Oh, Harmony

Oh, Harmony, tell me, where have you gone?

The whole world is lost and can’t find its way.

The unity has fell to disarray

In the darkness of this prolong’ed dawn.

Darkness, yes! For the light of peace did wan.

The candle untended, the fi’re let sway

From the brisk winds from Harmony’s decay.

What is left now that Harmony is gone?

Surely Harmony must be found somewhere,

But where to look in such a vicious place?

Where love trumped by malice, that dog unfed

Does break loose from its chain – let wild there

To reap havoc in Harmony’s safe place….

But alas. what once was lost now is dead.


My Cosmic Heart

She blushed brightly.

I think her cheeks would have

Outshined any star in the sky.

She loved so deeply,

Her heart might have collapsed

Under the gravity of its own adoration.

But even if it were to do so,

The resulting supernova

Could not even have diminished

The light gleaming off of her soft cheeks.


My space and my time

Bent about her

As if she were a space-time singularity:

Bending inwardly

To infinity.

Bending inwardly

To the deepest depths of her soul.


As I’ve always said,


Let your love be as dense as a space-time singularity –

Love her to infinity.


And as such,

Between her and me

There was no space at all.

With an embrace so tight,

We invaded the bonds of the molecules between us.

As our flesh melded,

The atoms between us were crushed.

With all the energy released,

You’d think we could power the world,

Except that all the energy expelled

Generates this love I have

For her in my cosmic heart.

Love’s Meaning

Some people would try to ru’in love’s meaning –

To call it but marriage and leave’t at that.

I find myself at a diff’rent leaning,

Where love is but love, and hence that is what

To one’s perception, many would lay flat

Everything they own for one eve’ning

With the one they love – one moment whereat

E’en the harshest heart can be caught singing.

But alas, my gentle heart, not today….

What has the world come to that people would

Shut the door on love, and instead relay

What they hear from ‘far, and claim I, too, should?

But darling,

I love you with a love straight from the heart,

Not by love diluted with Heaven’s art.



This is sort of my response to these whole “Religious Freedom” bills passed by North Carolina and now Mississippi. I’m a bit torn because I believe in liberty. I mean, if I own my home, I can refuse anyone I want entry into my residence, with or without a solid reason. And yet, if I decided to operate a small business out of my home and sell wooden figurines or something, but refused sales to particular groups of people, then all of a sudden it would be a problem.

So, as a staunch libertarian, I can support the rights of businesses to operate in any way they feel like. After all, this only makes anti-LGBT businesses that much easier to boycott.

So in essence, I suppose I’m more disappointed in our society for turning nonissues into huge issues. So I’m more mad at society than I am at government, because on the whole, these discrimination laws wouldn’t be able to exist if it weren’t for society. And even if the laws did exist in a perfect society, no businesses would refuse service to the LGBT community anyway, just because they’d be operated by reasonable human beings. So if someone refuses service in response to these bills, then that just shows that they were shitty people the whole time.

I don’t know. There’s so much discussion over the issue. What are your thoughts? Someone change my mind, PLEASE! I promise not to kick anyone off my blog for being gay or something. All are welcome in my tiny world!

Nietzsche in Love

The German philosopher Frederick Nietzsche once said:

“We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.”

While I’m not much a dancer myself,

No days are lost that I am with you.

For my heart constantly

Can be caught

Dancing within my chest,

As if delighted to be imprisoned

Behind my ribbed cage.

After all,

Who would want to be free

From your anesthetizing gaze?

Why You Should Date an Artist

Few look at art without appreciating the imperfections.
You know my favorite part about live music? –
It’s the rawness.
It’s the smoothly played-off wrong notes
And the imperfections of the intonations
That assure me that this is raw talent
And not some artificial bullshit.

So why would I want some manufactured love?
Love should be organic!
It’s not when she’s all made up
That I find her most beautiful.

It’s when I can feel the artist’s anguish
In the hasty brushstrokes of her hair
Fist thing in the morning.

The depth of the dramatic tones
In her eyes.

Perfection gets old
And is all too generic.
To the connoisseur of art,
Nature’s subtle brush
Has done more for her
Than Any manufactured cosmetics
Could ever do for anyone.


You’re average fella
Could walk through the fucking Sistine Chapel
And just see four walls
And an Oversized ceiling.

That’s why you should always date an artist.
They can see more than mere flesh.
That’s why I can walk through her soul
And see endless colors
Painting her inner walls
And a limitless ceiling
Where I see her hand reaching out to the stars above
Because her bounds are nonexistent.

Her ceilings are an illusion
That any good artist can see right through.


She’s one hell of an artist herself.
No matter the stoic expressions on my face,
She could paint a smile on my face
In any way she’d like.

One whisper from her lips
Could paint my cheeks
The color
Of her lust.

One slash of her paintbrush nails
Down my back
Will leave streaks of her wrath.

Sometimes her gluttony
Might emboss my chest
In ravenous teeth marks
Until she splashes her viscous paint
Across my loins.

The way her watercolor eyes
Look into mine,
And we both know
We’ve painted a goddamn masterpiece.

Locked and Loaded Mind

Neurons fire
From a loaded gun mind,
Ricocheting against the skull
Of some thinker’s head.

Some thoughts are more heavily loaded than others,
And ricochet over and over again
So that they won’t be forgotten
So easily.

Even once these thoughts cease ricocheting,
The bullet casings remain where they fall,
Littered amongst the casings of other thoughts.
Is not my mind smart enough
To know that littering is wrong?
Or is it simply some obsessive hoarder?

It’s a curse, really.
But with that curse may come magic,
For love and joy erupt from the same gun,
and the ricochets of those bullets
Are far more intense
Than any butterfly wings
Fluttering about one’s stomach.