The Feather & The Faun

– for the Amygdala

The Faun awakes amongst the trees-
It’s bed a heap of molded leaves.
It’s little head is still asleep and it is filled with dreams.

‘Til the world cracks open, once again
To bleed for Life, to breathe, and then
The Night will stitch it up and mend the seams.

For the Sun shines so brightly
For Knowledge, each day-
Trying to find out, for example,
How you know what to say
When you say what you say.

Yes the Sun is unrelenting
As it replaces the Unknown with Truth-
Trying to Know, but not knowing
That for some things there will never be proof.

When every element is laid out on the table,
Every secret drawn out of the dark.
Every phantom in its jar with a label.
Behold! The structure of the song of the lark!

Here’s a drop of your blood,
Here’s the thought you just had.
Here’s the wings once attached to your fancy.

Here’s your face in the mud,
Here’s the good that’s gone bad.
Here’s the hooves of the horse that was prancing.

There’s a glint in your eye
But it’s out of its socket.
A portrait of a lover
Fallen out of a locket.

There were holes in that bucket of water you carried
That person you fell for is perfect-
And married.

Yes the mist of the mystery
Has all blown away.

The store of the story
Has closed for the day.

For what you don’t know can hurt you.
Or perhaps it will save you.
To be sure, though, it’s difficult to say.

But when it’s all said and done-
Then it’s over.
And that’s no fun.

Besides, it’s an impossible feat.

For the more that you know,
The more you’ll know you don’t know,
So it’s best to view the Unknown as a treat.

For there’s a key to this cabinet
And wonder inside it
But don’t overlook the strange rug that lies under.

For Fate’s hand will soon grab it
And deftly it slides it
And you’ll mark the occasion with a blunder.

So if it’s answers you desire,
Grab a hold of your skin.
Feel the pull of your wires
Where that feeling begins-

Where, in fact, never ends.
Where, in fact, it cascades.
You are eternal messages sent
Through infinite streets of parades.

You are two cups and a string.
You are the phone and the call.
You have placed it
And you are the place
Where all waters must fall-

Where all things are built up.
Where all things are torn down.
You are the knife that cuts gems
That are placed in the crown.

Yes you are the view the whole world cannot see.
You are the words that foretold every thing that will be.

You ARE the kingdom, my friend.
You’ve no need for a throne.
And if you’re very, very quiet-
You’ll feel the world in your bones.

Now there’s a place for facts and figures
And there’s a place for figures to rest.
When you can’t quite explain
All the joy and the pain
Or the secrets that lie in your chest.

Change will do what it does-
Make what is from what was
But there’s no sense in guessing what’s coming.

Don’t take pride in the knowing-
Find joy in the finding.
Don’t name the song, just keep humming.

A feather falls from high above-
The tail of an eagle? The wing of a dove?
A person is simply a thing that you love.
The Brain is the hand that is inside the glove.

The Heart is a thing in your jacket.
Desire- a thing in your pants.
With your face in the shade of the brim of your hat,
Ask your shoes if they would like to dance.

Tell the world not to leave the light on.
Tell the Sun to nevermind with the dawn.
Make a bed of leaves your home,
In a quiet place, called The Unknown
And fall asleep, amongst the trees, with the Faun.

Open Palm & Sheltered Fist

The Rain, it falls upon the world-

The World opens it’s mouth and yawns.

And swallows up what must come down-

Consuming countless dawns.


Checks the mates of all the Pawns

And draws the Knights upon the Rooks

And topples castles to the ground-

Exterminates the crooks.


And looks into the sharpest corners,

Peers into the darkest hours.

Clears away confusion with the beaming of the Sun.


All around, the Forest’s rigging.

On our knees and digging, digging.

While time, it marches on, yes round the mountain, here it comes.


Through the lenses perched upon our nose,

Heaven’s light has turned to flame.

And bursts upon the scene

As towers burn in truth’s good name.


We’ve wandered, unbeknownst to us,

Into a room with walls of ivory.

Of marbled floors and gilded doors,

Countless windows for the eye to see.


And through the squares we see the world is round,

Forever spinning.

Like a spider spins a web around itself, again,

While grinning.


So be you high and dry and well and warm

And sheltered from the coming storm,

Or bundled up in puddles with your covers dark and torn-

Be you swaying from the tallest crane,

Or twisting in the hangman’s noose-

Hold on tightly to one smallest thing.


For Hell is busting loose.

Strumpets & Heathens

Here is a tale now of madmen gone lost-

Where angels and demons are found.

Here is a list of the books that are burned,

That are tossed to the side and unbound.


This bone of a tale,

This swing on a rail.

This thing made of nothing that moans and is frail.


Here is the pen.

It’s a fountain, a feather.

But where is the knife that will open its letters?


For there is a mountain of pages that bleed when

The fountain is bathed in by strumpets and heathens

For they all play trumpets and sing as they breathe and

They make picnic baskets with branches and leaves and

They howl at the Moon and they hang from the trees and

They revel in doom and make puppets with strings

That they weaved from the cotton that cost them their knees

And their backs as they break for they ache for some reason–


The world’s not awake!

Save for those filled with treason.


Now I’m begging your pardon,

I’ve become hard of hearing.

Must be fishing for something for my mind is reeling.

Our Story’s just starting

For the End, it is nearing.

So let’s sink in this ocean, shall we?

And get hooked on a feeling.


Now Ladies and Gentlemen,

My dear Boys and Girls,

Presenting the most glorious of all tales-

It’s the End of the World.

Lifting the Room with Your Fingers

There’s no feathers on the arrow,

No it’s just a sharpened stick.

There’s no sickness in your marrow,

No it’s just a parlor trick.

So let’s move into the next room then

And wait for break of day.

Let’s howl upon the new moon

Where the pain is washed away.

For the shadows pool into a cloak

That drapes over the head.

And no more heartfelt words are spoke

By a man who thinks he’s dead.

His eyes are hung upon the ground,

His knuckles drag and scrape.

From here there is no thing around,

From here there’s no escape.

The scenery, once painted bright,

Has fallen to the floor.

The world is black, devoid of light,

And flat for evermore.

“Now why is this?  It’s so unfair!”-

The angered Brain erupts.

Quothe the Heart- “Now, have a care-

You have to lift it up.”

From Through Looking to Looking Through

What night is this upon my brain-

A picture, plane to see.

A window there, unto an ocean

A square to go between.

Life collects into the bowl,

The doctor rolls his sleeves

And shakes from limb to limb

Much like the branches, filled with leaves.

With a twig as a spade, he’s digging a grave

From his cave comes a rattle and cough.

His breath disperses, not unlike when

A flock of birds takes off.

A feather is caught in his throat, you see,

A mosquito is caught in his ear.

And no one knows what the mosquito is saying

It is only him who hears.

The voices crawl up from the depths below,

The kraken awakes and appears.

The monster arrives, says “Hi” and “Hello”-

The sky, it finally clears.

Now this moral is old,

But it’s made of pure gold.

          I’m told it’s about facing one’s fears.

For once broken down,

It is quite often found-

          It’s not so bad, child- wipe off those tears.

For Fate is a cook, see

Why just have a look see

          In the pot and you’ll see that there’s hope.

I know it’s not that profound,

But it’s worth writing down.

          So open your books and take note.