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Sometimes the only option is to surrender to my demon lover . . .


Strange safety in that dark embrace

So intimate his arms surrounding

His wicked touch does run though me


Sometimes the only reason is to lay with the coming night . . .


Soft, sweet his whispers all I hear now

To yield the only answer left me

My fragile soul does grant surrender


Sometimes the only justification is my lunatic desire . . .



Yes, Virginia . . . faeries are real.

And some of them do wear boots, Ozzy!


Picked up a nifty, little fridge magnet.  I hate it when people cover their fridge with magnets, but this is a small one and all alone.  Its about an inch, round, white button and not so much to look at, still what it says . . .


“Never apologize for your art!”


Got it in an artsy, little town in Oregon, that and a ring for my lover.  He’d been looking for so long . . . banded, Celtic knots wide enough for a man.  Now he wears it everyday.


Nope, he doesn’t have a job yet.

Nope, I don’t think he’s looking.

Nope, I have no idea what to do about it.

All I know is that I love him and want him . . . period.


I’m beginning to think we don’t pick the people we love deeply.

Fate, karma, repeating lives, destiny, dumb luck, what-the-fuck.


There was another man

A while back

Found a picture on the Internet

No, not mine . . .

Okay, that too

Picture was a simple

Lined, journal-type page

Hand-lettering declaring


“Art is what you can get away with.”


So here’s my art.


Random thoughts

As they run through

My mind


Random fears

As they chill

My heart


Random lust

As it warms

My loins


Random loves

As they destroy

My life


Random ideas

As they save

My soul


No apology . . . define “get away with.”  LOL.


Met a talented and nice lady

Southern Oregon is a pretty cool place

Neat towns and people

My bestest friend lives there

I think I’d like to live in SoOre


I’d go tomorrow

Got my ball and chain though

Great American Dream


Nothing more than another trap

A different kind of nightmare


Can’t go, must wait.

I hate waiting

I want to go now!


Blue with white capsules

In the morning

Little white and yellow pills

In the evening


Trying not to feel



Trying not to feel



Trying not to feel



Trying not to feel



Trying not to feel



Is it prose? Is it poetry? Is it fiction?


“There’s only one person in the room.”


Do you hear me?


A terrible mistake
That’s what I made
A small and shallow spirit
I let into my domain

My home and heart I opened
My love and life I shared
He ravaged both in record time
I doubt he ever truly cared

A terrible mistake
That’s what I made
I trusted one not worthy
Only sorrow now remains

So now the pain he’s doubled
To hurt me more is all he knows
Breaking my heart not good enough
He now wishes to wound my soul

Lost I may yet reach my goal . . . Without finding all that I seek . . . I may still be made whole.

Completion can only ever come from within . . . Anything else is an illusion . . . And love the greatest of all delusions.

Why this sadness inside me when just a moment ago I was filled with joy?  Why can’t I let anything good go unquestioned, unproved, untried, unspoiled?  Why must I always feel the pain so much more intensely than the ecstasy?  Why does any happiness no matter how brief scare me into running away?  And why when I hurt are there no tears?

My heart is broken.  No . . . not by another, but rather by life and myself.  It has been fractured so often there may be no fixing it.  I bind it together with sarcasm, wit and humor.  I try not to let the sorrow reach the surface.  I try to bury it hidden deep within me.  No matter the reason or extent of the misery, still there are no tears.

I’m not sure when or why I stopped crying.  I’m not sure I think there is really anything wrong in that I cannot weep.  I’m not sure why I fear letting any other see my anguish or know of my agony.  I’m not sure what it could change, either to help or to harm.  I’m not sure it makes any difference in my life and maybe its better that there are no tears.

Tears and love so entwined in me that the inability to shed a tear seems directly coupled to my failure always to let love thrive.  I live on the extreme edge of my emotions, looking in at them from the safety of outside.  I love only briefly before the defensive shields are raised protecting, but also isolating me.  So it is I stay safe and there are no tears. 

Those trials and lessons sent to me, I have come to accept.  I have grown with each and am better for them.  Early, I found I could safeguard myself from suffering too much by closing the door to my heart and watching life from my mind’s window.  I have not since found reason or strength to re-open that door.  Still, in my life there are no tears. 

Now he stands before me with the reason . . . his love most pure, his strength so sure.  How can I do anything but try to open the door long closed . . . to release a heart so bound . . . to yield to him my soul? To accept what he offers though, I must be prepared to embrace not only he’s gift of heart’s true affection, but also perhaps the return of my tears.


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January 2023