Copyright 2006, CJ Koenig-Stoodley, unpublished Works, All Rights Reserved
Only the sanguine and seemingly mystical tones
of Carlos Santana
saves me from the inner diatribe
and leads me to the divine;
away from a recondite life
that is testament to my physicality,
my fragility,
and your frailty,
allowing me to transcend
your pallid lineaments
so mutable and strangely omnipotent
where I am concerned
though now a millstone
as sepulchral as the imprecate yell of the demented
a testament to my mortality
and the alchemy of a mystic-directioned compass
Zara’s Bois:
When the powers-that-be make the decision to return a selfish party-girl to Earth on three missions of redemption, can romance and mayhem be far behind? One hot and trendy gay nightclub, two bickering angels and three unlikely p
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