Haggard fields,
A frozen landscape in ruins.
The last pale light of winter,
Fading over the horizon.

My lungs assunder
My hands covered in cheap wool,
The barn I dreamt weeps in hushed silences

The old landmarks
turned hazel and brittle,
in air, pollen and grasshoppers
the color of corn.

My fire dies tonight
and emmbers rise
touching eastern crowns,
as ragged men sleep on ground.

we speak in whispers-
as moonlight flows,
the shifting darkness
a web and crow.

Trembling at soft sounds,
only the white gull,
only the demolished fragrant woodland;
there! in my electric mirror.

Midwinter storms sweep away thy own path.
straw mats with angel faced eyes the color Danube,
marble cliffs and multicolored flowers,
a dream within a somnium.

My dear,
hide those salty tears;
for he who holds the earth upright is hidden
and the vibration you feel
have no human traces.

The sun is now behind trees
and the trees hide behind the powerlines.

My tree, small as it might be still blooms each spring.
I have only ghost who listen to my shoulder pain,
men dont cry but purchase graves.

He had a romantic curiosity
being simple as summers on the farm.
innocence with this pathological fear of loneliness;
living under the weight of imperial iron.

The pulse of time eats at his sullen heart,
pregnant with the city
that comes alive
in the dark.

lower latitudes
and winter nights,
heavenwide a spark of light.

He can still see his mother
stuck in the foothills,
she had safe-passage tonight
and he was meant to remember

Let blossoms calm my nervous hands
Let clouds divide the sky,
oh angel,
heal this mans waking mind.

Let the cows graze
as the dogs bark and howl,
Let his poems rise again
and make them smile.

Let the woodland vistas
shine in ease,
as the valleys below
echo in peace.

My soul changing into god,
i know of gravitys authority,
a black hole, paradise.

All worlds end.
all here still spontaeous,
raident eletrons going inward,
I urge you.

The kings seat
remains empty-
the first voice with intention,
graced us a milennia ago

Going back home.
the terminal funneling me forward.

fleeting days,
flat land like a mosaic.

the unalterable effigy following,
together toward frozen new england lakes,

at days end where the sea
meets the river,
you shall find me
singing the december snow.

display to me
the barren shore,
and leafless birches
outside my window pane.

The heavens are smoky,
perhaps ash from the factory,
a vacant lot depleted.

Steets have a lunar hue-
my face twisted by the harsh eastern wind,
a forgotten memory
as bodies grow limp.

i am aware of the bleakness.
the stark reality of silence.

Devastated men once young,
Are now trying to climb out of that pit of lonely spaces,
And somehow fill a cup which has never been empty.

Young men staring at the reflection,
The lake saying nothing back-
Wanting approval- the hands of a healer.

Pour him another,
Light up again,
Numb the senses until memory is just a word.

Once someone's baby
Now all grown up,
Their faces long in the setting sun.

Living through the angelus
Now is not the time to pray-
Escaping the incarnations
And and declaring freedom.

Let thy soul shine in lurid light,
The hermit, unable to sleep.
The courage the savior is me.

She tries not to look,
Scorched earth, and the muteness of red clay,
And dust circulated about the air.

Searching westward
For something brokenhearted,
She gave her love something to wish for.

Miles of bleached skylines
Act as an enclosure,
Caged within the rattlesnakes realm,
Waiting for plateaus to morph into an oceanic paradise.

A few more miles
And soulmates shall meet,
And half her world will blossom.

He enjoys the lonely places at midnight

Afraid of the sun and the fluttering sparrows,

Darkness speaking in new dialects,

As anarchic illuminations converge.

The heavy footed phantom

Continually following him,

With their mysterious astronomy,

And ancient symbols.

The gateways opens a gothic reality,

Apocalyptic in scale.

My thoughts scatter,
There in the field, this is the earliest of days.

Natures music, the collective buzz
Blooms brilliantly as the farmers gather hay under lantern light.

Half shaded cornfields
Extending pass the mountains face
Beyond darkness
Beyond waste
Thy ego rolling away.

What sustains us
what protects us,
intimately interwoven
with our inner life.

