I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us.

Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only
black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.

Time creeps by here
Lazily waving goodbye, dear
And it slides agonizingly near
Before moving on to the next year

Someday I will leave
the cold sea

Leave its dark quiet wake
like all the long nights
I've forgotten

I will go sleep
on the soft shoulder
of the mountains

Watch her hands
cupping the moon

Somewhere west
of these frozen sad dunes

Say goodbye to the cry of the gull
and the bluewater wind I love

that leaves me feeling so cold.

and the shores turn to fruit roll ups
the ashes of vibrant colors explode into the eyes
over long legs and arms, longer than psalms

until pleasure undoes every bad thing that's ever been done

Falen:
As you move through this life and this world
you change things slightly
you leave marks behind
However small & in return
Life and travel leaves marks on you
most of the time, those marks - on your body
or your heart - are beautiful
Often though, they hurt
                            Wolf:
We always seem to leave impressions
picking up our scars and beauty marks
along the way, hoping to do more good than
wrong, and maybe find love on our paths
the world is a vampire.....bleeding us
but also an oyster..feeding our souls
                      Falen:
In order to be, you must do.
All great things start from that one adventure, that one dream, that one idea, that one step.
To adventure is to find yourself whole, to have a story at the end of this all.
The places you see, the things you make, the people you meet will fuel you forever.
Choose to see beauty where others see none and strive for greatness
                                  Wolf:
Have the courage to follow your dreams
and to follow your heart
choose wisdom over folly, but never forget
how to enjoy yourself..and to respect and love others
be assertive while unobtrusive....
and learn all you can
life is a journey. we must always keep moving forward
remembering the past, but leaving it where it belongs
live each day as if it were your last
one day you will be right
                      Falen:
Not all wanders are lost.
We lust after traveling the world
we just want to find a beautiful place and get lost in it,
we want to discover something new
we want to feel & be free
                 Wolf:
It's the gypsy spirit in us all
keeping us on the road
and unfettered to hermitage
ensuring that we live and breathe
with awe and wonder
                    Falen:
I've got wanderlust in my veins
I was born to  live and I live to regret nothing
I'm in love with cities i've never been to
and i'm in love with people i've never meet
                   Wolf:
Gypsy blooded to the end