The rays of a crescent moon
carefully caress the curvature 
of her. Reckless, as we are unfamiliar-
with one another. Inevitably.. Soon-
our bodies are conversing
with no need of an interpreter.
Slightly bewildered,
we cautiously proceed.
We were taking turns,
taking the lead.

You see? You are wise to escape the lies
of that grand and furious burning sun.
In it's rays, you would have had to stay;
for: it imprisons all who come- to visit.
I'll warn you though! Be careful of the moon:
for- it frequently sings a catchy tune
that, in fact, isn't quite the entire truth.
It did tantalize that little town's youth,
back on that winter evening in 1672;
& ever since then, those kids- have never been seen.
Perhaps- they made it to El Dorado
or maybe they made it to Colorado.
Regardless- the parents have missed
their children and wonder where they've been.

My mind has come to a conclusion:
- that I need to go somewhere rich in seclusion
- to a place in the woods where I can think.
The state of the world has only caused me to sink
- deeper into my long trench of concerns.
I need to go fall asleep next to the dying ferns
- and forget this grim world that they've created.
Yes! There's no longer any time to debate it;
I must be off- & gone from my companions thoughts.
Yes, my friends, it's true; I've simply got
- to get away from this gloom ridden space.
I need to find, in the trees, my own little place
- where I can live without government control.
That, you see- my friends, is my destined goal.

Oh, the envy I bestow for her city...
It should be I holding her head at night
while she dreams up something pretty.
I still remember the lights
waving through my rearview mirror
after I dropped her off at home.

It's beginning to feel like I'm choking-
& the situation isn't getting any better.

                                         ...

I aspire to be thought provoking
with my every written letter.

                                        ...

If you do something frequently,
you're bound to get it right-

                                       ...

                                      eventually.

                                       ...

Who knows?

                                       ...

                                     Maybe one day-

                                       I just might.

                                       ...

As for now, I'll continue to fight-
to resist the temptation of drugs
in my life.
                                     ...

Oh, but how very bright-
all the drugs make life...

January 5th, 2016.
Five in the morning.
Red eyes caused by being up since
four (am) the day prior.
He stands in Winnipeg airport
staring off at all the people.
"None of them are boring,"
his brain tells itself,
"They are all exquisite stories..
sitting upon their own personal shelves,
waiting to be opened."
Be wary, my friends. 
Many of those who would like to read you, 
will only leave you with
a cracked & creased spine. 
His trance,
broken, as a hand taps his shoulder.
His sister,
ready to board her flight.
He says,
"Travel safe, good night."
With that,
back to the parking lot..
Back to solitude. 
Back to his thoughts of you.

Upon an eighth floor balcony,
the wind whispers, such, silent screams.

He decides, under the moons beams:
to the gusts, he longer wishes to talk.
He rises to the edge, as the winds mock:
feet leaving the ledge, he begins,
  duskdreaming, pondering,

'I wonder, of the streams-
  in B.C.- in which does her heart lie?'

Upon the concrete sidewalk
below the eighth floor balcony:
  the wind's whisperous screams
   have been silenced, so it seems.

The Queen has received my request,
to bestow her with this peasants presence.

Oh- how I feel so very blessed:
that she has reviewed the plea's,
to embrace her in conversation,
within my maundering mind.

Oh, no! Is it what I sense?!
Is she going to ice me:
like the harshest of winds?!

Please, my dear, answer my message!
Even if just to say "God, no!"

I need assurance of the wreckage
that has just taken place.

I, merely, reckoned
I'd put it out there to consider.

To me,
prosperity seems improbable
in this frail and fleeting life.
How does one plan for a long future;
with hobbies like cashing **** bowls
& feeling the torque and thunder -
of a sports bike between the lower limbs?
Eventually we all end up six feet under
or burnt to fine ashes -
whatever it is you'd like.