Ages come and go,
the obelisk has fallen,
and yet our solar faith remains the light of the world,
the mother of beauty.

remember the emblem,
and the kaleidoscope of senses,
shining like diamonds in a heap of rock

I sing my own song
and whisper my moments with you,
the harmony between flames
continue as i try to sketch the lyrics of  your soul

let the hymnal display my soul
let me find space beyond god
let me by apart of every pulsing star.

Humanity pleads,
For peace and calm among those war torn streets,
Where clans still hold flags high.

The brooding faces composed
Against eastern chambers
And pastoral meadows;
Comfortable under heavy gunfire.

No more kings acting godly,
No more roads leading to rome,
New days, transformative in nature,
******* histories burden.

Under clear skies
Heaven watches you and I.
Blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight;
How magical a moment, how precious of a page,
pulled out for me.

You are the only one who understands my soul,
And all its wants, you are the only one who understands my fears,
The only one who wipes away the tears that at times have been to immense to miss.

I am no king and yet you treat me like Augustus,
And the flowers you’ve picked i wear like a diadem.

May your eyes lay upon my wandering heart
Until the mantel cracks in half and the ocean overtakes the land.

Mon ange
Mein engel
Mi angel

You, the only one who corresponded with me
Without speaking a word, a touch is more than enough
To lift thy spirit into the outer atmosphere and beyond.

Light makes it way into my hospital room,
Opening my eyes and staring up at the IV
Feeling some holy ghost beside me.

They all say ill get better soon,
Should i keep asking when ill leave this room?
TV’s off, alone with the beeping noises
And hallowed hallways with creeping voices.

This pain I feel was done out of love
The feeling, the rush, the penetrating buzz,
Time seems to slow when the body feels broken
A gesture, a wave, a  fragmented motion.

Home sweet home, yearning for your peace
The doctor calms me down and tells me im released.

Ive had to stop answering the phone,
Because your absence taught me how to be alone.
The pictures overhang like collapsing waves,
And i view it only on holidays.

My island is all my own
And i visit with regularity
The water is pristine
And sunlight not unlike that of Montreal or Milan,
Athough ive never been.

Ive stopped going to church
The chapel is far to high
And these days only broken bottles speak.
Not to mention my demanding job,
Short order cook, 40 hours a week.

I miss that Island all my own,
The silent rivulet beneath the sands,
The sunbeam grips this sleepless land.

Now a man of 29, I have seen an acceleration of promotion, advertisment, and a willingness to gather and hoard materal goods. The endless yearning for things; The heart now constrained by eternal forces, and a world system  which has created a hallucinatory world full of false doctrines.

Prosperity. Perhaps that word means something different for every human being. A faded picture of a loved one, slightly ripped, covered in dust, is a possesion that can fill the eyes with water, tears of joy knowing someone loved you regardless of your rank, status, or creed. The soul and heart should be affluent or character decays by the day.

My consciousness has stubbornly resisted the glorafaction of materalism and yet i want what i want.

The lonely man emerges from this chaotic universe.

there’s some comfort in the darkness, some serenity among the silent shadows.

He tries to recapture the lost years,

and forgets so perhaps he can forget the immobility of these soft tears rippling against his cheek like a puddle in spring.

Only Phantoms pursue his heart.

No long does life sustain the pain of an absurd age.

The sounds of human life
The herd's steady gaze
Peering at campsites.

Red valleys full of travelers,
With openness in their eyes.

Bulky shapes in the distance
With indigo hues,
Spiders skitter across the dunes
I thought “how slowly they move”

Lead us to that inaccessible horizon
Over rocky hills and ancient tracks
Covered in euphoria leaves,
So, in the end, we may stop and breath

Such a long life lived without ever having felt the skyline
Or seen the bayous by themselves, and not tainted by other eyes.

Such  luminous lilies living nearby-  riding near the grapes and vines and wild things

Such is life, the Lord let us live for so long

I noticed her fragrance first
like a rose without thorns,
had she noticed me?
had she seen my pages torn?

We walked to a small stream,
where the heron stands
and tender leaves move unnaturally.

I noticed her ancestral hands,
strong, with immaculate structure
like the temple of Artemis.

We talked and her eyes seemed emboldened
and trust me, I noticed.

I am not your enemy
or the aspect of energy.

late bloomers in small rooms,
rumors seemed humorous under dawns moon.

Now we hate to listen-
even over the complex transportation systems,
glistening in the distance
no love
no friendship.

