windy compared to lull,
i sit outside the passing squall
of changing northern shapes.
but in a beautiful breath
that feels exhaled for me.

threads, they fall and brush
with intimate intention,
against my arm of chicken skin.
they leave a tender tickle
of pure chaotic invention.

i take comfort in their productive touch,
efforts made with ease;
they steal my mind from chaos
as they dance with interlude.
i glance their glorious wonder.

i'm touched inside by these,
because they needn't dance for me.
they leave behind a taste,
i know, can not stay.
so i sit, grasping, sifting,

as they slip away.
calling, dancing, preaching,
"interlude!"...."interlude"

With eyes,
the very hue of water,
I'll never drown in
Skin,
the tint of earth
Hair, as soft
as a mermaids voice
That my kind,
will never
in a million millennia
lay pale flesh upon
Heaven,
embodied within a China doll,
behind carnival glass
Pure as heavens own tears
Sinful,
as the way the sea,
lusts for sandy shores
Lacking,
as eternity's knowledge is
to newly borne mortality

I weep red
for that
Never known.

He,
the boy China doll
with lake coloured eyes.

Some nights I shade
my eyes
from dark dreams
like a broken hawk's wing
stuck in the hot tar
of a back country road
when sleep seems
like a long ways to go
in a bad war
and desire and desire
and desire like a fire
in my bones
won't leave me alone.