I won't forget thee-
time in which we shared.
Please- don't regret me
& know that I always cared.
I cared enough to let you go..
Leave now, Cass; go out and show-
this world how strong you truly are.
Drive down that highway in your car
and seek something better for yourself.
For- I can, surely, be of no help- currently.
I will never make enough gross currency
to make an adequate lover for thyself.
Honestly- I'd rather be fully engulfed
by the trees that I've made my home from-
even if it means a life of lonesome- solitude.

Arise, my son!

Attempt to grasp the day
with such magnificent force!

Let your darkness dissipate
each time I come around.

Love,
The Sun

________


How was that?

Deep in the dark,
your true self will sit.

You may fool the oxygen suckers
but I know your thoughts are thicker
than smuckers jelly.

Oh!

Mister Field Mouse,

 Please scurry off this gravel road!
I just want to get home, to my house,
  & take the load off of my shoulders
   - for a minute.

I wish not, to do you harm;
  in fact, seeing you there
 sounded an alarm 
  - in my mind.

So - if you'd mind,
  I'd love for us to, both, pass safely.
Please, my friend, don't act crazy
  & emerge from the brush
  as I rush- past at two miles
  - an hour.

Your death would be so sour.
  - and I'm, already, feeling a lot.
Your death would devour my mind;
  - I'd be, all, full of tears & snot.

So -  let's not.

The vessels within these brown eyes
have burst many, a, times- before;
and- I'm sure that it shall continue
happening, regularly, in the future.

As I stumble, ******, down the avenue,
I come to grips with something! I realize:
that nothing in life is eternal- (for sure)
and we all, eventually, greet our demise.
  
(Will you be ready?)

The beauty of it all- is ever so pure!
  This life is a mere interlude!
(& there is more to come after the show!)  

  Do not, when I'm gone,
   release mournful cries.

For I- will be flying away from Eldorado-
with such magnificent magnitude!

(Don't get it misconstrued!)

I have not died!

(No!)

I am the hues of purple
across the wonderous Western skyline:
if that is where you chose to see me.

The orange filter
fixed to my fingertips
grazed upon my lips before
falling down
             down
             down
when she shook those hips;
Lit a fire in the place..
Or maybe that was her.
She'll do whatever you prefer
until late hours.. &,
then she's gone
                         gone-
                                gone.

I guess what, it is,
that I'm trying to say, is that:
I do not wish to be an anchor
that tears through the beautiful ocean
that is you..
for, I would rather be the air
that pleasantly coincides nearby.

Dearest Cassandra,
I'm very sorry for whom I've, lately, been
- and for the person that I will not ever be.
I, truly, wish that I could have, ever, seen
- whatever it is that you smile at in me.
I wish that I could see: why you crave a mess
- a mess as tragic as this- troubled mind.
You see: I see- myself as, very much, less
- than you see me with your eyes- so kind.
I have never seen what you- adore about me
- and, honestly, I likely never, ever, will.
When I look into the mirror, all that I can see
- is a man, or a boy, broken from all o' thee powders n' pills.

With my frail fingers entwined,
just- ever, so tight- so firmly,
upon this beloved bottle of wine,
I find the time to rhythmically rhyme
the things- thoughts- upon my mind.

The southern Sun has departed,
duely, beyond the heavens- horizon.
Though, I, merely, must know
that it will soon return.
I shan't remain this way eternally.
I do not feel- do not think- the gods 
wish to slay me down- ****** me.

"This world, surely, 
 has more is store, Crowley-
 for you- (You) have been through
a vast amount of distance 
& witnessed a grand number 
of events."

I've been cruising through life,

having a good time.

Smoking my herbs

& sipping red wine.

And, I think..

'I feel fine.'

     ...

But as the fog rolls in

And you're, likely, with him..

I wonder..

Am I?

I haven't wrote a decent poem in months;
- I pick up my pen and flow along with a hunch
- and within three lines: it becomes the right time
- to crumple up my paper and open a bottle o' wine.

"Grant me access to your 
  exquisite empire- & I shall ensure fire
  never rains down upon these walls.