Life you have sunk in
Life I am the heroic one
life I am the only son.

Hoping for some truth,
alas thy craving subsides
and hope turns to faith
as I crawl out of self-hate

No kingdom comes without pain,
No empire last without suffering
No man leaves life sane,
at night asking themselves
"Look what I have become"

Life your skies remain airy
life made me out of sun
Life I am the only son

Gnarled inside.
attempting to sign his name atop discharge forms.

The doctor arrives with exactness and measurement
trying not to ambush sensibilities.

He needed no ceremony- no wine-just miracles

When rain like birds fall to earth
and mild dreams wake me
I think of you
within our assorted palace.

I enjoy staring into the divine
and listening to the empty spaces of time,
fossilized under the ash of ages.

Valleys full of silver and gold
a world to innocent
and old.

I've tried to convey my fears,
afraid of how the future will feel-
will that word "feel" be extinct like a High culture from antiquity?

Will feeling be past its prime?
perhaps only in mine.

In Silent Hours
what powers hold me here
Near the sway of daylight?

Eternal Sun
Such Southern Hues
Lifting Thy spirit
Becoming a Pastoral muse.

Measuring time
by how the leaves lay,
the Prophetic years will never leave me.

Oh, heavenly bodies
when shall I be anointed?
I've watched you beam for so long,
and so long a life can bend bodies like light.

The admiration for the surface
a global love affair,
let us share it
let us break bread
another year.

Acetylene across the sky
Vibrant constructions forced atop toward eye.
Rise rude ruby colored sun.

Undergo
move to a new location.

Rave inside the spiral

This day is flowerless
and the ropes that maintain earth seemed loosened as the North Atlantic hurdled towards me.

My thoughts stiffened while the other men grunted and lit their finely cut tobacco.  The hazard which was the sea fosters some primal fear.
geometrical meanings underneath the waves leaving mind and body uncharted.

The surface offers safety, a programmed ideal of life.
Today I've become accustomed to the climate, which contains all that we know. Tomorrow will be introspective and thoughts will grow like fields.

You who could not be looked after
belong to the things of this earth.

Wherever you look
you find yourself peering into the flat circle.

Living flesh enters the garden,
only a man entering a garden
seeing himself in the bird bath.

You could not be carried
or given a hand,
crawling the only motion
the last vestige humanity

I merge with you at night and search for what's within.
a starving artist now
but earnest with thy pen.

Our skies seem to cloud
but no one runs away,
hold my hand awhile -
tonight is where we lay.

With eyes like oceans,
and skin as soft as silk,
thy beauty slowly blossoms,
thy flower never wilts.

we've both felt grief in life
we've both felt years of pain,
love is ancient, the heart a primal thing.

Daybreak and weathered men with their fermented drinks,
make way for the morning.

Doorways dimly lit beyond the ruins of lesser worlds,
older boys laughing aloud,
Near the honest sun
and the absent clouds.

The mesa seemed heavy as birds shimmered above-
whats their place in all this land?

Mornings were always cold
even while sunbeams flourish,
The farmhands copper in color, congregate near cattle, pipes in hand, hoping for good days ahead.

A sparrow stares back
with luminous eyes,
but the body grows weak
and soon it will die.

The beauty of wings
and the empty spaces above
slanting over the waters
we passionately love.

He sleeps while millions
of words are spoken-
flattened by a dream.

He stood at the summit
where boundaries don't exist
and restless souls glare
with eyes like fire.

No, this was the real world!
the metropolitan neon,
with its machinery, bellowing insidious vapors.

A dream intermingled
with this misshapen terrain.

the emerald city atop the summit-
cracked windows
and small tenements.
a dream within a compacted dream.

I spent the night alone
the houses hollowness felt like some old kingdom,
without enchantments.

My mind belongs to me
so I thought.

I wanted company
I wanted to touch you again
just for a while.

But I have no adornments
and nothing of my own,
except a few tattered books on poetry, and 30 bucks for *****.

Tonight the dog won't even sit
so silence becomes a companion
along with two bottles of ***.

I drank and drank
until I became dismembered from my own body.

I spent the night alone
quietly drinking with friends.

Millions of words being spoken,
electric bills half paid the city, a strange construction.

memories of cracked windows,
and small tenements with no privacy.

