The wind blows my ***
Towards my shins;
Salty breeze you joke!

It’s a movement, its going to be huge
It’s change change and hope
Divided divided divided down
The middle, no more rotten, and I see
The seeds that bare no fruit.

All the earth
Became the water
A question I
Could not answer.
Soft yet rigid
Slightly spinning
Love the same of
Sand.

The windows of the world
Are open high and through them
Blow the desert air. Inside, on dusty shelves
The batteries sleep and dream of their
Childhood, poppies in the spring
And that deep dark forest of summer.
Light through the blinds through
The windows of the world.

Out there a dry and unspoken world
So much on the promise of one word
Upon waking, startled and shaken – found the day
Again revived.

Feathered and wet, I wept and wept
Upon the shore's more sodden and
Unstable land (beyond the sand the boiled waves). With nothing left to give but tears; I stood and crept into the sea.

The red fox
That Lewis
Shot at
And missed.

A river
That snaked
Away into
Endless mountains.

Beyond smoke
Bird wings
Floated between
Broken desires.

And deeper
In brush
The shadow
Leaped away.

Along the flowing path
Of illuminated light, smiling
Beside the stream

Among the smothered stone
Beneath the shadowless mountain
The burning sun rises

Bloodless as Osiris
Drinking in the dusk
And laughing.

Beyond the last breath
From the last wandering ghost;
Appears a flower of no color
Or shape.
I go there sometimes to escape.
Beneath the ravished moss covered pines
Between the sudden, golden mountains.

This morning on a walk
Propelled by utter joy
I couldn’t help but
Nudge my nose into
The end of a juniper
Bough bursting with
Crystalline rain drops;
Oh the emerald eyes of
Heaven I did look upon
And into, as the herbaceous
Tears flowed from my face.

How far do we tend to travel beyond death?
Many people say only a few thousand feet.
Can you see me there stuttering?
And what memories do we take with us
Downstream  but only a few time heavy stones?
Those is which we chose to reminiscence.
Love the roundness of gravity
And hope the shape of change.
I can only remember that which
Only takes me as far as
The distant shore.

The sky has skin it is boiling red
Above scintillating mountains of
Granite the sun is low, the
Sun is low. I sit below a cactus
And dream of when an ocean
Was your heart, with nothing
With nothing.

Dried-out washes blood shot
I walk I walk. Chasing the memory of rain
You were the only one I
Ever loved; clouds of my youth
Slowly marched and true.

Stars, oh and an owl
Hidden in a bush of thorns, within
The canyon, echoing like the big
Bang, spiraling out.

Further and further
The night retreats into the grief of
The day.

The dark city of cactus and
Wrens frozen now

Fear

All the ravens
at the end of February
gathered in the leafless branches.
I now know the sound of death;
it is deep in the throat
and sonorous.  

Then what happens?
The snow will melt
The river's will flood
The summer will open
Its reckless hands again.

There are so many trees
On this mountain it's hard
To know which one is you;
But I can hear the snow fall
Through the heavy thought of spring
And know that you are out there somewhere
Standing defiantly.

The dusk is full of iron sleep

I walk through the naked aspen

The cobwebs of all this motion

In a cold blood sky mind.

To know that the sun always shines
And that the darkness always devours
Well then, that's true peace.

We are becoming trees /// frozen in
The basement of December. Horizons
Of naked limbs, chattering like teeth +++
On grey air. A piano plays some
Blurred memory 1, silvering the
Dusk to sleep. Snow falls from the
Dark like stars but it is nothing that
We can keep. Out of a stump ()
stumbles the red fox. On and off
He goes all night >< >< >< ><

There is a path that leads to the heart of the swamp
That navigates the land like a vein
Start out from the Oasis Visitor Center and head south
Toward the Ocean like a single drop of rain
Fallen from the ancient summer storms
Along the way you will become much more than yourself
You will become part of the swamp and part of the cypress
The air plants will hang on your flesh and the spider webs
Will break on your sweaty face and crawl in your hair
Take your time and become patient because things will gradually start to show
Like a dead crawfish dry as a bone
Or an apple snail shell floating on cracked mud
Here there is both life and death
And now you are beginning to believe in neither
But be patient because things will start to show
Like the red tongues of the air plant
Reaching out to lick your swampy skin
Or the pale ghosts of the Spanish moss
Hanging like questions from your arms
Out here you will feel miles from anyone
And the best part is you are miles from anyone
Out here you will start to understand yourself
Your complexity just like the habitats scattered
Mixed in pieces like an ancient puzzle
One minute cypress another minute saw grass
One minute sunshine radiating another minute shade.

