The Neglected English Composer

When it comes to creatures, we must be

flawed in much the same way.  Or we are


entirely alien to each other.  Stars are

blotted out of our vision—by the very man-


made devices designed to propel us

to that great expansive space


of universal oblivion—but they are silent

there expecting to be noticed.  Still there is so little


that endures, an echo from the E. J. Moeran rhapsody,

“In the Mountain Country,” sings to you


from an open window of a building labeled NO

TREASPASSING over the cracked pane of glass,


leading you to accept rejection as a component

of beauty, while “Lonely Waters” begins


to play.  When we lay our thoughts to rest

we forget we even bothered to have


them.  Where is that love so grand it changes

the whole game?  We are just keeping


ourselves from it because it doesn’t fit

with these ill formed sensibilities


making it.  There is little sense to make

of it.  Indeed, we are senseless to the sufferings


of the songs.  Songs whose lyrics can only be heard

in the soul calling out to any beautiful thing


to enchant us with wide space in the endless

horizon where the stars spend their time waiting.


What I Gotta Do

Just kiss me where it’s sore, please,

make it better.  Will it

even do anything at all?  I have always

one foot on the ground, but I have in my mind

all of these words

which break my heart.  Suppose I never ever let

you take me in as your pet, so these bars

were never built up around me.  Yes,

of course, it will get better.  I get lost

in my mind with all of these promises

for music, and the beauty

which couldn’t exist.  They are just

imaginary moments of angels.  Don’t say

you love me how I am. Clearly, your mold

of any ideal can never comprehend me.  No

tame flattering persona, here, sorry to let

you down, but all you got was me, and that’s all

I can be, begging on bended knee.

Definition Truth

v.t.  1.  subjective;

constant changing 2. human





Terra Cotta

Water breaches sandbags,

same as damns

around nuclear power facilities

so fucking easily. My path is staggering

sad, but love carries the spirit of wearied

bodies. Soul contracts to protect

the water. I tattooed it on my breasts. Men had

to see the words “this is water” etched

in my battered flesh, while they raped

me. I am now a clay warrior.

Don’t You See the Bodies Burning?

Everybody knows I grasp

the dirt. My face shoved

in the gutter and the Atlantic Ocean

radiating from a poison breaching damn

walls meant to protect us

from nuclear greed. Behind closed eyes,

my war against the world

that never loved my slight frame

only begging for warm

embrace. Nothing

else matters, if the flesh is denied

it’s existence. Same with the earth,

our mother, her tears,

the water is just a reflection

revealing how we treat our source

for life… see behind empty walls, my love.

Alpha and Omega

Water Says Save Yourselves

My eyes are stabbed

by the flash. Have the children

learned nothing of nuclear

Apocalypse? Indeed, the end

is nigh. Does it really matter

if the end was brought about

by bombs or nuclear energy

plants telling you everything

is fine? Heart heavier than stones,

not for myself, rather for this knowing

Creator has shown me. The evidence I have

is nothing to the eyes unwilling

to see. Love is the only

thing that will save any of us.

Do you really want to know? Have you got color in your cheeks? Have you no idea you are in deep? For the love of all that’s good and holy,

go heal your hearts. I love you all.


There’s blood in the water.

Pay attention to the Water

Andromedean Council