Through the leaves
a fusion in my eyes
summer's light
embraced within and
On the breeze
the warmth lingers
Like a kiss suddenly
On humbled mountains;

See there, the old
trodden path of the stars?
The cold black wings
of bats, emerging
from the earth?
I feel it in my bones
As I lie in the dust
I see it in my dreams
those broken memories
of Horizons of unbounded
entropy ever unfolding
Like a flower even
Beyond the final petal;

Summer is, sweet and bold
And full of life
Sharper than a knife
And equally as clean
Hanging there waist side
Ready for a fight.

Twenty hundo on the brass tho
and they wonder why I flash glo
******* walking through the grass low
and they wonder why they crass, tho.

Ate some sea food and an *******
Now I'm swimming is some glass snow
Brain so stirred, I'm talking fast slow
Starry night, just like a Van Gogh.

Like the moon, I'm casting shadow
Laced with oil colored pastel
Call me empty, I'm a vast shell
Alexander, call me Graham Bell.

My bones, know this mountain range
My heart beats like an owl’s wing;
Soft, at the ending of a day.
Summer is fading, surely
Over the empty scabs of spring
And yet, a few flowers remain;
Penstemons and asters
Though their petals litter the sand
Like forgotten feathers.
Who then, calls on the wind
The moon, to transfer the dead
To the field of stars? Who then,
With strong bones, tends
To the living.

Above, on the bleeding cliffs
Petroglyphs illuminate in the sunset,
I see them, the remaining images, linger
In the last light.

This star dust is litter
The last tree is hope
I held my eyes to the cold light
Of a burning cigarette.

A man with no legs
A mountain full of rain
Who then comes here
Without any pain?

Grasp all the open
empty branches of the mind;
Keep all that is wasted
In the warm sands of time.

Beyond the farthest horizon
Past all the known light;
Grows then, a simple memory
Of a sudden, single spark.

Beside the stream
of eternity, the long cliffs
march into the unknown;
Every rock and pebble sings
Thunderous and wild.

Within the forest of time
On branches of moss and ivy
Sits the old ancient owl;
Waiting for the small quiver
Of a mouse in hazy moonshadow.

Beyond the gardens of stars
An emptiness quakes and yearns
For flowers to be born
For mountains to break and bleed
And sing and cry.

The harbinger of death
Arrives in summer
On sultry wings,
A blessing of the winds
Frayed and torn,
Receiver of the ill and
Mistress to the moon
(A kiss from eternal worlds)
In the time of fire and flood
Dressed in a dusky robe
Appears out of the deeper
And darkest woods
On the earliest day of the year.

It’s a dream, they keep
In false eyes, memories
Of forgotten stars
On horizon’s edge
Fluttering like a great wave
Floating between two
Unknowns, fierce
And enduring.

Tree limbs on moon beams
Leaps so frightfully to the edge
Of ever existence, only then
Will the shadows finally fear us.

Look at the stars, the space between
The owl and the deeper woods, why
Then would one begin to say
That this day, is far too short?

But a snake in the weeds,
beside the barn, sliding
away down the grassy wood.