When,
the being, surly murks,
hobbles, heart-bulb hurt,
in furtive mist,
obscured

when
fields of the falling mind, pine
sight-less in a fog-banked shawl,
lured, hurriedly by nothing
more than fear

-I will still believe, it's somehow, there-

that sailboat
with seabird halos

gliding, dearly
down the dusk

with just enough
to love

Martha

Your kin still fly
uncaged and called

young November sky
                   scored countless

      For three high days they came
                                     great in massing
                       climbing, radiant
                       fire-milk lariats

           gaps in blaming
rain pursued.


When leaf-cull doors
                      low fruit to fall

                implores the motley
      parkland bronze



Your kin will fly
                     uncaged and called



Your legacy
lives on.

Time..

slipping
from the parapets

a rorschach night
laid out below

If mine
is but a little while

then yours is not
for me to know

so, glittering
away, we leapt

from all convention
disavowed

restoring
golden folklores

with our whispering
of owls

We'll tell the Keepers
of the gates
that guard our varied heavens

-we weren't engaged in cruel crusades-

we just supplied the weapons-

Wind
has banked,
-grown little teeth-,
portentous new alignments
meet , exaggerated,
weather veined,
behind impatient
branches

Flames divine
entrancing shivers
breath, a ghost
an omen passed,
fragments carried,
Icy river
Holly-crowned,

She dances

All I've seen
are legs

of the bloke
upstairs

believe me,
they are snappable

I've knocked
his door

he doesn't
answer

loots
my calm
with his
bass enhancer

Look,

I'm an affable
kind of guy,
but ..

this ******
is testing my
patience

I want him
to die

Not so he rots
in a puddle of snot

-I still claim a frisson of feeling-

plus I don't want the hell
of that festering smell
or the pain of repainting
the ceiling...

I don't try
to be mean,
to stir-up a scene
but the grinning is
hard to pretend,

so I'll sit on my hands
and mutter those plans
for that thin *******
to end.

Pre somnabulation
I would taste the breeze

tease
the dew-lit louche
revealing airborne revelations

tingle,
soft of foot, divining
cool uncomplication

drinking deeply of
the hill-born wood
contented

in
passive eccentricity,
I celebrated unison

a humbling becoming
only dignity condones

When transitory laxity
forgave my foreign callowness

I took the private brook
to where the quiet rooks row home..