My Queen-, I have had many, a, falls-
  but- don't mistake me for foolish,
  nor meek!
For I am always up and pondering
  yet I am never losing sleep:
  for sleep is unneeded.

Oh, the joy my words would weep
  should you allow me to, even,
  look after the sheep -
  outside the walls
  - of your empire."

Grand & Abundant
are thee amount of times
my wheels have traced this cities streets.
Of me, it seems quite incumbent,
to keep moving, & brewing up rhymes.
My voice hits with such heat..
it comes from the fire that is inside me.

Dry those eyes, my dear;
you must know that: ain't nobody here
- can hear your pleas with two open ears.
Has it not been proven true over the years?
Have your "friends" not left you there in tears?
It really tears me apart- No! - tears me in half:
- knowing how you've been treated from the start
- and, so often, in the past.
Yes; it, truly, does rip caverns in my heart.
Oh- how it does, indeed, shred me apart
- to see how you've been treated in the past!
I hope that the last one to do so- was just that.

The car was relatively dark,
besides the dim green illumination
bouncing off the dash.
It reminded him of his mind,
he thought as he spark-ed
a cigarette that he knew
would **** him one day.
There's always been that
dim green illumination
in his head, no matter -
how bad things ever got.
He always remains hopeful
thinking there must be something more
to it all.
He just hopes he can maintain
his optimism.

What it would be
to make her my missus?!
(Magnificent!)
It would be heaven for me!

To her every word, I would listen-
(No!) hark- and concentrate upon.

I would drop everything at once,
if only to get to witness her eyes- a- glisten.

I dream of kissing her upon our lawn.
It's a dream going on- seventy two months!

I wonder if she, to me, could be fond..

I scream up to the Creator, in plea,
"My fare maiden, I beg of you, this is-
the only thing I ask! I am, merely, a pawn
but if you could bestow that queen unto this dunce:
I would be so appreciative!"

There is a cigarette smoldering 
 amidst the early southern, Spring sun:
 firmly seized between these fingers 
 whose winter worries have,
seemingly, wept away.

Changing of seasons has begun unfolding
 and I still have yet to treat my lungs
to a vacation: from the smoke that lingers-
yes! they're crying for a bath:
obviously, ignored each day.

Fully knowing the winter worries 
are just stored away,
for a snowy day,
he attempts to enjoy
the grandeur of grass growing green. 

Skeptical, of course: awaiting flurries.
"Now, it'll be any day!"
    "Just you wait!"
I know the coldness will only,
my heat striken labor, come to destroy.

Oh, if only she were my Queen!
Then, things would be a dream!

Ninety-two seven;
the smooth jazz I find
myself, blissfully, hearing
is absolute heaven
in my mind.
A vibrant dream wonderland
is nearing.
I hope you can understand
if I don't get back to you.

It appears you've gotten me all wrong!

Though, I'm not surprised:
this fluffy exterior looks quite domesticated,
  now doesn't it?

A predator caressed within sheep's flesh;
I've been in this rueful disguise, all along.

I feel: you'll be incredibly impressed
should I choose to unrobe, (and) undress-
my thick scraggly fur from beneath.

You see, you cannot make a mess-
of someone's body with a sword's sheath.
It takes a sudden pull to reveal the edge
of the blade that is so very forceful.

If force is what you want from me,
I will cause the rest of the wolves
to fear letting out the slightest whimper
towards mother moon.

Soon, my dear:
I will run alone in the strongest pack;
  creating an atmosphere
  that you are enthralled by -
  & beg to be my bad as' b'tch.

I want to be occupied by her.
I want her to hang on my every word,
even if it's just a drunken ramble or slur.
Her beauty has my mind so blurred-
I can't think straight.
I want to spend time with her.
Til' eternity- I wait,
on a call from an angel.

