Flaming Faerie Faggot

Flaming Faerie Faggot the kids all once called.

I think I told you that one time, but do you recall?

Now I see you all lit up and licked over with fire.

Whose heat sparks an ember in the heart of the middle. 

This little ligth, unsheathed from the bushel.

Shines like a beacon where crashes the ocean.

Calling to the shipless to revel in the light. 

Careening with the momentum of authentic insight. 

Allusion to the Art of War (actually it's a reference)

Allusion to the Art of War

You know you’re probably not the only one who’s heard;

Of the man we know as Sun Tzu. 

And if you’ve never read him,

You give the impression that you do.

So yeah as I was saying.

I just wanted you to know.

That instruction from the Art of War,

Will take you only just so far.

For indeed love is a battlefield,

And by extension emotions all.

Yet if you only take the attack,

Never enacting your own one back.

Well then.

You’ll ever excel at feinting. 

But it’s in the riposte you perfect the craft.

Of managing yourself at risk.

When something’s in line to strike you aft.

I don’t request you bet on me.

So long as someday you try to find a body. 

A person with whom you’ll change your 

Mode. 

And surrender to that which is sublime in mutual growth.

See the process that awakens love,

Is truly something chemical.

And these potions change the brain

As we're all mere;

Neural plastique composed animals. 

Sadly this process interferes, disrupting. 

The staid mode of mundane cognition.

Thereby inducing fears and change,

Igniting worries and indecision.

Caring costs because there’s such a danger,

Of the other going missing. 

So I hope you’ll one day find intimacy.

In someone so singularly.

As the moron sitting loving you who's me.

As you parade your red-flags decrying; 

You are emotionally unavailable, so why then?

And you're just not open to express.

The fearful half-formed wishes, your intents.

Beyond what truth anticipation can authentically profess.

This is just based in observation,

Not meant to criticize; an explanation.

But if you stay all times in isolation,

Beyond the need to compromise, find role and station.

You may slow your soul’s growth stimulation.

Regarding the height of joys you ride in this emulation.

With any bright there’s flip side sad darkness, 

A weight. 

Which carrying all alone, bows the walker. 

But if you relate a ship as a work you craft.

Then experience is as a tool that lightens the heft. 

And it is a fond-lit hope of mine that you’d, 

Find with me a way to start anew. 

As the example of the Fool.

Leaping from the cliff top of the heart's highest stoop.

To plunge securely below to the lapis lazuli blue pool. 

Rippling the prophetic force of soothe.

It’s hard to speak this honestly,

Or tell a truth so true as this one seems

But in life; 1 of my wishes of a hypothetic 3;

Is to secure a lifetime trawling joy,

As a pair of two players, a you and a me.

A Night-In Ideal (warning strong sexual content 🤷‍♂️)

To nurse on your thick cock, while settled to watch Netflix.

Not at it to make you cum, just to languidly edge you.

That thought’s been again the theme, of my today’s thinking.

Sitting awash in recall of scenes, where we are sweating then showering.

Flash to the form of you under my palms.

                                       Flash to your balls in my mouth tightening as you cum.

             Flash to hugging you tightly then watching you go.

All this on a channel, a subdued band of awareness. 

That replays past experience, while co-creating the next new ones.

The hope of the dawn as above it the sun rises.

Seems to be for me; anticipating the next,
Deep pounding you can deal with me riding.

Autonomy Interlude

You know, it’s funny but true 

But since I've known you.

My autonomy has been found

In the time shared by us two. 

Which makes me utterly happy,

Though the fact is a bit sad.

Locked in stagnation and trauma,

Transmuted to experiences grand.

And of course I am versed, 

In approximate monogamy.

I’ve even practiced it in days

Enough to fill cases,

Tho I admit not always perfectly. 

But for the greater percentage,

of most of these ol’ lived-long days.

A decade under the yoke,

Of a situation over-stayed.

I've played mono-el-mono 

Just one significant someone.

But he broke my heart long a ago,

Yet held my feet to the ground.

Not to say it was abusive,

At least not intentionally.

But situational excess emotion,

Is triggering for someone as me. 

But it isn’t a blame game.

It is what it is.

And if it holds me in your orbit

My gratitude for the spin. 

Reflective Recollection on Patterns to Which I Belong...

I can never really seem to let my notions of you go.

I hold close onto the words you’ve said.

The memory of the way you move.

And all the little things you’ve shown. 

Hints of sights you’ve seen, experiences gloamed. 

All presented to my projected senses.

In those few moments that,

The two of us have together known. 

And I wonder and I puzzle, 

Thought an Auryn twisted bauble. 

Labyrinth of loving sorrow, 

Result of an anxious attachment style.

