Here in the dusk of the day I dilute
Myself into anything:

I am a hummingbird and I go fanning
The flora of the forest,
I move in a slow motion when I watch
Myself fly,
However I am also the wind which carries
Each feather in a flight of fancy,
And soon the Luna dances into my
Fluttering wings and I am lit
By the mist of living water as the moon
Makes them tiny falling stars,
A galaxy is lost in my wings,
And soon I am the rain in the night
As I cover the earth in liquidity
With my falling ways
Giving life to life,
And while the rain I covered
My sad human form walking in the
Afterthoughts of the hummingbird,
As I move into the darkness,
And I remember I am afraid
Of the shadows.

Sleep now, my daughters of fire,
I have removed the teeth from
The flowers, in your dream there
Will he a crystalline home
At the bottom of the sea.

Your hair like morning dew,
Glistening like constellations,
I have prepared your bed
With sheets of earth and a quilt
Of smooth butterfly wings.

Sleep now, my daughters of fire,
I will watch your dreams from here,
I will be the star you follow home,
You will play in a sea as blue
As the day sky as fish wink at you
Both in a meadow of coral meadows
Riding the sea horses to visit golden fish.

A heavenly body will watch over you,
Sleep now daughters of fire,
The night dove has come to sing
You to sleep, a celestial dream awaits
You, and when you return,
A father will be just as grateful.

Man, whatever bleakness has named
You, I have never seen your face.

I imagine you rugged and more....
More than I had been for her.

I imagine she sees strength in you like
A stone on a mountaintop: loftily perched.

And your hands that have stolen my embraces,
I imagine them smoother than my calloused
Fingers,

My jealousies grow as you see in this poem,
It kills me, every verse that I imagine you....

Are you like this?
Is this the unimaginable lust she has for you,

Are your ears ringing now,
Do you even acknowledge me as her man?

Tell me, tell me if you held her through death,
Did she cry herself to sleep in your arms?

When you see your destiny,
Is she among the constellations you foretell?

I am sure you are quite the lover,
You who now kiss the woman I had before,

You who hold her in adoration,
Perhaps you know why I wanted to live,

Because you have stolen all good from me,
All the hope I had from this verse,

In petrification of my soul
I confess to you I am a broken man.

What divine intervention will seek you out?
Will karma let you be as happy as I was?

In a myriad of solemn thoughts,
I am at a loss for the wrath I hope vengeance has for you.

But treat her well,
Kiss her methodically and with purpose,

And maybe she will show her angelic eyes
Which promise forever, quietly whispering:

I will be here with you always,
So that when the promise has penetrated you,

The divinity you feel at the comfort of her
Lifetime of promised cherishing,

Maybe she will find something else
In another promise of another soul,

Only this thought eases the heavy bitterness
Left in my procession of days.

For now move forward,
Because I am paralysed,

And to the other man,
The burden of me writing this poem.

I will die enormously in San Antonio,
On a day when my poem trends
For the last time, on a day I can
Already recollect.
I will die in San Antonio
- and I won't fake this one-
Perhaps on a Saturday,
As today is Saturday in Midwinter's
Grasp.
    It will be a Saturday,
Because today I have written this
Poem, these prophetic lines,
I have been inter-dimensional
For too long, perhaps this fleece
Of flesh was meant to die here
In this verse.

    Ernest Gonzales is dead.
He beat himself up like a depressed
Boxer with an emptied punching bag,
Though he rarely fought back,
Life beat him like an ugly dog.

These are the words,
My witnesses, on a Saturday
Reading these lines, the pain
In my chest, the rain, the sorrow,
The lonely roads.....

I met her by the garden
Standing in the middle of bleeding
Roses and burgeoning flowers
Caught in the order of the wind.

She spoke to me:
"Write me anything
And put your soul
At the cusp of the poem"

I wrote her a mountain
And became like a lost
Petal encircling the climb,
Half rhyming in a maddening sonnet.

When I finished the poem
I found her reading my words
And tumbling down the mountain
I had created for her.

I made a bed of lilies for her fall
And she never thanked me ,
" Now go and sley the whitest deer
From the deepest depths of a wintry solace"

I clamored in a sley and rode
Three reindeer to a wintry solace,
I found the whitest deer had snow
Upon his face and a half smile.

In the insanity of whiteness I
Killed the deer whom shed a tear
At the notion he was slain
For a hopeful love.

I came down from that cold place
Into The garden where she awaited,
Her face turned white as snow
At the beauty of the slain white deer.

Half enamored with me,
She gazed upon me like a hopeful flower,
"I cannot leave the garden,
Go and bring me the dove under the veil"

I went straight away to the eternal place
Where love meets secretly,
The dove like a saffron  sacrament
Hid shaking under a veil of secrecy.

