Crowley’s Flat

Crowley’s flat felt rather empty
Rather full, rather contrary
Only the plants lived there, he made sure
When other possibilities arose, his mind a blur
Light in one room, he waited with sherry
Yearning for a different company
Stretching a mind to a starlit symphony
Fearing a change, fearing the same
Light in one room, and the rest darkened to bury
A secret compared to his existence, perhaps tame
Taking up residence in that chair long after their fame

Alpha Centauri

At nine precisely they will dine
Living through each other’s lips
Perhaps through words without the scripts
Hands passing by, they refill the wine

And through the cracks where stars align
Choosing a new place their feelings eclipse
Ever at nine they will dine
Needing nothing but words on each other’s lips

Through the stars which split through time
And new horizons which tell him “mine”
Under too many bottles, as laughter tips
Resting beyond an absent Apocalypse
Impressing that in any place, at nine they dine

Comes and Goes Without Notice

The burning sensation within my brain

Travelling up from my spine

Not something I could explain

So not to feel it, I so feign

Pulsing crackling spirals

To push me out of line

Scratching my brain, it idles

An invisible, secret block, my trials


If I could give you a taste

Of what it’s like to feel this way

I would find it more than a waste

For more than I to be so paced

Maybe none will understand

Not for lack of trying, as they say

This illness gone long out of hand

Isn’t to be grasped in full, it is too grand


Struggle to act like it’s no condition

That I am as functional as others appear

I’m not the only one, that’s my admission

Yet it hurts knowing that, like I have no permission

to do worse than them, though I know they hide as well

The same feeling which stems from separates fear

But I’m on no edge, I already fell

I fear I may hit the bottom before the swell


I’m not finished

I’m not giving up

This won’t have diminished

My worth or limit

One foot in front

Half full’s the cup

No matter the hunt

Ourselves we confront

Piano to Silence

Godless night of inspiration

Temptation of the finest

Slipping through fingers’ tremors

Embers pressing back against

Sounds rising past the surface

Nervous twisting tendons hot

Racing mental powers frantic

Romantic chords spinning wild

Waiting whispers tasting calm

Balm upon the sacrifice

What’s given the inspired

Desired, abandoned, lost

Then the light to save the hand

Brand of fire on the soul

To repeat? Another night

Right inside inspired motion

Married, breathing, the pleasure

Treasure by the tempted sound

No magic formula

Touching someone’s soul
Is easier than you’d think
Yet not when intentional,
Not when you sink
Into something more than you knew
What you thought
What they link
Into themselves

Touching someone’s soul
Happens when they connect
Not when you want them too,
When you least expect
Them to love what you’ve done, produced
What you live
What you reflect
Out of your own soul

Touching someone’s soul
Can never be intended
Perhaps that is what makes it
More than just splendid,
A touch more than nothing, a touch less than all
What is misunderstood
What is comprehended
From you and them