This time there are no rules
For with rules come restraint
And now is not the time
For such things like ink
Require restraint.
Let repetition sing in snare
As sky freshens air
With every new drip
We could all take a tip
But difference is in those
Who listen,
And those who can only hear.
Fortunately the only test for water
Is want or not to drink,
But when it comes to testing ink,
We would have to ask,"What do the others think?"
Configure the pen,
Color it red,
And say it is just for emergencies.
Sell it again and live to do it again
     and improve it again and sell it again
          and trim corners again and justify again
And.

Sure, I could play that 'gain game...
However I decline. Because this time
There are not any rules

That time,
When the morning shook me awake with a new set of senses
Every pore opened leaving my old body obsolete and breathless

It was a great day, filled with glory and dried sweat
The sky would tell me tales of gore and criminal's scores
The trees sung of warriors that could handle any pest that crept
Sun and Moon would prance, ignorant of envious bores

It was a great day, rattled with sounds and prattles
Even gravel, had its mysteries of wondrous wandering
Waters simply grew a face, to smile of silent pondering
Grouchy and coarse the soils were, always whining of past battles

It was a great day, whistling secrets and flaunting immortality
At least that was how the wind would laugh, free and kooky
Fires did more whistling, between their cackles and endless dances
Then science was rinsed off the creatures to show the paths in their glances

Who was I to judge?
Woes of consuming spectra
Under despot rhyme

Then night had fell +
My eyes would dwell /
My hearts next swell =
Still a space to figure,

A time to measure:
The center of levers::
A fate for lovers:
A void...to test

Lithe is the ballerina's lucidity
As the violin's language is eloquent
Through a minute's seconds lost in a moment
Oh, How the record must be kept in memory

To be spun in this garden of our axis
Then a new softness begs for the same apple
So that an old grace may sing a new thesis
Some forget to leave the dancer's dreams supple

Because the violin will continue to bend
And the ballerina will spin despite an end
Still, some forget within their pride to ask, "Why?
Does this cursed curiosity outlive its mystery?"

Then you trust in the revolution you chose to record
For this choice was made before, upon your own accord
From her emblazoned toes to her fingers in flight
As sure as a same sound could change, the answer is quite,

To look carefully.
It begins with a reminder to myself to look oh so carefully
Because this isn't just any time of day,
But the end of day time when the light fades away.
To think, that this happens before every eve and after every noon
Night pulls at the Sun so gently.
From behind the mountains
The anchor of time begins its distortion
Upon the Sun, its stress seems to bless the sky
In those blending hues
And spins clouds into colorful sweetness
As it demands an encore for a set too soon.

The mountains become flat nibbles into space,
Eating at the canvas
Where sky's light knows nothing of us.
It too, flattens buildings at the foothills;
A pasting of pastel flavor, drawn
By the distant gray air of sand and sea.
The glorified glass edifices at my shore watching,
Bleeding, in mocking colors of a time that burns into another
A time that ends in blazing defiant oranges assaulting the falling sky
In quarrelsome pinks and purples

I remember the tender
I must see this so softly

At the sinking light
As the mountains swallow burning sky
One ring at a time,
Lighter than velvet.
Heavier than vivid.

Humility rose, with this setting,
To stand against so many gradients
And recall the faux pas of permanence.
Not until it was gone
With its whims toward time.
Could I see, tenderly.
The width and warmth
Of their embellished embrace
Between day, and night-
Pouring that fragility-
From the last light.

How many could be calling?
Eitherwise, it is exausting
To be held by own accountability.
Ability for account; a mass
Of those counted.  Weigh creaks
On these levers over my eyes.
A lover in disguise lies
The warmth of this weight.
Lazy and laconic to confuse
The schizophrenic.
Lord I hope these are my own-
If I myself am not the sovereign-
Elaborate equations voiced
From character calculations.
Clacking their sums
In my sincere consideration.

We all have that second or so thought to reach concentric clarity.
When I sing or spiel the art of it, easier to make a monster of me.

I have twelve new images in oblivion.
I have a name and symbol for each one.
They're called prison in one tongue
And Heaven in that dogmatic tome.
Though I cannot pick a favor with the name,
"In God's name" sums it quite sane.
It is a trick, I say, I swear, its all the same.
We Love the higher hope for a second home,
I love the second *****, our spiritual song.
Stars demarcate mythic euphony, wrong-
Yet right, a left path to eventual events; halcyon.
Finally! it reveals, it discovers, and it is done
As long as a single soul attempts the tone,
Whimsy finds weight in a wind to bone,
Heart, flesh, mind, the entire abode.
We abide to symmetry in singular nodes.
So I must resonate to my own roads,
For dedication to destiny and its role
Is a path set to reset those perilous holes.
To ferry peoples that forget to hold souls
Traveling on our belief in naming the Sun.

Stark dark black limbs
Breast eyes beak wings
Abysmal feathered
Garments; a messenger.
Mal to prefix, as well,
Remnants from the abyss.

Not malicious, for delicious
Is a delight dragged
Out of any carrion.
Not carried because
They carry enough
Is too much for
These observers of us.

Screeching their squawks.
Perched on boughs for talks.
Of malign imminence.
To coalesce friendly fragments.
Found at any crossing's discourse.
Gusting about an eerie force.
Beacons upon who to bereave.
Portent displacing fallen leaves.

So we re-member
Our piece by piece plummet
Into that omnipotent
Stark dark descent.