daws cry on my roof,
viewing musty lights,
builded high on rocks.
seven towers sing
your old song, now gone:
this is not my fault.

asking opus surf-khan:
why no waves, no proof?
vanish, vanish, man:
daws cry on my roof.

tragic eastern pittance,
gas-wronged breath aloof.
banish, banish, man:
daws cry on my roof.

pigeon paper truths,
accusing hoodlack lights,
still nigh in vox.
earthly powers belt
some old hymn, now dim:
this is not my fault.

slow stiltdock
orange grain  s e a
fat boats chooglin

Spirit of Stillness,
i feel you in yon sunny room,
where life is all notebooks and slippers:
beauty isolates,
lagging alarms,
cute curled clutter.

Happy Prince Pillow,
i see you in the lava lamp,
you bubble like rabbits in hopping:
lo-fi fantasies,
twenty-first centuries,
worrygone purring.

let me have that future, just
once. i know you are in me,
and calmer and deeper than
some present identity.

Innersweet Comfort,
i know you want to save me yet,
together we'll wander naïvely:
ticket to air-japan,
youthbright aurora, and
peace never ending.

when floods rage in the summer breeze,
our springing is forgot;
and then there'd be no others, we've
already cast our lot.

I am the lion, the wolf, and the horse,
Rainbow and *** of gold, river and source.
I am a windstorm of passion and rain,
Thresher of tangleweed, drummer of pain.

Flocks of the autumn air dance on my wing,
Soldiers and statesmen both bow heads and sing,
Fireflies synchronize hearts to my beat,
Churchimes clap triumphal rings down the street.

I am an echo in dancehalls of old,
I am the fever that comes with the cold,
I am the soul of the goodness of Earth,
Guardian and blesser of every new birth.

I am the mother bird, high in her nest,
All of the creatures are under my breast.
I am the white dove that flies from the strife,
I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

To the sole sea child
of the mother who willed,
whose wide basin womb
the impassioned waves filled
and sewed up a coat
for the soul of the earth,
to her newborn heir
and most reverant birth,
we shout, not in shame,
praising whom the sea breathed,
who clothed dry lands with rain
and gave life unto we.
   Now we vow, undeserving,
   our fidelity unswerving.

the snow is still here
trouble is the weather
we are all in pain