All I need
is to smoke a little weed
then climb out this window on my own

Cause when I fall far behind
the things in my mind
The length of my day day goes awry

As I bleed like a seed
from water thats freed
Can I call you to talk on the phone

So we can hunt like the lions
then dream with the bears
or I could hold you against me till dawn

I do blink when I think
bout how the river did shrink
And all the diamonds I've slipped through these hands

Though now I know that it's true
after stumbling near you
That the ice blue roses can grow

Let me find your lips
softly finding my way to your heart

Let me feel your pulse
still knowing tomorrow may not come

Let me internalize your scent
then drift inwards towards dream filled sleep

Let me go wanting more
more of you as you are in the light of day

Let me hope for more time here
to further understand who I am with you

I could love as the window sees the sun.
Open and Honest.
Simple and Pure.

Just open the door.

I could love as the hanging apple sees the moon.
Bright and Round.
Large and Swirling.

Just lift the curtain.

I could love as the angels sleep and dream.
Vast and Steady.
Hopeful and Engaged.

Just pour the wine.

I could love like the sail takes to wind.
Swift and Lean.
Powerful and Sharp.

Just share the time.

In hope
of skies blue,
vast and undeterred
are drying tears-
collected by unseen smiles

In threats of frigid
but burning ground below
is repentance-

A repentance found both sooner and later
One heavy with pastures of green- but none ever greener

In ancient words
from gilded pages,
bound in leather
hope and need

Are no ripe answers for the raging revolution,
only variant notions
shifting from here to there- and back again

The method of the three,
is mystery
beyond compare-

Black like the dark hours
that hide
the light of the day

Now and then-
all that can be done,
is to follow-
on bloodied foot,
over barren land

The aim of the carpenter
and his dinner guests
is and always was
direction

Purpose from an old- but new compass
in which one chooses to follow, deny
or silently go in search of other lovers-
all of a lesser degree

At the table of offering-
is space for bended knee
and an odd but abstract desire
for service

Not to self-
but to those who surround,
and swim in the very sea
in which the struggle
it is to cross

At the heart of creation
are mountains
and sandy crystalline beaches,
then city roads

All leading to country lanes,
fields, rivers, lakes
and vague dreams

Alas though,
no discernible
or translucent choice prevails-

All that's left
is the true and meaningful will-
of the weary traveler

She evaluated,
assessed and condemned
the mind,
and slights of tongue
but never attempted
to glimpse
inside my heart
which always swelled and heaved.

Those early weekend mornings
spent alone  
while they slept
and the sun climbed
broadly in the sky
were only safe because
of the proximity
of their souls,
her soul.

Maybe the outside
doesn't always reflect
what it can
or should
or doesn't show but feels
in vast measure
the way way a child feels
he's being carried.

Now idle winds blow
seething to be old
and free
of the minds own
burdensome choices
and rhetoric
about the ice
never again getting to melt.

Never being freed
to move from solid state
through flowability,
then wind its way
with out weight
down the road
toward yet another
chance at redemption.

That burn in the back of the throat isn't real.
It's an after effect. A side bar.
Psychosomatic. Problematic. Symptomatic.

Crippled in sentiment and misunderstanding.
Viscously bleeding from the mind in colors.
How lost to have gone and wandered there.

Clearly now in repose, there was no "them" to save at all.
Only him and his strangled mostly dying agreements with the sun.
That remain standing between the here and now in need of repair.

Fuck!

To our mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers, cousins, friends and spouses that lost their lives that day, to those we didn't know at all who said goodbye to their people for the final time that day, to the hearts of those that mourned along side a grieving nation.

We have not forgotten you, we have not denied ourselves of you and your memory.

We love today because we once loved you, we live today because of the way we once lived with you, we sleep and dream at night hoping its of you.

After sleep, tomorrow, with the new but very old sun, we'll rise. We'll breathe and stretch and move forward- heads high and hearts full in your honor. May God watch over us all.

Good Lord I loved those old days.
They way that life it glowed.
West Virgina misty mountains-
a girl I used to know.

All the people I done roamed with.
oh the songs that we all sung.
In that subtle little accent-
the sunrise always young.

Thank you for your time Sir.
Pleasure to meetcha Ma'am.
Here's a kettle full of memories-
and a vessel to be manned.

