A
Little
Piece
Of
*******
Wood.

Cold stoles the coast in geisha voiles
of pawned Atlantic mourning, where

The plangent skirl of larids
carry through the vast exquisite
plains of February emptiness.

Aloft on coronal ruin, she flew
in free form falling, between the spheres
she grew in brightness, and by her stroke,
the moping shale, appeared , as if transformed.

She blessed the face of stained glass saints
hung loud on hallowed walls, From a
palisade of glinting brinks, she
hauled deserted chapels into
parishes of lambent wake
their majesties , reborn.

When the torque of speech is such
that stapled teeth would seem a wiser lot.
When thought is but a hemlocked lash
of passionate disdain..


..then to the water I return...

A sack of cats for Naiads, hatched
about the reedy bridge, I’ll give
my all to them.
To cross their palms with lighter steps
I call to them from oily depths of
worn illumination.


Here, patience sees them come..

In winter cools of briny shift
to press their vagues upon the lips
of tinkers, by the flotsam slum..

..As Canton sirens pilot tension
through the gentian-violet haze,
so distant trains commemorate

  a quiet absolution.

As above...


...Your sky-dial feline mind, unzips
Bold rose-hip teems of fervour, kept
On ice, throughout the needle of
the duty-bound laborious.

You have geared the slug of
greased machines have
waited tables overseas,
have moved your shoes
to rythms of inconsequence.

So below...

Call talons from your lava skin,
in tracings of a milky way, step
ladders through the cotton fields
to set aside a broken string.

Float, leaf, about your symetries
to crook your spine in Gothic arches.
Sovereign , deep in quicksand warmth
through paths of least resistance.

Dissolve in waves of ageless truth
dashesd amber over Roman tiles.
In wild writhes of curling fern,

Your body shines obsidian.

At Yultide,
The thing that I don't get is:





Is a sprout
just a tiny little lettuce?

You are close...

There is musk about your scattered limbs,
Sweet silvers on your Southern drawl,
Deep heat pinned papillon..

Let us pull these pearls
A little tighter...

Recite the hymns
That stoke the fires

From bended knee

Excite these summoned energies,
To crave these hearsay heresies

And see.....

Our war- paint , wild existence
With a  freedom seldom known.

A Husk of Thule brew..

A Fjord born tang of Fenrir cold
To yawn the must of comet tails
In rings, around the naked oak.

That broke the spineless whims
Of reed, that set the Heron folk to flight
From scrivened rims of frosted pools.

To run in footless constellations
About the broads of bitter miles
And, there to spill the coffered frays
of Autumn’s final standing.