I stand strong with my kin,
as a breeze, slowly, blows in.
I reminisce upon the travellers
that have been- & gone.
I remember each and every
one of their smiles & grins,
as I listen to the bird's song.
Just then is when it occured..
A sudden crack from a trunk
that has been, a hundred years,
so strong & sturd-y.
We may not be heard,
but my friends & myself
will certainly, one day, fall.
Or we'll be chopped down,
our space filled with motels.
Or, maybe, a good ole' mall.

I'm not being ghosted... (No)
I just get monthly visits from the dead.
I wasn't led on... (I know)
I just, stupidly, allow miracles to exist in my head.

Two brawly bald eagles
& a dozen dark crows
peck the fleshy, red meat
off a devastated deer
on the side of the road.
A bird's gotta eat.

Clouds-,
 like layers of paper mache
upon the outermost atmosphere-,
 block the central Sun's rays
from reaching my skin- and retinas-
here - on Earth.  

"The nest in which I rest -
  would be so much more bless - ed
 with your head nestled - next to mine,"

  I reckon - whilst transcending a 'Rest Inn,'
  -  in a deep day dream session.

I'd be content with you
striking thunder unto my eyes
if what I feel - is not her thighs,
like twin snakes,
constricting my skull;
- deafening me.
All noises are null:
I, ignorantly, believe. -
All - but - the voice of she,
- 'tis such a sweet melody.
It's the only noise I seem -
to pay careful, close attention to.
The voice of she
is what I need -
deep within the canal of my ear.
Is this dream too far from near -
possible?
Now, I must ask, do-
you hear the tears I cry:
smashing down- on the floor boards?
Lust -
must've slipped my mother's mind -
whilst explaining to me -
life's lesions on one's aura.

I am a weathered statue,

silently, crumbling away into nothing.

I was built at your base -

  in your magnificent presence,

  in rains falling, under leaves rustling,

  beneath the heavens

  that are you.

Gah! The thought of your face -

  forces a smile unto my own.

  --  

In the past, the depths of my skull
 
have been unsettlingly hazy.

But, smoke only lingers so long.
 
It's as though - I have pulled -

  a plug from my ears 

  and, so swiftly,

  the smoke dissipates above.

 I guess all I really needed

  was a gentle shove - from myself.

--

To be the man for her - would be

to have, oh, so much wealth.

Every sentence written will, inevitably,
eventually be forgotten-
forever and eternally- in time.

I dreamt:
       her eyes in front mine.
       & it felt perfectly fine.  
Perfect, rather.
I'm so in love with this woman
& my thoughts are becoming
  so difficult to gather.

"Strangle me, Medusa!
  Don't merely turn me to stone!
  Many a moon I've spent,
   as so, (******)
   serenading the silence
   with the songs of your embrace.
  I want you to use your bare hands!
  Listen to my moans-
   as my life slips away-
   off into the abyss.

  Do not fret, my dear girl!
   I will be full of bliss-
   as a direct result of your
   fingertips twirled-
   upon my skin.
  It's not a sin
   for me to crave
   a safe haven in your hands
  upon the arrival of my departure."

I, drunkenly, take a load off:

falling to the floor from
cancerous, crippling coughs.

Snow blankets my body.

"Was I ever good en-off (enough)?"

I stuff my mouth
full of moss-y fungus
& within minutes
my mind leaves my body.

Snow blankets my corpse.

They refer to me as the hermit
as I prefer staying nestled in my den
rather than exploring unknown empires.

Strangers are the last of your problems
when you can't even seem to speak
the same language as the ones you love.

The serpents I once feared, 
have become, very, near & dear-
to me. In fact, now, upon the vaneer-
of my flesh- are their portraits portrayed-
in ink. I am slithering with the best-
of them, with my silver tongue flicking.
I begin dissecting, or picking,
like a crow disembodying
his morning meal of rancid road ****, 
away at each and every thought within.
I begin, to attempt to make such-
dark noises sound like a blissful sing-
ing.

Surely- it isn't so! 
These feelings that come, and go,
as I stumble, stagger, to and fro
from the nest where my head rest 
and my place of labor: a place where-
I attempt to be a saviour for-
 my future seed: from poverty. 
If only I were to win the lottery.