And I plucked the dove from eternity,
I showered her with a burst of feathers
And she was smiling picturesque
In the middle of the garden.

"You are almost there my love,
Still I cannot leave the garden,
Bring me the flowers whose color
Is like dreams, I am your woman in the garden"

I could not fathom the request,
What dreams may come are never
Colored one stroke or the other
But painted eternal in the minds eye.

These flowers did not grow on trees,
But on the very soul,
I cut them from spirits,
I cut them from my hopes.

I cut like a wounded lover cuts,
Blind at the pain,
Direct at the intentions,
I cut deep from my own garden.

And when I returned from cutting
The flowers from my own soul,
She was no longer there in the garden
Leaving all I had given.

Burdened upon my very self
I followed her and found her destination,
She was preparing a feast of lovers
Reaping all that I had sewn.

I followed her into the garden once
And again, she goes as an eternal
Flower made of gentle air
Through vast flowers and secrets,

I follow where none else can follow,
Into the love of a woman
In the farthest limits of my heart
Into the maddening love again.

a deluge,
         a flood,
water flows
          as a seedling
drowns itself in a word
inaudible            deaf
the fertile ages like a promiscuous fire
         buried with flames
passion                 bound to the world
by passion            it is also released

           man the animal
           speech craft of a deserted tongue
filtered                 thoughts retreat
         to fallen realities
sorrowing confusion revolves
      around the charred light
burn the natural flower
      let loose the animal craving
drink of the chalice
from the fictitious mind
         all the world on fire

animalistic morality
      the flame circles
the weeping lion
amidst the penumbras skin
     they weep for the magnetic night
burning inside a compassionate luminosity

        man/animal
a surge of atonements
for the rage inside us

Hair unpinned,
Half smile,
More like a half moon
That shrugs off the day.

Arm at your side,
Like an angry mother,
Glued eyes to towards
Me and your presence
Exploded into my memory,
Subliminal walk skywise rises.

The weary fall
Through which you see the world,
The weary rose you were
As your presence burns through
The cold.

The portrait of your figure
As your memory
Burns the epitaph of your presence
Into the windows of the soul.

The sorrowful birds seemed less enchanted,
Like a forgotten holocaust beating
In agony, the silent grey of dawn
Set forth over the mystery.
Under perplexed veils I call
Forth the lost days of depressing
Symbols, like a raven in the distance,
A storm smothering its deathly gaze.
     And when alone the sparrow
Refused to chirp, instead wallowed
In the quiet solitudes of the lucid
dreaminess of the bitter infinite grey.
      Earth offers its deathly gaze
As a meager conteplation in the
Grey of the early Winter displaying
Her snowy apron like some dark matron.
Gradually the day drags obeying
Time, slow to the mind of a sad one,
Preoccupation of illusions,
Like a poets inane blank page,
A wind minded sadness flying
Through darkened pupils:

A grey irony forms,
A crow cloaked as a hope
Cries to the infinite grey;
"I will always love you,
Though you abuse me."

I dreamed a glacial moment,
Where time ends or begins,
I was hopeful the grey would
Never end and I could wear
Its sad dark velvet with its
Perjured love and scorned existence,
I follow the shadow of storms
Searching for the torment with in,
The bleakness is a grey day with
The sun hiding its hopeful radiance.

Insanity is a somber flow of waters;
Its rain above the gentle mind
Is a murmur of moaning thoughts
Ina crooked wind, a subtle chill
In the distant breeze.

Suddenness like air breathed
In torn skies, among the vivid blue,
The thoughts collapsed to the startled
Earth like a great ceiling of copper
And shadow.

The Asylum beneath the slow shadows
In a lunatic fringe upon thistle fields,
Flowering Insanity's bloom like
A vibrant Willow under a filtered sun.

The liquid pain in tangled clots
Of distant sanity unlocking
A rapid downpour of condensed
Versions in reality's mixed afternoon.

The Asylum takes in the deep grief,
The rain takes a pause,
The day long and sad,
In the greyish distance the light
Hits though the smallest window.

A rolling hill
With suffocating oaks
Under the dire grey of sky
Pass along the dire straits
Of the Ded.

And the Ded do speak
Like silent auras wandering
In poetical forms,
From the Ded they embrace
The pain and sad skies.

Slowly they walk the desolations
And bring forth the balance
Of the darkness's and a
Black rose blooms.

Once alive the Ded searched
For hope;
But the self absorption
In the heavy skies
In the mind's prison
Hold a still terror,
The Ded walk among marble slabs
Of light.