Forsythia enflamed,
with not yet budded rose,
together in bed,
together they grow.

thorn on bark climbed,
coming of red rose,
but yellow flames,
fell away long ago.

Rose petals,
Become rose hips,
No golden beauty,
His petals slip,
A wedding photo,
a wedding kiss,
Perrenial memories,
They always miss.

And not for him,
She fits into wedding dress,
And not for her he will look his best,
Hot summer and early spring,
Meet and marry with no engagement ring.


Together in bed, they grow old,
hugging in the autumn cold,
no more vain red rose,
no more gold to behold,
Not blooming for bees not blooming for snow,
No blooming for others, nor blooming for show.

Mom what are these snails,
with blood and sweat trails?
lumbering mountians, hauling heavy shells,
jumping in beer--killing themselves,
Why do they still patrol
the garden flag poles,
writhing in pain,
salt in flesh--burning holes,
Mother, the neighbors have no flag,
but they have a saltshaker to wave?
crushed shell--only way they listen to them,
rejoicing--at salted skin--wetly glistening.

But I feel I must do the same,
Well before the recruiter came,
I know what he sells,
The salty brimstone of hell,
But these Blood Sweat Snails in the dirt,
Jumping on grenades,
Absorbing brimstone bursts.
Truly are the salt of the Earth.

There is something of the calm cool night,
no jacket, no shiver, no mosquito bite.
no steam, no ice, it is betwixt,
internal fire --safe in interstice.
You can lie down under stars --as is.
I dip my pen, in what wraps this poem tight,
the penumbral peace --of a calm cool night.

I had a forest tryst
with Amanita,
after it rained,
I went to see her.

Dank and slain,
suited to decompose:
her bed; and as I sank--
in ballet bare-toe
the white angel arose.

She was flawlessly pale,
and 'round her neck,
still, a wedding veil.

She slipped the straps 'round her neck,
befalling her gown at my request,
she slowly turned in place,
for her suitor to inspect,
never did comely beauty,
on Jerusalem bedeck,

On her head sat,
a white knit -cap,
to it her veil was attached,
I could not gaze on her form,
till I got past this piece she worn.

I asked my love,
to doff her bridal wear.
" My love, my groom
wears my chastity belt round my hair."

Then I could not resist,
I brought the veil up,
and gave her a kiss,
a gentle curse,
she spoke to my lips,
in great thirst I sipped,

Alas, then I saw the ring,
she pulled back,
and deep in my eyes she looked in.
through her gown
in the mire I started to sink,

I felt her gown moving through me,
with the poison of her Gothic beauty.
On her spectral white,
not even the fly alights,
I commit suicide twenty times over,
by taking a bite.

She smiled to my fear,
in her eyes, heaps of bones,
and whispered in my ear,
to whom she was betrothed.
"death"

Her snowcap dress disappears,
as forest on compass interferes.
She can not be azimuth for escape,
why some left trail of yellow tape.
bowing usher points on with blighted limb,
retching out its own hemlock gin.
path in is beaten, with log and stone,
crevices drown a webbed saliva moan.
path out is unbeaten and hard to find,
from death's brambles on the mind.

All trees seem to want to die,
no effort to brush off strangling vine.
where you think they have broke loose,
swaying ropes that once had noose.

And where there is light, is mossy glen,
just enough, for one last note to pen.
dolls, cloths, skulls make up forest litter,
shoes, bottles, and smiling family picture.

With the only surviving sounds so faint and sickly,
Scraping nylon tent--a starving man on day sixty.
The songbirds break the silence,
A cruel happy tune,
They see dark doom in ultraviolet,
the panicked slit wrists and  poison diet,
create failed trails ,
that don't escape and help to hide it.


"The wood line, I made it out"--the cruelest thought,
Mount Fuji's white dress through the trees up top ,
They see themselves smiling,
It is, and it is not,
a happy photo,
identifying their skulls stained green by moss.

I like ink,
and  I like chicks,
and I like ink mixed with skin,
but I also like skin,
with only sweat mixed in.

If I ever devote my love,
to a fellow devotee,
will be my escape of Forest,
where I was her escapee.