That changes tact and tries relying,

On outpouring and beguiling, with an

Exuberant defiance. 

That turns out affection.

In parade of presentation,

Including poetry and praises. 

Promising physical adulation. 

All alluding to the notion,

That it be by universes’ motion.

We are somehow bound together in, 

A contract as impartial as the stars that set it.

For if all of time is just one instant. 

And this existence such was we get.

Is just one more iteration of a,

Stream of conscious incarnation.

Fleshly clad and demarcated,

Thus the other is created.

From whom we’ll learn who 

we can, for better or worse.

Really be, as in actually, truly.

And not just in the time it takes
For serving tea in accordance to ceremony.

Corded Connections

I’ve been looking up energetic connections.

Soul ties,

Spirit chords,

Or bindings or,

What have you.

The prognosis seems grim

Upon these terms.

Just different ways to spell par-a-sit-ism to host.

 Or so new age wahoo would prescribe it to be.

They recommend severance of all,

Using some sort of soul sword thingy.

Forged in the minds eye.

And hammered by will.

Wielded by arms made

Of astral plane ectoplasm? 

My intuitive sense recoils at this.

As it views bonded attachment

As beyond remiss.

Meanwhile we’re all energetically interwoven.

Indra’s net through the world can be beholded.

Legacy of action through our line. 

This tapestry we can call the matrix.

Weaves through our sensorial spine.

Together we create, set, and define, our real world.

Layers of perception lathed like wood. 

Like many-things, one thing is as bad, 

As how you can use it to be.

Through excess or negative intent, 

We all know well where such dark paths can lead.

But not all fused points must act as bounds.

Tortures holding one to the ground.

Our reaction to others should direct inwards;

To the places where harm’s scars have seared into our profundity.

If our quest in this life is to live as well;

As our own soul’s are bravend to be.

Than I’d rather dispell only those silken ropes,

Dripping with obvious toxicity.

And to do that the best way is to heal my own mend.

The apertural openings that allow the snaking lines of those controllers in.

That turn others into puppets, threaded by passion placed hooks in ones gut-space. 

While we cannot escape entangling quanta.

We can alter our responsive circadian correspondences.

And pitch our vibrations to harmonize.

Drowning out,

Grotesque discordant verse of alibis.

Sometimes loyquascious, 

But other times terse;

And turn the melody back 

from becoming worse.

Clearly, depending the timing's fall. 

A blessing’s a curse, this is well known to all.

Decathlete

And all of my efforts,

Just pearls before swine.

Ten years down the drain,

Such is the passage of time.

Tarot Tell True

10/21/19


What could he even see in me? 

He asked through the cards.

Cards that he’d never,
Thought of or seen. 

His intent must be channeled then

From wherever elsewhere.

Plucked from the collective’s

Vibrational conscious sonar.

Revealed by the stances, 

Landing as they happen.

The Grace's synchronize 

Surreptitious arrangements.  

Blithe anecdotal questions,

Aid his interrogation. 

As he pursues this connection’s,

Most favorable evolution.

So what would he hope, 

To want the answers to be?

If the stories match up,

This advice is for free.

And he values perspective,

The lay of the spread.

If this routes out pitfall disasters,

In the quantum ephemeral realm.

And of course there could be

Outcomes that'd never, 

Occur to him to think.

Why does it appeal to be told 
The one is insecure?

That his other is hiding his feelings.

Using them like manure.

For sowing his wild-oats.

Foundation for the empire,

He envisions from afar.
That's by unseen hands then built,
And that all unfolds.
Going up. Steadily, 
Manifesting
In fits
And in spurts.

Oh, Impressive Emperor Ace,

He is best left unbound.

In fact freedom is the prescription,

To spread all around.

Then all associations,

Are vetted even as placed.

As only free can we value,

The magic of exchange. 

Each unique idiosyncratic 

Habitual saving grace. 
Of our respective information harangue,
As we each teach each other our mutual minds,
'Til we fall into our graves. 

That's the wisdom of the telling, 
At least the crux of the gist.
As the cards that represent the seeker
And the sought.
Speak of a turbulent bliss.
The hands play off each other
Toned in language of growth.
Describe a cord braided loosely and thornless,
Meaning more compass than rose. 
The Hierophant, who's not a pachyderm 

Although a Cleric of Ganesh.
To the High Priestess enthroned between
The pillars of Eros and Nyx. 
Emperor toes to Justice. 
Venus the Empress card enjoins.
Two Sun Signs in love's truth by her reborn.
And are as Venus' of the two stars;

The Eve and the Morn. 
Promising fruitfulness in a future,
Even between just two boys. 
The Four of Wands, Lover's gateway, 
Of matrimonially joined souls. 
The Strength Card is a shared tag, 
For each their house of the moon. 
Which shows solar axiom opposites 
juxta or super imposed.The Symbol of silver in
The House of honeyed gold.