As we ride across the channels.
All our demons strong in tow.
Its every tiny morsel-
that gives us strength to row.

Downward way past furthur.
Always fresh right on the mind.
Is the way the forest parted-
when we left it all behind.

Ah but never to be forsaken.
Somewhere on a shelf.
Is a little piece of all of you-
and a shadow of myself.

Holding a candle tightly.
Keeping up the pace.
An empty highway driving-
simply searching for some grace.

To keep up with ocean.
Then ride up with the wind.
Just to get up in the morning
find another place to swim.

Swirling ledge
caught
Ebb and flow
must go

Wind waving
ride
here and there
true lie

Tune change
time
Live and die
unwind soft

Parody smile
luscious
Cut and paste
mortaly deep

Even style
portal
Laugh and cry
sleep wide

Long vail
absent
Push and pull
run left

Breezy notions set to mingle.
Blending country winds.
Regal elegant dance.
Burning brightly.
Luminescent.
Darling.
Soft.
This light sees the light in you.

The fact that I caused this- is the sun.
The fact that you let it happen- is the moon.
What lies in the space between is inconceivable.
There is no strength great enough to hang in the balance.

Unrequited it's a blessing to have truly loved. To have dangled precariously from the branch of another.

The actual limb at the fringe holds in its hand a magic. Leaking as a river flowing swift to the sea.

A tree of many roads not unlike the spine and nerves. The game comes along the telephone wire morphing like a child.

Hardening over time is the vine so thick and wide. Lost in its abbreviation an hour hand that never moves to slow.

So empty- the plant in the corner waits for light. Listening to the sound of water flowing through its veins.

Still gaining maybe even thriving, minus the aching break. Breathing and holding on to the wind pouring through his hair.

Of fair essence and hope
a radiant beauty
awaiting her prince

Of long desire and heart
a tired warrior
bereft of oar

Of souls bright and warm
a universe forged
together in time

like  love  heart  
time  oh  sun  
long  just  mind  
know  old  life  
way  night  need  
light  man  true  
eyes  place  day  
soul  water  rain

In desperate need of water or food
one would not need love.

In search of the sun the moon and the stars
one would not need love.

In the absence of shelter and warmth
one would not need love.

If blinded by the truth and stumbling down
one would not need love.

If cast away on a foriegn shore poor and broken
one would not need love.

If drowning in a sea of hardened tomorrows
one would not need love.

If sleeping and barely breathing in the dark
one would not need love.

Into fair maiden stone walls this tale is woven.
Just down past a landmark that together they'd passed a thousand times.
Here now, for the first time in twelve warm seasons he passed it alone.

Continuing and projecting forward he raced against his own fading star.
Seeking a style of justice that may not even exist.

While inwardly imploding large fractions at a time.

Dying the death
of a king
turned breathless pauper
thats recently watched
all the grains of sand
pass south
through orbs of glass
towards the grave.

Reaching to the heavens
from the floor
entwined in wails
and deep sunken moans
that labor in pangs
of anxious moments
which last for hours
and are only ever superseded
by short fits
of shaky sleep.

Hope and its former entitlements
simply derailed-
shattering each
of an un-numbered tomorrows
leaving them void
of how it was,
even though
that may have
been better
for sure.

However
when grand vistas
are moved by heavenly verse
or demonic desires
and the clouds are blown
east toward the sea,
its only done
so that the past-
has a chance
to dissipate.

Then appearing
far to blessedly late
is the painting
under the painting
of that holiday
when things seemed stronger
When sadly
it now clearly seems
we were silently
slipping away from one another:
one sliver of space at a time.

These hollow eyes tell a different tale
of a darker more nefariously slanted reality
that nobody understands but you.

How it was this- then that
and then that and that
then finally what its become.

A charade orchestrated by synapse and fear
as well as a lack of experiential experience
that I  followed earnestly with my heart.

The unbearable weight of truth weakens resolve
bending intentions like magic bends the mind
until all energy flows away from the source.

The bridge now rests in water
with eddy's creating and dissipating
where the metal meets the cool cool water.

No longer can the other side be reached
looks like we'll camp here for the night
they'll be no crossing the divide today.