The metropolitan lights
like some ongoing hallucination.
Mounted machinery, categories with insidious intent,
coffee shops full of early workers with their heads buried earth metals.

Rome Reborn.

The bus comes at 9 am
Her face is frozen
from silent December winds.

she can hear the engine
groaning like a trembling scream.
Her hands shake at the thought of change.

Going east in autumn
pondering mothers death-
as she deals with the spaciousness of being alone.

All this travel-
aligning herself with the landscape,
and plummeting into an unseen gravity that home has always had.

Tired clouds in open skies,
they tower over me as I wander through golden wheat fields,
we raised our hands, toward the heavens, and she -delighted to be free, laid her curly hair atop my weary shoulder.

In these moments
I'm free like you? she said.

We have all to chased a heaven,
how long will my heart pulse for that dream world?

maybe I should search close to home,
and focus on the morning blossoms,
and wandering cattle.

Perhaps the flickering of a candle can produce the light I need.
Maybe I think of heaven because reality is like a flooded freeway, and I have no wings.

The arid mind
Contemplating northern hemispheres.

I born of iron
A nomadic pastoralist lingering within small towns.

Barefoot
Walking along the Arabian peninsula, trapped, tawny, weakend.

I’d like new material
New expressions and old smiles,
Fresh movements, and subtle gestures.

The ritualistic movements, the way she waved  with her  broken smile.

She wanted to be illuminated, but I was too far in the shadows, beneath the earth in Some primordial vault.

Perhaps our worlds were two different, perhaps our inability to think past our own planet caused  The dissolution of sanctity.

O  sweet angel, when you move west don’t forget about the eastern coast, don’t forget about our hands and how they fit, don’t forget about the innumerable tress,  and how we got lost on those mountain paths, Don’t forget how I looked into your eyes and saw Olympus.

Are union was built, but like Rome, or  Carthage, Things fall apart as time pushes toward the ever present power of finality

I have a familiarity with longing
O the mighty power of silence
O the promise of something more-
A wandering man is someone you’ll ignore

Everything is restless
Overwhelmed with sorrow
A billion souls, desperate for tomorrow.

And why
Why does the modern land not know of its past
Driven made by inner desolation
As if famine were at hand?

I've watched the catalog
Of a long life,
He grinds away and toils under Helios.

My grandfather had anguish
No man could match
But in my eyes, he shined like a blazing sun.

Voices speak to me
As if I was a child,
It must be him again
Watching from a cloud.

As though in prayer
He examined every rock,
And tree humbly.

Thick fingers picking basalt,
And limestone, as he thinks
Of games he’s outgrown.

Searching all day
For that special rock,
The hobby of a wanderer
Who has yet to stop.

The biology of landscapes,
Waiting for those wobbly hands.

Tidal movements
Improve his posture
And Gia, a mother,
And a father.

Craggy beaches
And their silent edges,
Created devotional men illumined by the waves,
And treasures.

Interlocking fingers raised up toward heaven
Unity is like a mysterious conquest,
Constantly searching for something that fits.

He was once full of hatred
But over time patience sets in and men begin to grow
Like a flower under the unbearable heat,
Somehow the meek shall inherit the earth

The interlocking of hands
A symbol of some holy connection-
Friends gather round;
I am you, a beautiful reflection-
No matter what color or creed
I find ease in your grace.

Do the fish and fauna know of its own beauty?
The meek someone gaining strength over time-
We, hoping greed has played its final hand,
We, who transcends time and space with love.

Shall I scatter my past upon the reckless world?
Or shall my palace be shattered amid ashes
And bone?

Long ago dogma surrounded the boy
But trauma can stop the turning of planets,
Or the sensation of watching the leaves change.

Each frame was taken by the mind,
Seems to rewind on those gray days at dusk,
But the reply is worth admission.

Leaks can be stopped
And tears can be dried,
Faith can be dead, while thy spirit is alive.

The bare earth full of sorrow
I scan the land,
With the lamp of light.

I rest my hand against the tender green buds,
Wishing for a friend.
Snapping light twigs with a half *** grin.

Now it's just me and my wooden prison,
Too afraid of the world
Afraid of what could be?

No amount of wine
Will stop time, and yet the tendrils fade each season.
And the groves grow cold.