ingrained in skin or deeper…

ingrained in skin or deeper…

Do I dwell in the house of my own sins… seems I can not extricate myself from this neighborhood, or perhaps I can not even escape my very own skin, I feel I wear my shame as if they are tattoos, I feel they are seen even if the ink is invisible, because this is still perceptible to me, this is what haunting is, how can I throw up a mask, and never see through eyes looking at the construct – from the other side, outside, how would I know if my game, my rouse, my trick, my defense – is an adequate fence, but on the inside, the strength ebbs and flows, I wonder if the cracks there do expose, these are not just skin deep, they are buried in the dirt of my soul, just under the surface, markers mark, like gravestones, a sinking feeling when to atone seems fruitless upon those stoic stones with slight passages, like a leafless peach tree alone in a field, ever dark, even in the sun’s glory, seemingly not suitable for even an inhabitant, or a rodent at that, and the roots still staked, snaked, into that fallow foul ground, so perhaps these are not tattoos I see, they are stains, once ingrained can not be pulled from the grasp of frame, much like my flesh can be separated from bone, until that end, until that end I wear these, or am tagged by these, yes, I can not change the past, but it is forever changing me, perhaps even holding me back, and no my sins were no mortal wounds, but transgression is in the eye of the beholder, and the mind of time that loops in such a place. (stream of consciousness post…)

memories etched in oak. //k\\

memories etched in oak. //k\\

and there, on the ground
I was not expecting you to appear
a ghost of oak and passed
a flash, lightning grasps the synapses
a bolt, a soul past
a page again revealed, open tome
and harken back, for she was alive then
there is nothing in this domain
no tree does remain near
no, this can not be here, not now, how?
nowhere in this cradle of maples exists
there was one but gone
the years, in creases
the sun, decreases,
the sin but to live longer than those loved
a traveler stained
tattered remains somehow stronger in the ruin
steel hardened under the constant cause of wounds
circumstance, fate
the great ghost oak awakens
the gateway, a marker
to this time of dying
so oak moon;
I know-
so oak moon;
I beseech you, I seek you
among the long of nights
for the respite of demise
may you grant wishes
upon, whisper
just whisper out, existence.

notes… sometimes the smallest things trigger a memory, this one in particular, I remember the day, much like today, not very remarkable, not very suitable, an early december rain, as I walked outside, I remember the crack, the flash, lightning arcing into that oak tree, the one that had always been, for at least my short life, FLASH! and the lightning arced out into the old basketball pole into the ground, the hair on my arms standing, the shock, well, the literal shock of being right there, seeing the death strike that killed that majestic old oak, and I remember her under that tree, and now all there is, is a patch of grass, not even a nice one, or uniform, many years have come and gone and the earth seems to hold the scar like my own, stump to root gone for so long now, but that little stretch of lawn, a scar, strange, maybe we are returned to dirt and something of us remains in that part, eventually it will all be plowed or something else, a street, a house, but for now, a reminder formed by the earth herself, and today, a subtle reminder brought in by a breeze, I literally do not see any oaks around but there was a singular leaf, a note, left there for me, and then these words came to be….

(for those new to my blog, welcome (and where ya’ been?), I write and post almost all in a whirl, off the cuff, the vast majority of what you will read here is done in one sitting, like I am doing now, flowing, that is how I do things, if you like? great, I appreciate your time, thanks.)

ebb and flow

ebb and flow

low angle photography of trees
Photo by Free Nature Stock on

low” 10.31.2018

the world is sinking, drowning into gray

even in the sunlight dwells, no denial

shadows ripple, within waves of dark energy

shallow, in the dearth of empathy

a look, a sinister flash, dark matter sky

a glint of the knowing

lifeless blood flowing from within a wound

thoughts rope bound in a fallow womb

for, what has cursed this land

so low

(if you are not familiar with my posts, I always post the original date I wrote something, kind of truth in print, or maybe I am just anal retentive… or both… but yeah, I wrote this back in October which surely seems like ages ago now, but sometimes I don’t post things as I write them, this would be one of those sometimes, I am generally optimistic but I believe there is a shadow for every sun, how can light exist without dark in simple)