Recycled Thoughts

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A Memo Written on the Wind



Your face blushes,

your perfect clothes,

your perfect pose,

completing this temporary scene.

Young and old gather beneath your branches,

hoping to seal your breath in a frame.

Indulging in instances of bubbling mirth where the armor drops

just enough…

Your petals cast themselves off and your soft mouth closes,

a memo written on the wind.



Canola Flowers

ImageIn fields grazed by winter, where hues of the season leave tell-tale signs of abandonment; embers glow at their pillaged, frayed ends.

The Sun in the winter, the nourishment during the fast, the flower amidst the desolation. The Canola flower.

And how I wish I could implant that flower within my own winter weary chest. To graft it between my ribs and let its warmth melt away years of cold that have made the dripping wet days of summer seem to be far off memories of…somebody else.


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The Year of the Horse


All around are the pretenses of change, like Osiris waiting to be reborn during a grand countdown – broadcast to the fanfare of firecrackers. Garbage mounds up; packages are thrown out, but their expired contents still remain.

And Orion’s gaze finds me once more, despite the myopic skies, saying, “Let’s flip the moon again, as we’ve done before. Then we can look with a new heart and spleen at the opening of the mechanical horse’s mouth.”


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There’s mail. You’ve got mail.

An unseen hand pens and sends; off it goes, an imaginary paper airplane, sailing invisible traffic.

Where did they all go? The heartfelt thoughts; the forget-me-nots?

Submerged in an underwater ocean of memory; written on the ghost of a disk that couldn’t possibly fit you.

And what if you were to arise, would they all come back?

Surfacing again in our consciousness like so much froth; a behemoth’s head cutting the ocean line.


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Jazz of the Soul

ImageIt’s not like you don’t know it. It lets you into it, like fingers jumping a piano’s spine. And in the midst of the flow, it comes gushing. Our hands tap a tune in unison -yeah unison -and all that’s on our minds is wasting time in the most meaningful way; like making the jazz of the soul on a summer day.

Dedicated to Sakamichi no Apollon


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Drawing closer, the light grew brighter, and he realized that it was definitely no fire. There was a silhouette, perhaps a woman’s, standing in the center of the alley a few meters from him. The glow, he noticed, was coming from the figure’s head. Sweat began trickling down his brow, and even at the distance he was, he felt the heat coming from the shape. It wasn’t a fire. If he had to describe it as anything, he’d say it was the sun itself.

Luminous threads streaked out from her head, strands of hair that resembled bursts from a solar flare. Each strand stretched out, thick close to her head, growing thinner as they spread out all around her body. It was a web of luminosity, and she stood at the center like a spider.


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One Dancing Entity


He took her by the waist and they began to sway together, moving back and forth. There was no music; there was no need. The silence was their music. Raising his hand, she twirled around beneath it. Spinning around, that old happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time was returning like a flower blossoming in a field long untouched by rain. Back in his arms, they stepped in rhythm with one another. They were one construction, one dancing entity. She remembered it all. The duet she had always wanted to dance; the feeling she had always wanted to know. She knew it now. This blissful union in dance, this voiceless expression. Her true voice.

Art: Princess Royale Irakon