Wake, wake, wake " she called to me
There’s a sun waiting for no one
Put on your socks, put on your feet
There’s a sun we now must catch

The birds could fly against the wind
And the fish could swim against the tides
And the grass grow without the rain
But the sun couldn’t shine without him

So we acquired the dust our feet could raise
And held roses that seem not blossom,
To make offerings to the gods below
Or to know if we could pick the scent as we use to

We came where too he cast his shadow upon
-There she opened our arms to the sea
Perhaps to reach into the blanket it could give
Or to escape, be saved from the absence

Wake, wake, wake " he calls to me
There’s a sun waiting for no one
Put on your socks, put on your feet
There’s a sun we now must catch

In a garden of rosary pea I do lie, a gentle wind-
There to perish, I softly swirl- yearning release-
From undying grief brought by a season, mad in nature
-A cold cold that slain the snowy lilies, my only love
A parallel of roses once swirled, I deeply- too
That nurtured from earth where buried
-But roses, *****- loved the sun, the sun alone
And hast, say no whiff for my bottomless fill
Ah, then- when the sun, its angst has bore
Then its tongue over the roses bloom, lapped
And leave a burnt, a shriveled to, in shame
I came then again, hurrying to the -roses aid,
To bury, free from the suns – mortifications
Here, along this unrequited where daily wandered
Came my snowy lilies- neath some flowering almond
They - dawdled lonelily and shyly there,
That upon there look their thoughts were written
And beck, I softly sang and made them dance
And swirling, filled here bottomless with fragrance
-Four seasons slept and woke- but in love, a jiff
When with, in my watch and air, their ***** lie
Heard whispers, of colds- love to a jasmine
Whom when touched by- a cypress came
And of its love then to a dahlia that red pour-
And in their ***** where lie, I did feel
Echoes its ire that made the sun frost than a moon
And allowed under some aspen tree-’ its ire thrive
For not a fair flower bare a desire, dreading it
-Nurturing its foul and hatred for all that was loved
And all that was loved, it spats its venom-
And none was loved than my snowy lilies
And none was festered than my snowy lilies
-Now shredded, perished a death by me-
Than be frozen in colds embrace from reach
I, in a garden of rosary pea do lie, the gentle wind
There pleading, weary- to go where my lilies came

If I die before the august cold,
Lay me there in aegus high
Where the youths and babes are buried
In the deep mist, where eyes have no use
Lay my face in the earth,
From blinded vultures hungry for my soul
-Lay me in the familiar grave, deeper,
To reach needed warmth in that cold,
Hidden in the depth, the pulse of earth
-There upon the slippery highway, stairs, bury me
Where I shall dream of heaven or hell
But when the autumn air is here
Dig out my grave and lay me
-Up, up upon the cliff
Bare- for the breeze to wake,
But if only tasting, and if I ever sleeping,
Tie my bones to roll in the ocean
In the belly of a storm, for a spark my body to stir,
Then, let the sun into where my eyes has lived
To melt, burn the coldness, stiffness that froze my heart
But if it fails, denying me its embrace
As the passing wind has, denying me its voice
Or as the river here echoing silence, still
-The fields there smothering scents,
That in my eyes-empty, its blossoms to blur and shrink
And if they failing, betraying me- like these here,
Rest then your tender hands my love,
For they have no way in the thicket of death
But on your hope, there is a ripple hidden within me
Made by the tears, sweats that flutters in my absence,
For they shall flow into my sleepy bloods
-And remain after the winter is done

Descend atop soul sanity mask in madness
From above heaven whose eyes within see
Beyond shores existence laid me
Burying me in ere twain
Gusting world mine to world hers

Up on thoughts, string illusoriness
That separates’ from us you
And yet makes special, unique, different’ disease
Whereon shame appears to dearest
Nor disappears aloofness

Some trade life worthy not exchange
Which fates gift up on lowly
Fashioning life on path mystery
That rose on desert air rejoice in comparison
The streak life in death

In clamors unknown, made’ only my notice
That leaves muttering to yours lips
The bind ye little gods, with power over shoulders weakened
And in clatters picks paleness over beauty
Ignored the within, letting it wither perish


Conflicting thoughts, utterances
Listening fragile, mind busy
Above lamentations eyes blinks
Away freedom from shame, with wings vulnerability
And yet price expensive as sink into clumsy alienation

As trailing moving ants smiles rewinds reminds
Of remains memories, and of its blankness
Leaving in shores unwrapped, uncovered
Leaving not a cord of reasoning
Which, what I with heart half, ripped soul, aging body?
What not if empty not?

Like red rose tossing winds wild, with fragrance lost
Of blooming style, wearied and ****** of blood
Like it, my heart ends
Of trees heartbeat I hear,
Of leaves veins I feel
Towards stars, I see wires
And root neurons

When again the commune of breeze
Or the romantic touch of night sun
Or sight the noon star, the night rainbow
When again, lesser be all afore

Let it the voice heard in the herds bleat
Let it the voice noticed in bees buzzes, in chirping birds
With clouds whispering me before it pours
And road telling where it goes
Night revealing it journeys as day
With love gossiping of coming hatred, disgust
And deeds, of rewards, sows, of harvest
With door telling where it passes
And babies, who they be
Have not you the words spoken?
That still fetters my ankles keep
That still locked between walls I

That I prepare for fallen night,
With garments sleeps I as I journey
For dreams sometimes of mourn, often to merry
If this, mirror held sway as I slumbers lumber.
I the might not of madness but fondness

Trickle, tinkles seconds away flips
As curtains a close draw
With theme, plot, setting absent
For even life mystery webbed reality
Through overgrown state journeys eternal
Beneath wordless voice perceive
The whimpers, whispering souls

Night cometh,
-With the absence of you-
It wakens a loathing for the era
And there in it I whisper-
Day shall come, it shall
With the presence of you-
And though it crawls, at slowest pace
I hurry to it, to your air
Feeling presence in all that you held
And in all that touched- was warmth
Ember -warmth that swallows cold
A cold that cometh with the night-

Now the good days all gone
And feelings wilt- as you fade
And ash, halt the desires of day
That night- bringer your absence longed
And upon then- the desire of night cometh
O beautiful night- never leave-
For there in slumber-full of dreams
My only warmth
And there in slumber- that heeds thee
My only peace-

Crow of the **** calls into pleasant dreams,
The ray from the aged untamed fury sun gladdens and saddens him,
The greet from the aging locust peddler seem a bleating scream,
He forever lay in a mere shell of old ache grim.

The curtains of reminiscence aloof, except for memories unknown,
Mood wavering in desolation and shade as though of lingering rose with no jack,
This, for thought of dabbling feet in flowing stream consumes him,
And all that remains is unpleasant voices humming sorry words of comforting smacks.

The path to history is but mystery as it is concealed from his field,
For no more shall the earth hear the scream of his ***,
Or the wild winds feel the sting of his bows and shields,
Nor will his sweat watering the ocean go.

Perhaps the richness of brightened exploit may yet do more good than evil pats,
Yet smokes of his name falter into desert winds as though he was sand in bank of oceans round,
His uncompleted hut accommodating vile and evil cats
Nor his farm an exchange give for **** quickly gain ground.

There he lay waiting to awake from chaos of truth,
His mind forever lost in dead battle,
Once was he called the pride of the glowing village, the taste of all maidens and the taker of Ruth
But even now his betrothed forever is in the arms of another embattled.

For like many he was, conceived and born along the path of known,
Whimpering in the want of food, his mother alone,
Happy, when cuddled and clasped from flames,
But now left to shadows and shading fames.