As the stars keep the planets as wanderers.
Portents of bolder emotional weather.
And his interest's Ace of Spades birth card,
Cognates to the Tarot's card of the Reaper.
Which at first blush seems a doom. 
But in truth it speaks to a bond forged much deeper.
Beyond mortal ordeal in this the ordained 
3D life room of a realm. 
This hellish not heaven 
but still not a hell 
That we live in.

King of Cups is the querent. 
The other we know is an Ace.
Who can stand below or above,
Depending on the rules of the game. 
So much like a wildcard as to be close enough.
Innate Magician energy verses an Innate Sage anointed.
Between the two there's no room or energy that is pointed.
Together a surplus of kundalini serpent coil dance of union. 
Separate there's still something to it that is worth perusing. 
Minds meeting, in astral space dreams; 
And mending the soul wounds presented.
Healing by sharing; of presence, and essence. 
These are just some details to satisfy, 
This poems hastily chosen title, to omit that would be lying. 
This whole final stanza and the one just before,
Were just kind of, tacked on here after. 
Hope the droning didn't bore.
As reading through it he realized he needed 
Back-round to circle.
As he'd abandoned his premise, 
Seemingly far too busy recollecting his ardor. 

A Listing of Thoughts as a List

Poem: A Listing of Thoughts as a List

I lust/love your body.
I admire your drive.
I treasure your stories.
I respect your time.
I desire your future be
Intertwined around mine.
I know that sounds selfish,
If it could threaten your climb.
I promise there’s something
In it for you.
Not just the regular serving of
What my booty can do. 

Tho’
I fear that you’ll judge me for what I’ve
Let others take.
I fear I’ve set the
Impression that in me,
Unfaithfulness is
Innate.
I fear I’m too much of what 
I am, to seem civilized.
I fear the future, 
I dream-glimpse, 
Is one to deride.

I hope that you’re meeting your future as flow.
I hope you’re pulled along the path that your feet yearn to go.
I hope you're a man who's mystery is something you'll soon see solved.
Already tall, dark, and handsome,You don’t need it all to enthrall.

Oh!
I hate that I miss you, 
Your presence I barely know. 
I love how when we lay our hands on each other,
The energy grows.
I am confused by the whole thing, 
In truth I’m confounded.
But I like a good puzzle 
And this one with you seems worth solving.

I trust that this all isn’t just in my head.
I trust that the timing will sort it out in the end.
I trust you to be all you so far do seem.
I trust that the future can turn out as I dream.

That is of course if you’ll join me in trying to see it.

Winsome Wontsome

Today I will not write out an ode.

I will not profess, or vow, or of love groan.

Instead I will just power down, then off, then go.

Shut-down emotion and desire.

Temper impulse to admire.

And just review what this has actually been.

Acknowledge how much of it is just in my head.

As everything else, so that’s no dire statement.

But thank you for your time and detached patience.

I’ve pestered, plagued, and plotted,

To inspire.

Your commitment, or for control, or maybe just, 
Confirmation the universe is no liar.

Perhaps just a proof of a great synchronistic equation.

Resulting in something ultimately tradition adjacent.

Yet still and no matter, through patience practiced as virtue.

My center of self impels me always toward this effacing skewed view.

To throw down my freedom, with the rest of my clothes.

And slave after that which inspires lofty goals.

If it weren’t like strolling in Eden to walk by your side, 

Then I wouldn’t be hung up on ancient out-dated paradigms.

Woe to it all if this life lesson be.

That I must forsake you, and all others, to truly be me. 

But that may be the way, and I can accept that.

As it seems to be your way, we’re joined if I reflect back.

No thought to a future, or guarantee expected.

Just allowance of a nature whose cycles encourage resurrection. 

Oh I’ll pressure this tie, until there’s clear breakage.

Wielding only the truth and such weight as is in it.

If that is enough to split free all the tethers.

Those transient senses of goodwill and affection.

Or the deeper more persistent cord of lust and fulfillment.

Then so be it. 

Indeed

 c’est la vie, c’est la vie.

I think I’m by now indifferent 

to caring 

If you could ever love me. 😘

Wordplay I

Refuge in the deluge

Constructed of dysfunction

Allows what follows

The way to say

Your gag is flagging

Sound has been unbound

Objection of rejection

The mode of that dome

Gloom’s the doom

That sidles idly 

Slanting askance

Just talk the walk of the way