A wind
A ghostly breeze
Kissing stone foreheads
Before screaming
In my ear

The prize
The prize
That was not the prize

There is a hot sting not to wear gold
Nor silver, nor copper, nor soft satin

There is a gnawing hunger
Not to gain,
Check,
Dollar,
Nor nickel.

But
The prize
The prize
Those were not the prize

I crave that first voice
That tongue dancing my song
Those lips kissing my ink
Those teeth chewing in ecstasy
The words I wrote
Just me

The rain wont come
The thirst all consuming.
Like the Earth’s jaw,
Crushing pressure
Bears down
From memories
Of sweet waters.

Like a sot you cling to my memory.
No one cares to clean the grime
Building on the walls.
What a welcoming dream,
The home I offer.
The open-air travels
Through paper-thin walls
With the ease of a valley.
Drizzle, drizzle
Over me.
Ash and chalk
Mark the shape of my mouth.
A distant echo of a crack
And my arm goes numb.

When she blinks her magical eye,
The one that rolls and slides, It flickers a flutter a silk soft shudder,
A baby local goodbye.

The raging roars quiet
The shuffling seas foam.

This is the warrior
whom made me her king.

A ranger,
a wizard,
a watcher,
a rogue.
A queen’s amen
A king’s soft sigh.

Trigger the trusted,
the twisted,
the kind.
A quicker fault facer
with a softer inside.
No royal master
From earth is seen.

A sniggle,
a snuggle,
a snort,
a snore.

Dust sparkles against blinking lights,
Casting their colors against empty grays.
Twinkling they quickly dissolve,
Their second of brilliance.
The mascots of this fleeting art.

The silence is filled with whispers,
Of long forgotten lines and songs.
The dead soliloquy left on the floor.
Waiting for another to warm its blood.
How many lay on this painted floor?

Colors will open caskets,
Solos will steal bright smiles
Replace them with gnawing pain
Harmony will hearken hope
Teach the *******.

Soon, the overstuffed chairs will fill
With hungry eyes ready to judge.
Tonight, they will leave gorged,
Gasping for air and looking for liquid relief.
The life coming is full and ready.

The faint sounds are building.
The actors are warming their voices.
The musicians are tuning their strings.
While I flip switches, open lines,
And brace to harness the flow.