Things are often quite the blur.
Though, some days- every blue moon-
  I become so fluent with my words.
Though I feel, as though,
  I've bypassed some important detail. 
Tomorrow, I may be slow as a snail-
  or as dense as a stone on the river bank.
So, I would like to apologize, pretense-
  if I fail to stimulate your soul.
To all of you listening, Thanks.

With smoke hanging- no!- lingering,
upon his cracked and chafed lips:
he, blankly, gazed off into nothing.

Suddenly: he's wincing, possibly picturing-
no!- pondering the way life drips-
no!- dribbles by, and away, with everyday.

Into a slumber, he, gently, slips:
unto a place where no soul may infringe-
upon his right to dream about her rays.

"More magnificent than the creator, itself," they say.
Yes!- Beautiful as an old mountain range
when she sings out syllables with those lips
- ever so confident and casually.

If only in this slumber, he could stay:
to lie asleep and dream about her all day.
Alas, reality surely soon, forcefully, rips-
no!- tears him away from his desired place.

Oh! Wouldn't it be something- (beautiful)
to arise to her, blushing whilst, nudging-
his ribs with her fingers?

Such a beautiful script,
his dreams are avidly depicting;
it makes his real life seem, quite, sickening-
really.
But: he tries to stay optimistic about it.

So calm- were her words-
when she said, "I'm going t'wards-
that vastly distant, eastern coast."
Thoughts of her now are that of ghosts-
or- of glistening lights that catch my eyes!
Without her, I may as well lay down and die;
and it would be such an inevitable death.
For- with my very last breath
I will let out a blood filled cough,
"I will miss you, my love!"
but- even still- she's off.

My body cracks
like the wind upon
the backs of old trees.
As I stand, begin to tremble,
violently,
do my knees.
One thing I will say
swiftly and with ease.
"Surely.. this world will live,
   laugh & love,
   much longer than
   you or me."
This, I know.

I wonder: just how much time has been spent-
by men upon earth thinking where it all went-
downhill- and all o' thee ways they can better things.
I think to myself, "how many jewel adorned kings-
have been kept up at night and been forced to think?
How many rulers have been urged to'ward the drink-
whilst overseeing the current state of their empire?
How many Knights have witnessed the fire-
creep up the inner walls of their home town?"

Gently shaken awake from my slumber,
I let out a nervous weep,
"Get your hands off me,
who are thee? Set me free!"
I slump back into my nest
as I remember that...
It is I,
with a gentle grasp
on the throat of my life.

Are you really yourself
if you're always having to ask
the addict in your head for his advice?
Can I tell you something?
You are suffice!
& you deserve more from life!

The sound of air being compressed
breaks his speeding train of thought.
His mind often ponders her- though,
this time, it's his own life: what a mess.

Look- it's not that I'm ignoring you...
I am simply attempting to remo-
ve myself before I weigh you down.
I know that you wish I were around-
but I'm sure that it's better this way..
What more could I possibly say?
You will encounter someone- something-
& your lost love'll be the last thing you think -
of.

If only I were out with some streams & trees;
for- there, indeed, is where my body begs to be.
I wish: on my cheeks, I felt a gentle breeze;
one blowing t'ward me off vast, open seas.
You see? I am trapped on a wide, grassy plain!
Stuck in this dreary place- where it all began.
Trapped on the plains; heeding the wind's pain-
ful howling stories of each woman and man-
  each that ever was- and will come to be.
I suppose I'm only conceiving the land that she-
resides within: the place she lies down to sleep.
A kingdom of sorts- a kingdom of many ports
built of towering pillars o' glimmering Quartz.
You see? Her very presence- it seems to thwart
all negative energy that any man could sport.
In short, she is like a mountainous terrain;
one that I would like to scale to the peak of
where I'll sit weeping out my eyes as a train-
track is built around her body. An engine shove-
s across her back on wooden planks and rails so shoddy.