I have a devious
minor chord
: it begat life
which I knew —
the fallen stems
of walking
lifeless shadows!
I could hug a
section of any
street if it
loved only me!
and the god-
damn birds
are lovely lean-
ing Songstress
words I am
compelled to die
for! Raw throats
of morning song
— I die.
:: 03-23-2015 ::
It’s the experience
of life that sculpts
the soul!
I too wondered why
then knew! My flesh
spoke too loudly while
the sun baked my fields!
I had the ultimate choice:
to tend to flesh or clean
my own — I choose life
and damn the flesh!
:: 03-24-2015 ::
The morning’s yawn is street-like sounds after
pre-dawn rains. I remove the stems of my waking
body from bed. This day the sun is a lazy un-
procured star that hasn’t yet met her bride but
the horizon hides hungrily behind the promise
of a martial morning. Yet again, today I divorce
last night’s dreams from today’s wakeful place.
:: 03-18-2015 ::
if by the largest mistake
i should find love
then by that mistake
i should be measured by
when mountains have crumbled
and oceans be dry
i shall embrace my mistake
and too, remember my life!
:: 03-18-2015 ::
And by the clock of life
i heard the birds
begin at times by three
and some by four
and my heart by soul
i heard my spirit
and times of love
and pain o’fear
I paint their song
in deep red-kiss
A distant neighbor
came by to say,
“i heard the brook
speak your name
like water upon
the rocks!”
I took his hand
and said these words,
“Tis Love in all
of life!”
:: 03-08-2015 ::
I sit here by the beyond
one spreading dot
of comfort space
and to feed the angry
snapping thoughts
of everything wrong
I could only weep
but for what I do not know!
:: 03-09-2015 ::
Love is a Nation of little people
the invisible workers of
inexhaustible nature;
a titter-patter walking
across all hearts
and passing through doors,
across erected walls.
some cry, “Hello!”
but mostly they go unknown
with tiny eyes glistening
and heavy souls
:: 03-09-2015 ::
MUMBLE DOPE droopy eye
feeble finger tremble
painting blue sky!
sun-sing blade light!
slicing fear in silver night
a muse-dance broken sight
damn! the dust twirls tight
in blood mix-meaning night
tonic ball burns and melts
Madness in eyes and ears
tongue-twisted lies
fire clean-crazy felt!
:: 01-21-2013 ::
rev: 03-10-2015
THE entrance was kept
in well lit corners
the rug a long dead beard
once hung upon a living face
and walls adorned in history
like the smell of something
that took its last breath
by dimmed years ago
And the boxes! Of spoons,
knives, and busy-doing life
and one of photographs;
the stolen moments of time
caught unprepared!
Faded, raped, and torn
of once living souls from
the 1900s — i could not hope
but to find one to make my own;
then caught my eye it did!
clearly written in white margin
“May 4, 1886” A Victorian
death photo — of me!
:: 03-07-2015 ::
little flower keeping
sun lit
within a meadow bright
all of your life
you were waiting
for this moment
to arrive
and your petals follow
the clouds so light
little flower seeking
love all life
within a bee to live
pollinating your heart
across the fields of life
and the sun stays afloat
while you swing and sway
into the winds of this day
a little flower loving life
awaiting this moment to be
and love spreads you across
the fields of life
:: 03-01-2015 ::
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