I no longer use my head, and have a lengthening face.
I barely belong to the human race.
I don't think it's normal or a matter of course,
that in the fullness of time, I should become a horse.
Yet, if it's come to this, on this strange day,
don't sit there. Saddle me up and feed me hay.
Cicadas drone their sun-drunk, tireless hymn
as July swelters, gold and overfull.
the driveway steams, the plastic buckets brim,
and heat, like dye, won't sit still or stay dull.
We cinch the cotton tight in twisted rings,
as if a knot could hold the blazing tide.
but sweat and color are unruly things:
both spread, both stain, both won't be denied.
Cerulean and crimson breach their line,
seep into one another, slow, unplanned,
and thicken into a hue with no design,
no name the rubber bands prepared it for.
The soda ash unlatches what was sealed;
the color doesn't sit, it moves in deep,
past cotton's threshold, till it's not revealed
but lived in, permanent as things we keep.
So heat unstitches winter's careful fold,
loosens what was buttoned, cinched, and pressed,
and turns the plain, repeated days to gold
the way a fever turns a body's rest.
Unwind the bands. Let August find the proof:
a swirl no ruler's hand could have designed,
the driveway's stain, the sun-bleached, faded roof
of summer, fixed now in the changed mind.
I rose from the quiet place where endings settle,
where the old self thins like winter light,
where even breath feels borrowed.
And slowly—almost shyly~
a new tenderness opened in me,
not a blaze, but a small, steady warmth
that remembered how to begin.
Rebirth isn’t about a single moment;
it’s a presence,
a gift to oneself,
the soft decision to keep stepping forward
even when the path feels unfamiliar,
carrying only what still loves you back.
An emerald behemoth starts
to ride
From dark, abyssal,
labyrinthine caves,
To cut across the pale,
autumnal skies
And rule the undulating
realm of waves.
It bears the heavy, multi-
layered weight
Of architectural and sunken
ships,
A powerful, predetermined
fate
That seals the coast in cold,
metallic grips.
It curves into a cavernous
design,
A translucent, iridescent ring,
A temporary, fluid, silver
shrine
Without an earthly palace or
a king.
The sudden architecture
starts to fall,
To leave a flat, geometric
hall.
Before the mountains learned to rise,
Before the oceans found their tides,
Tiny travelers crossed the night,
Carried softly on cosmic light.
Particles born in distant stars,
Wandered far beyond the scars
Of ancient suns that burned away,
Leaving whispers in their wake.
They drifted through the silent deep,
Where galaxies and comets sleep,
Until the Earth, with open skies,
Welcomed them to a new sunrise.
They settled in the soil below,
In rivers where the wild things grow,
In every leaf and every stone,
Planting seeds yet to be known.
Through countless years they changed their form,
Enduring calm and weathered storm,
Becoming roots, becoming rain,
Becoming life again and again.
Within each heart, within each mind,
Their stellar fingerprints we find;
A hidden story, old and vast,
Connecting future to the past.
And from those fragments of the skies,
New dreams awakened, opened eyes.
What once was dust in endless space
Became a voice, a name, a place.
So when we seek what we may be,
Look upward to infinity—
For every wonder yet to bloom
Began as stardust finding room.
We pull up to the table with our heavy, soiled clothes,
Still carrying the friction of the paths our ego chose.
The malice and the whispers, the masks we try to wear,
We strip them off like rags at the doorway of His care.
And like a crying infant in the quiet of the night,
We reach out for the nourishment that sets our vision right.
Not tethered to humanity, nor fed on the algorithms trash,
But drinking deep the living Word that survives the lightning flash.
It’s milk to make us gentle, it’s meat to make us strong,
It turns our bitter bickering into a quiet song.
We pull the anchor from the world, its panic and its pride,
To measure life by love that’s high and deep and long and wide.
For happiness is not a prize we chase across the floor;
It catches up to us from behind as we enter through His door.
He shows the path of life to us, where our daily worries fade,
Restored inside the presence of the One by whom we’re made.
With a bronze wind you shattered
All my dusk until my breath
Spilling toward the morning scattered
What it feared and what it left.
Ever clearer now it rises,
Held by light yet wandering free:
Thus it sings your slow surprises,
June, unfolding even me.
Velvety moonlit dreams uncoiled beneath my feet, drifting in a gossamer rush.
Soft ambient currents circled my ears, their tones dissolving the world to a quiet hush.
My reflection stepped out of a mirror, carrying a beacon woven from dusk and breath.
It pressed the light into my chest, where forgotten constellations stirred from ancient Opeth
dream-born knowing
a veil lifting from within~
I woke into myself
She turns the radio dial with tired hands,
chasing a voice through the crackling dark.
Every station fractures into static,
a snowstorm of sound that won’t let her in.
She leans closer, as if breath alone
could coax meaning from the broken hum.
