I have a great familiarity with the night
Midieval conscious flowering in flight
I wish to speak to you soon
In the light of the moon
Don't fall from me
My words will slip through the grass, and the dew  
Your presence a subtle, comforting silk sinew, and carry on

Shower me in the forests embrace
The birds call, the pollen's jolly mace
What do I do from the ember burning low
When a fire has come to warm my home
Your posting smile, I wish to want to behold

Please beckon my drunken call
The sticks, the leaves, the silent waterfall
I only could dream I knew the rings of the oak
Instead I count the thoughts on the night that we spoke
Where, if at all, will the spring's roots grow.

Those hours spin on
In great rememberence, divine demi-consciousness  
And I only wish to you
To spill the cup from which I drank
And start it all anew.

Silver-tongued silverback acrobat,
Sliver among passive track, those little tacks
Swing up high, sweep on by
The air is your medium, your cartilage courage
I thought I was something highly, flying freely, sighing too.

Cotton grass on trickling, bubbling, thinking brook
Garfish thought twice and took to my hook
Devour me I spoke to the placid sky
Leave me here, in Schrödingers hour,
If I reel in thine I may find the acrobat or an empty line.

When the clocks grew silent,
Mellow abiotic laws swept away with the evening's wind
The light hit the hills with the softest envy
And the grass sat content between our toes

What became of the twilight gleanings
Pangea evaded you like the sheepish fox
Were the pieces arranged, devoid of meaning?
Trembled hands settled and stilled.

If the clover grew to touch the sun
The lonely ground sank to feel the core
And the trees whispered to the birds
Would it be a puzzle at all?

Most of my light bulbs burnt out
The sun hits hard when it shouts
It's when I saw the ragged crane that flew
Everything developed in shades of blue

My favorite Spring ran away
It hides back two years in the lovely shade
Looking back as I walk the stage
The sun hit and burnt the page

With the fox's speed and the rabbit's crutch
I came for expertise, only to learn too much
The crane still flies by most days
But now it's grown and patched, it could never be the same.

There was my search for lighter air,
I can't get off the ground.
So the geared clock it goes, it shakes it runs
Sweetness me, your holy father was a butcher's son,
White absence on the canvas of warm forest and rayleigh scattering.

It's never felt so long to Spring,
The tentacles of longing hold the weeks,
I am but the lemon, and the guardrail king.

I'm ******* sick of proper nouns.
Press me into history
**** on sore thumbs in misery.

Photo album blues, you read.
I want the traverse sound
Recording the port city 'round.

The profound.
I can yet to see,
The people dancing, and beside them
Me.

Rainfalls peddle in sunsets of peach falling on, falling on like autumn leaves
Floating down like sour snow.
Am I ghosted?

Through my great lens, looking how the remedial planet spins on and wept. I cannot say it did not create
I cannot speak words as is the writer's fate

My silent observatory
observes the world, even me
The diamond and the rough
In every Swallowed ambition, estate addition, and paintbrush.

I'll climb to every mountain top
Speak my name to the cyclops.
Don't give me ***, don't give me ******.
Show me the lives you live, the years you order.

A tear shed in your silent walk
I'll carry joys to your sidewalk chalk,
When the tide comes to foam,
And the ocean is but loam,
Could it still be?
Will everything I see, be familiar to me?

I think I've done this all before,
I feel every moment as if it's spent,
I'll be here watching the 4th dimension,
In permanent sentiment
Am I ghosted?