I, joy or pride, there is missing a community of emotion, those shadows that contribute to uncertainty and a lack of grace. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door. – 08.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

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.

(Fine)

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.

(Fine)

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.

(Fine)

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.

(Fine)

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