All The Mother

Return of the darkness to soils of being. Desecration, madness resulting. The maker of sin, now morals are gone again.                 Feelings left, now roots are wilted.                 Killed the leaves begin to fall.    Our Sun's madness            drains the life                      from our sacred ground.   HG - 1995-2000

Drinking With My Dark Past…. And Loving It!

I gather all my specters from the deep waters and sing songs to long gone wisps of memory that once held me in chains. We drink deeply of melancholic elixirs, imbibing of the dear lost ones; while predicting with drunken certainty things still to happen. I have some very rambunctious skeletons. They have never stayed … Continue reading Drinking With My Dark Past…. And Loving It!

Death of a Way of Unliving

And so it begins, as one of me dies another takes its place. As torn limbs and loves      grow stronger amidst my own demise. I wandered through the ruins,    trying to descry what I had been. Here and there   a shaded memory  survives. I know if I disturb them        they'll dissolve. … Continue reading Death of a Way of Unliving

What it is to be Alive

Movement in my cells. Blood in my veins. Breath in my lungs, from my balls to my tongue; a feeling I cannot tame. So this is what it's like to be alive. A biological enigma, nurturing  this stigma, 'til the motions in the muscles stop and I die.   Thoughts race through my mind. Emotions … Continue reading What it is to be Alive


A slow shift, back and forth from consciousness.                 Drifting further on now reverse and still. Kept as is.                 The sleep is here. Away and flow                 sliding back no gravity to hold. Close the eyes,                 the motion is in sleep.   HG - 1995-2000

Vapid Outrage

In times of tumultuous circumstances, one ought to be interesting; there are no merits for bland words and banal verbatim, even less for click-share sentiments that weep with the sincerity of a chopped onion. Our striped bar avatars, smooth, plastic faces displace our discourse with a buoyant sense of relevance. Self serving and ineffectual , … Continue reading Vapid Outrage


I see this holy place above me, though for me I sit around the fire, watching the sparks fly. As all the world seeks without the inner meaning; conjures, conjectures and generally does nothing. Beside the ocean where the trees meet the beaches, the distances between us seem enormous. The likelihood of universality is but … Continue reading SPARX


I have worn out the words that describe rebirth. There are no new ways to recreate what is. The sculpture pulverized to dust, and water added, folded back into clay, then molded into some transcendent form, is still dust. Each palace built on opulence and verdant builder’s ego, with gilt and polished stones and cedar … Continue reading Rebirth?