I wanted to be witty and sly
or dare I say without trepidation
trailer park brilliant and loose
as they stood forlorned and tired
soaking in the rain before me
but I had little or close to nothing at all.

The look on those grey faces
heavily stunned, vacant and lost
almost as if the very eye itself
were pacing down the hallway alone
as if things were registering
without having registered at all.

Reaching down deep and wide
farther, broader and well beyond
the sea of black in my heart at the time
I gathered and mustered at a very low decibel
the only few words or thoughts
electable on such a grave night.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Low Lands.
I… Cornelius Appleton, bid you good night!”

Just fifteen words spoken out loud
on the pier that night above the water
heard by those in and of the crowd
each and every word offered insincerely
against little or no resistance at all
from the natives, their neighbors and kin.

Then turning I left- no faster then normal
going, never to return in time or space
or to be heard from again in truth
hence forth just a shadow of a thought
of a man once there and in the know...
now gone without explanation or conclusion.

However, during the shifting doldrums of many nights
awakening- from the eternal springs of sleep
I see those faces and I hear their thoughts
and I recollect the dreams they had- of tomorrow
because it was I who lit them into fire
then smiled as they rose away in smoke.

In the bitter end when the day closed
neither I nor they in any way, fashion or shape
were any more grandiose, evolved or pleased
for having run the race  that we all ran together
but that race was run, it’s true and it’s in the books
perhaps in the future- we can run it again.

Paul sang of the winding road
that Papa said aint got no rules.
But there’s a million miles out there of highway
always begging my soul to move.

Sitting still at the speed of light
counting seconds and I’m watching minutes.
It seems as you move down along the bank
it’s all in how you spin it.

Fluid motion like a raging stream
got a heart like a rolling stone.
That never passes on that next big bend
and just rests them bones at home.

So as the moments well they fly right by
you never see what the gardner grows.
Long before the leaves they turn to brown
and the sky begins to snow…

Don’t know where I’m going,
I only know where I been.
I can’t find the end of the rainbow
and it’s starting to rain again.

With eyes closed,

Bright is the source of power

Alive power, untouched

beyond it’s warmth-

only felt by the skin




Drooping through the right corner of the glass

Faded in seconds now aloof,

Claimed by the mountain

Gone with-

is the familiar comfort of your face in my heart




With eyes open-

darkness begets time without patience

Creating surreal moments,

making all obscure and mostly hidden amongst stars



Stars that sift through dying constellations

That for now- we’ll never get to know

and so it is-

what it wasn't

or as it may have been


if things were not as they are

but more as they were

or as they never were at all


perhaps more so-

as they could have been

in time... or not...


Perhaps.

In the softness of the voice one never hears calling
is the song of birds and scent of blooming flowers
In the simplicity of truth,
untouchable by hand or limb
is the path,
as it is-
as it was meant to be

Unrising are the veiled and cimmerian tempos of old

Unfound this day the nonsensical dogma which bore no fruit

Depleted is the offering of your beating and benevolent inclination

Squandered by the imprudent man as it were dust- ashes to ashes

Left now at the tip of the tongue are no more words

Only the actions of the heart

the visions of the mind

the longing of the soul

The sound of gears grinding-

all comes halting

never again as before


Sunlight fills wee hours-

sleep escapes with broken tail

shuddering memories filter through


Eyes bold and wide register-

hands of glass carry moments

the swift gate slows and stops


Beyond here lies something-

unclear tangents mask truth

the next new moon will speak


Clear or unclear through prism-

recreating whats already been told

beginning anew fresh and undeterred