Vermis Meridiem

More Stars than There are

Taking It Chilled

We take our drinks Cold,
Icy and chilled,
So the Stench—

of stale tonics,
of each other’s true repulsive
Scents and Intents,

of our unfavorable Circumstances,
and of the futility
of it all

Can thoroughly
Escape our paralyzed


a night of passion strained and spent, and the sun rose, and painted it all

Silent Saviors

even in much direction-less times, there are those who come to aid with their calming whispers

found object | spring rain

                                                a rain drop hanger 🙂

Sun, Obscured

               how man obscures itself from the truth with all its constructs

Where You Are, Not.

                           to get lost in something after a day of drudgery

She Washes My Feet

She looks
In dark amber,
Bright eyes—


from them
hidden Purities
of a gray world
are reflected.

Heavenly Saint,

But she thanks
for the slightest things,
And Virtues
does she audaciously

that because of Her,
My feet are rinsed
Ever clean.

A Mythical Encounter

I recently had the a rather intimate exchange with a mysterious and delightful creature, and couldn’t help but to share some notions that were inspired by this meaningful event:

“The Moth comes out at night in search of the Light. The night represents the darkness of ones own ego and the pitfalls that accompany it. Moth recognizes that it cannot find its answers in the dark, so it seeks out any form of light to illuminate its heart. The Moth teaches the symbolic meaning of following the Light like it follows the Heart. In fact, the Moth’s light represents the “Light of Heart” that guides all souls along the quest of their destiny. As the Moth follows one light to the next, it sees the mirror of its own heart in the darkness, and remembers that there are no answers in the ego, no matter how many ways the ego may represent itself.”

—universe of symbolism.

My March Madness

“…Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.” 


Just Punk Things

“I am an architect!
they call me a butcher;
I am a pioneer!
they call me primitive;
I am purity!
they call me perverted…”