join me where the mob can't follow join me where the leads go cold be a swallow out of season deeds of silver tinged with gold practice what becomes your passion fashion yourself high or low love is all that march requires tires crunching in the snow
i live in fear, and this is truthful word: i have seen things unspoken of, unheard -- for will, imposed on will, has been revealed; the land is bruised, its soul reclines, unhealed i live in doubt, and i am full of pain: i have believed through energy, and drain -- for hearts, inside of hearts, have been a lie; the land must sleep, and so, for now, do i
much the green i broken lay,
far beyond displeasure –
countertops and cherry-limes,
towers full of treasure —
much the season comes around,
songs and gales of laughter –
much the green i broken lay,
cleaning up
the after
mirror of tranquility,
bright in hues of celebration:
time passes on clouds of music
where harmony brings together
water and sky —
color and light —
the inner and outer worlds —
springtime of joy in truth:
heart racing, scent of nectar, and
the audible breathing that’s
life
itself
Half-frozen mud, cold bracing air
A wind that makes my neck aware
That leaves torn from the tree will die
These poor gray strays who tumble by
And like the ghostly light I seek
The morn recedes behind the line
Only of chance to risk a peek
At drifting lives
Like yours
And mine
(“Aware” – 11-19-2014)
sometimes, when prompted i go out of mind i'm not in yours, or mine but unconfined i roam across the lake into the sky where lambent moonlight yields a resupply
(“out of mind” – 12-4-2014)
the earth is thirsty so am i
out past where we all come to die
alone and without celebrant
a wastrel bard irrelevant
the half-cocked eye the shaking lip
fair captain of a foundered ship
the desert plain of fated need
to thirst to ache
to drop
to bleed
she was as water endlessly surrounding
all that he’d ever thought to entertain;
as one who stretches ever for enlightening
and self-absorbing, always, just the same –
the light came onto, into her in gladness,
the dawn became the dwelling place of kings:
and every bit of money went as quickly
as they could turn it into newish things –
of happenings, they knew but very little;
they cared for nothing of the world’s bright schemes —
for they were all that was, a sort of ocean
of lunacy, and sunset-colored dreams
The wind across the woods is in her ears;
The morning’s full of spirits out of place
And time, a sort of fence built out of years
That makes this darkened world a spectral place.
She pulls her jacket tight against the cold,
And leans against the wind to help her start.
This temporary dwelling’s gotten old;
Another harbor’s waiting for her heart.
The air is pushing, whistling through the trees.
They move in silhouette, together yoked —
Her skin is stinging with the early freeze;
This place attacks her, sure and unprovoked —
And yet, it serves to prod her, help her learn
We all must carry this weight, in our turn