The world feels distant, unreachable~
just her and the staticky hiss of unfinished thoughts.
Then softly~
a thread of music slips through the noise,
thin as a pulse returning after silence,
a single note glowing like a lantern
held out by someone who somehow knows her name.
She stills herself, listening,
the melody rising, warm and unafraid.
something in her chest loosens~
a knot she’d carried so long
she’d forgotten it was there.
The song widens,
filling the room with a light she can’t see
but feels, unmistakably,
like hands lifting the weight she never spoke of.
She closes her eyes.
The static falls away.
The music moves through her
like a truth she’d been waiting to remember~
a quiet, holy clarity
that finds her exactly where she is
and asks nothing
except that she let it stay.
There’s an arched bridge
over a river of brilliant stars.
They flow beneath it in silence,
a tide of light unspooling
toward whatever waits beyond.
When Transformation comes for me,
I will step onto that glowing span,
the starlit current rising to meet my feet~
and the whole universe
will open like a door.
People get jealous.
They say she's too much.
Too arrogant. Too dangerous.
They talk their and such.
Words get to her —
but she doesn't care.
She knows better than anyone there.
They say she thinks she rules the world.
But how would they know she didn't?
Watch how fast their teeth get gritted.
She knows every fear, every weakness —
and uses it with confidence, no less.
No mercy.
They call her evil, cursed, insane.
But she knows clearly who's to blame.
She is in control.
She rules the earth.
Under her hand? No peaceful birth.
The world burns slow inside her palm.
She watches the chaos — eerily calm.
But once… she was like them.
Soft. Small. Afraid.
Because of the mess they made.
She became what they made her.
She became what they fear.
And now she's standing right here.
Not lost. Not broken.
She is here with revenge.
And the world's end is near.
There is a truth I can’t outrun anymore:
returning to myself was never one sudden awakening.
It has been a series of quiet permissions,
small moments of finally saying yes to myself
after spending so long waiting for that yes
from everyone else.
I am softer now, but not weaker.
I am slower now, but not lost.
I am clearer now
because I finally stopped trying to force myself
into shapes that were never meant to hold me.
There was a version of me I left behind
just to survive.
And there is a version of me
I am slowly finding again—
not because she was ever gone,
but because life taught me to forget her.
I am not who I was.
I am not who they needed me to be.
I am becoming who I was always meant to be.
And she is worth returning to.
In the whispers of pines, tales abound,
Of Sandpoint’s history, in echoes found,
Once named “Hang Town,” the shadowed past,
Remnants of stories, destined to last.
In times long gone, a different air,
Where Justice dealt with a solemn stare,
Rumors linger in the town’s old lore,
Of a wilder time, from an era before.
Gallows Hill stood, a somber sight,
Where sentences passed in the pale daylight,
A town’s dark moniker, the name it bore,
A chapter of history the Ages store.
Yet Sandpoint, oh resilient one,
Embraces its past, the tales it’s spun,
From “Hang Town,” to the present day,
A transformation in every way.
For though the name may hint of dread,
The town’s true spirit rises instead,
A community evolves and grows,
With vibrant life that the past bestows.
Whispers of history, like leaves that rustle,
Echo through streets, a subtle hustle,
Sandpoint thrives, its essence refined,
In the shadow of history, a gem to find.
The pines still whisper of days of old,
A town’s transformation, stories retold,
From “Hang Town” to Sandpoint’s embrace,
A community of depth, courage and grace.
Time changes, and so do the ways,
Dispelling darkness, a new chariot blazes.
A new dawn shines with the light of hope,
Smiles on faces, hearts filled with faith to cope.
The smoke of corruption slowly fades away,
Society awakens on the path of truth each day.
With the melody of discipline, society is rebuilt,
A sense of responsibility makes hearts bloom and tilt.
Roads are formed, dreams begin to fly,
In the hands of youth, the future reaches the sky.
New thoughts emerge, new directions arise,
The nation advances with strength that never dies.
Respect for law and the people’s voice,
Become the loudest call for change and choice.
Farmers, workers, and the hopes of the new generation,
Together compose the language of development and transformation.
Can change ever come through words alone?
Work itself reveals one’s true identity known.
Now is the time to move ahead,
Now is the time to build a new age instead.
With the final smile of development’s fragrance bright,
A new song echoes on the road of progress and light.
In the changing times lives a promise anew,
For within this path rests the nation’s honor true.
Woven in Wax and Heart
A flickering wick in the velvet dark,
I chase the light, a tiny spark.
Through golden fields and frozen rain,
To find the peace and hope.
I offer up a candles glow,
To unlock stories from long ago.
From wax and flame, a gift is spun
A woven cape like the rising sun.
But cloth and colour are only part,
I give a gift from my heart.
For every spirit, a friend Marcus found new,
Dressed in the light you share with me.
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