My name is solace

 Peter is that you?

-No my name is not Peter.

Oh, Why are you not him?

-I was born someone else, my own light, my own dark, my own burdens. Lies and truths.

What am I supposed to do, Peter is not here. I seek him.

-Is it dark there?

Yes it's dark and empty, There's no substance.

-Are you fading?

Yes, it's like I'm slowly disappearing but it's taking years.

-Will someone else complete you, save you from your purgatory?

Maybe not.

-Is the Darkness your friend or enemy?

It frightens me.

-Is your solace your enemy?

Yes it is the most wretched, dreadful thing, it wants me to die.

-Please stop, I can't hear anymore.

Why? What did I say?

-You are offending me.

Prope

 I sit and wait for her in the loft
hands on laps nothing to say
no disease, just grace

She looks me over like an angry lion
Point on my skin she longs to find
to bleed me out slowly

She circles me and regards my posture
She pours over me smoke to cure
Its just her voice imposing

Electricity dies down
The humm of it subsides now
I open myself to the lows and highs

Her tear drop escaped and I feel shy
It lands on my taut exposed thigh
On my shame

I sit in silence as nostrils inhale
near my neck, I feel frail
Just accepting

Life is those purple silk curtains
Pulling to and fro over window frames
deciding just how much to show the world

Then she enters and installs blinds
intends to dine on me
mercilessly

Of Wayward Desire

 Rub your hands it's easy
friction
Seek the real reasons
curiosity

hold the moment
speak your truth
take from it
something of use

Raise your hands
toward the sun
Your skin so tan
eyes that stun

Rub your hands
Dream of fiction
Hysterical seasons of...
Amorous affliction

Trace the tracks
of wayward desire
Reality lacks
can't douse this fire

It just flys

 The cackling Maitaka
the drop of a kiss
Lip clinging kiss

The steam off the surface of the water
The morning frost

The chest's micro vibration
embrace in arms

The softly swaying palm
Contentment in muse
rare but profuse

Aggressive crested falcon
The caress declared
carelessly you dared

Then hands to your sides
Smile narrows

But doesn't disappear
The sun shines

considerations wilt
Dove beats wings
Sky covets

Quietly turn
observe and surrender

There's rhythm
in the way you fly
These clouds cry to see it

The noise inside your head

 well there's concern pouring off the face
tense brows and stricken eyes are doing it
Dare you question existence
Dare you stop hollow

All the speculation
and all the hearsay
swarms in younger minds
as if there is something to discern

But it's noise, sounds in the form of garbage
thought's that have a glue like substance
that catch on the inner tunnels of the mind
disallowing other things to fall through

here you are all the while thinking it's all true
But it's all false clutter of no true use to you
Often holding you back from sorting
A mess that is hiding resolution

Avis Grey the fixer

 Avis Grey was a drug dealer with rugged brown hair that came past the shoulder, a beard that had almost the same consistency and length.
A strange kind of man able to form a conversation with any stranger as if they had been friends for years. Making deals of all kinds not just drugs. Mixing with the suburban commoner and homeless straggler alike. 
Forming alliances. Solving grievances without spilling blood, always forming some sort of arrangement that fit all parties.
He was the master at fleshing out unlawful beneficial symbiosis. People went to him, he never turned them away. Most of their problems eventually got fixed.
He was able to see what cops overlooked, his loose eye picked up on other´s needs, their loose ends. he lived among the problematic, he didn't just deal drugs he dealt resolution and even opportunity.

One day a crook suit from the city turned up. He had been closely watching the local affairs and found his moment to pounce. He offered the local producers more cash, He sold their product cheaper and hosted big Raves where a dealer could change his mask every hour.
So the local town's youth became drug addicts, instead of their course tuition or new shoes it was pills dope and crack.
Avis Grey fixed up his beaten up caravan and drove away to another small town, that needed a fixer or just a fix. Until the next city suit came to replace him and become a financial success. 

Over the bridge between years

 The new year somewhere south
Too far south for your liking
In a forgotten city with some spanish dialect
Just miles from those ice walls

In a place where where the men are short
Women are cautious, winter is a instrument of punishment
In place where festivals last for days
And in the summer a sunset seems to last a week

Here the excitement among the young is palpable
They will celebrate with kites and bonfires and outdoor concerts
They can be seen sprinting madly over estuary bridges
Like scurrying hot desert ants yet as youth in the cool humid ever dusk

The men gathering to talk themselves up like forbidden encantations
They believe will set events in motion yet seldom manifest
The women spending days deciding what to wear and how to 
Gossiping in exaggerations and half truths and their implications

They stand at the gates the event is beginning
running commentaries are made simultaneously to each entrance
Auspiciousness blows a cold breeze over the underdressed
The sky is blue thread with purple lit just enough to call daylight

The sun out of sight preparing itself secretly for the party
At the birth of the next day

(The land of fire)