...



*But we aren’t love birds
I’ll get lonely if you leave
But I wouldn’t die

It was a lovely frosty morning
especially fine
for November

Will light remain intolerable -
one minute into physical death
Will the numen's that preside
o'er the living pass away , will the uncertainty
of black memories that shroud
the day abandon me , will the pang of death be
fleeting , will I possess the power of art in some starlit medium* ....

The song of the Nor'easter captivates this southern boy , quite happy among 'the snowflakes'
Chipping reminders on a frozen -
catfish pond
Just like love , here then gone ....

A willow tree filled with switches
The primary tool for a son -of- a
*****
Blue lake water lent her reflection
A neighboring persimmon tree to -
relieve hunger , a hayfield for -
needed redemption
A dying barn for blocking madness
A guitar to quell the sadness* ...

When men receive the taste of money -
they are forever stained
For gold is a wind fueled fire -
in the dog days
A ravenous stray bound in -
silver chains
A parched riverbed in the February rains* ..

Sometimes in the struggle for-
inspiration I'll travel to
a secret lakeside location
Viewing the freshwater drink ,
a place to think , knowing that my whereabouts
are mired in constant change , for living beauty is cursed
with never appearing the same
Calm water reflections bound for the creek
Never to be seen
Perpetual motion , seeking the river with
thoughts of the ocean
Kinetic nature , uneasy me
Forever occupied with changing scenes* ...

The Pastor preaching against indulgence
doth squeal and whine
For his lips have yet to meet a -
Key Lime pie ...