Power line cutting a thick
Scar across the
Hillside of
Trees.
Signatures of Civilisation; straight
Lines and angles,
Perfect circles. All within
What has none.
Needs none.
Wants none.

Maimed and modified
By the cynical scalpel
Of laziness named Progress,
By incompetent
Surgeons.

Waterfalls tamed and forced
Through turbines.
This naked mountaintop
Was a mile stone
For pedestrian generations.
Now it holds that giant antenna
Like a spiteful eyesore
To those who love
The land.

Power and signals, to sit
In air conditioned comfort
And watch
Nature shows on TV.

I exhale
  & watch
As you go
  The essence of me
Caught on the window
   A constellation
      Of condensation
       & I trace your name
    Bleeding the meaning
Of true window pane

"These are just too him," she said
And put her father's boots
Aside for me.
A size too big, but just my style.
Cried silently inside; she'd shed tears
Enough by now.
I thanked her in a whisper.
-
"How did your doctor's go?" she says.  
I look down at my new
Boots; "not well."
"Too thick or thin?" she asks, the
Blood in question ringing in my
Ears in blushed embarassment.
"Too thin," I say, knowing too well
What whisky does to anyone's.
She kindly mothers me in whispers.

"I thank each day your life was saved
By surgeons and Warfarin. But
Just for me -look how it went
With him whose boots
You're wearing."

She lights another one, she'd rather
Smoke than run.
It used to be for fun,  
Now it's become more a
Reaction than behaviour.
We all turn to our saviour.

He'll pour himself one more
Unlike before when he was
Not a drunk for sure.
He drinks himself onto the floor, a
Toast to friends he lost to
War, to wishing he was
Just as dead and gone as
They were.  
We all turn to our saviour.

She doesn't even try, with all the lies
She tells the guys.
They grow in size until it's
No surprise she lies herself to
Self-despise.
There's truth behind her eyes, but
Deep inside and in disguise.
Now it's too late
To tell the truth,
She's only sickened by its flavour.
We all turn to our saviour.

I try to use my voice and speak
Out loud, but sound so weak I
Close my mouth. I sneak a line in
Inbetween; as thin as paper.
Being heard instead of read means
I'll be quiet when I'm dead.

I pick the pen instead, again when
Stating something sort of major.
We all turn to our saviour.

Silver Bullet Synchronicities, Literally, Layer into my Space a Perfect Union of Oblivion
The Ying, to The Yang, Baby....

Micro to Macro, Anomalous Events Don't quite Strike Me as anything Other than Normality in and of Different Scale

A For Instance

To my Eyes, the Sequoya Tree Appears to Tower, the Highest of the High
While our beloved Earth Teachers....The Ant....Grounded above and below the Mother Clay,
Will Look at Me as a Colossal Mammalian largely Trembling the World with Weight Infinite

To the Point

Perspective is simply a specific view, an angled ray of Light, Thus Strikes the Object in it's Own Precise Uniqueness

Note of Importance

If only One ray strikes angled Light, One angle of Light just won't Suffice....Every Perspective must be Offering of It's Own Accord, thus Strikes the Creation True....

Wholeness is Truth
Truth is Coherence
Coherence is Smooth and Steady
Do I know if I'll be Ready?....Not Really

This I Do Know

All Matter is full of Wholes of Space, NOT EMPTY, but Full of Life, Feeding the Flow into Motion, Flowing the Motion of Inert Mass, Spinning the Soul to Life, Spinning into Infinite Bliss

LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL MOVEMENT

Some will make Life into Art with Dance
To Live Life at the Threshold, DANCE Your DREAMS into LIFE
Everyday and Every Night....DANCE
                                                  ­DANCE
                                                  DANCE

  ­              Bless You.....Bless Me...Bless Us All

Your light is beautiful,
and mine is glum.
In your eyes, I find
sensations my estranged blood
has never felt—
to touch, to love…
a soul unselfishly,
for no other reason than to love.

I want to place my frostbit hands
upon your beating chest
and ****** you away,
or might I chain your hands
and take you with me.

I could pull you into my gale,
a hostage of my lonely curiosity,
but I’m afraid—so afraid that your light
will fill the empty, gaping blackness,
and your gentle breaths
will calm my feral winds.

You alone will effortlessly transpose
the thunder of my bones,
and I will assent that only your nearness
can bring the calm to the eye of my storm.

But what follows when you
tire of breaking my weathers?
When your chains rust into reddish ash
and I can no longer keep you, my love?

I can’t imagine this place will ever be
as fair as it was with you,
and I can only foresee that
which will become of me.

For when the day does break,
and I find myself alone,
when the silence of your absent lungs
deafens my troubled mind,
my storm will surge again.

And as the black clouds surround,
I will bring my withered hands
before me and remove the foolish eyes
that once lost themselves in you.

So there are two sunken holes
inside my skull.

I will cut through my sternum
and rip my dour heart from my chest.
I will undress from my flesh
and pull the nerves you once caressed.

And my naked soul will dig a grave
and settle into the dark.

And has a belly so full of my
Vegetable stew with Swedish
Sausage she can barely keep
Her beautiful eyes open.
Heavy with a strange weekend
Behind her, and the road.
I feel bad for mostly eating and
Sleeping. More beer than water
(Showers included).
Mine was a lighter load
This time, princess.
I'd take yours in a heartbeat,
I'm tempted to say. But I stop
Myself at your
Recent loss.

Now finish your cider. Pat
Wolfie good night.
I'll carry you to bed
Where all I expect
Is that you
Sleep.

We'll both be here
In the morning.