But continue navigating this vein and you will reach the heart
Its beauty beating loudly now the green trees are pulsating
Around your blue lungs you breathe in the air and feel refreshed

The living green ferns are reaching out to grab you
Hoping to take you away forever in the swamp
The living green ferns are reaching out to take you away now
And if you feel like you are ready, let them.

Erase everything, start with nothing
Soon the desert takes hold, and
Doesn't forget. Stars. Love well your
Green eyes vanished long ago.
Not without anger, storms in reverie
Dark and menacing. The flood but
I wished for more. A million
Miles of wetter paint.

Maybe these feelings of the past
Which we say then cannot last can
In the dreams of dead "said"
They will come ofcourse

And first I smelled it
With crushing fingers passed
A striking sunset ablaze
And then I saw it
With eyes closed
A memory of love
(Those tumaltous times)
Out of wood comes blood
Frozen tears
The shy clouds hid
The old gods said
“What could make this be”
But I didn’t write this poem for me
Somewhere a star burst
I wrote it for the lonely
and the wrought
the tiresome fighter
(Much like myself
Standing, marching over lava and air
(a shipwreck)
          An impossible tree growing
          twisted, and free
Holding up its greener leaves
with no water for years.

Little tiny black dots to me
They climb and fight up to my knees
But every time I toss down my hand
And flick their tiny bodies away;
But evermore they continue to pest
And me to them the same I guess.

When the last light crawls through the opened broken winter clouds
Like that to touch the back-bone spine of the Zuni Mountains would think
A cross should be erected as a sign to the sun shuttering like the snow
Between your hair and ears which so soft sticks like stars between the
Void of you and me falls from this inconceivable sky which flutter small
Final birds from juniper bough to juniper bough. Between broken mesa’s  
Earth edge is closed sharp! As I fall down near the sandstone body of

                     you

All these window lights are people
Eating, breathing sleeping
Like the sunrise, like the moonset
Devouring the space given to them
Like a river, like a mountain
(Sleeping, waking, moving).

All these stars are dying
Emptying out their existence to the
Emptiness of the unknown
Devouring the space in which they seek
Like a river, like a mountain
(Sleeping, waking, moving).

Who is it that wanders in their mind’s
But the ones who ask the harder questions?
Who is it that goes down into the black swamp
And confronts the age-old cypress?
It is the one’s filled with light and dying
Like a river, like a mountain
(Sleeping, waking, moving).

Burnt out arroyo's
Of centuries gone
Melt before the sun
Goes away,  before
Summer does. The
Carmalized scent
Of la chamisa
Dank and old
Reminds me of
A smile gone
A dream remembered.

On wings of dusk emerge the dead
That tie the day with night in thread
As tight as when the stars were one
Before the weaver's web was spun;
I watch with blinking eye to see
Horizons which unbind from me.

Yes, you think about those things
"The last time I bought this bottle of pills (you were gone)"... the mountain and its yearning. Knowing that the journey
Has been done, many times before.

Would it make you less depressed then
To know that in a world of hate
**** and death, there is a rock
Out in Utah that no eyes
have ever seen.

Not to soften the edges
Of evil
             but

A tree in Nevada, full of
Wind.

A moon gone at dawn
Stars, stars spilling canyons!

Moon like dragon eye
A dull yellowish red
Moon half full above
The distant mountain
Moving ever so slightly
Pulling the soft roots of
My mind, those in between
Thoughts, down. Moon of
Midnight's horizon
In the middle of autumn
Moon that breathes not
Fire but frost, tugging
Off the leaves one by one
Keeping in tow
With the memory of
When everything was one.
Moon of want and moon
Of waiting, moon of fear
And moon of relief.
Reflection and folly
Restless yet calm.

Autumn
The sun rose like an old wave over
All the mountains that couldn’t contain
The light from which they came
A long time ago, yet the wary day was
Young and inexperienced in the season of
To shed a leaf, to feel first snow (ode to
the wiggling winds of change).
Love was both young and old and
In the hazy sky the light took on
More the color of an eternal being
Sitting down to read a book beside
A half open window, a fuming
Cup of coffee (oh to be both alive
and empty) more the color of
greeting than anything, a shy
"hello?"

Bluebird in the tree
Blue whale on the horizon, blue
Winter's shadow on white
Bleached sun song
Younger than time, the tune.
Here we are bird watching
In the space before love;
Strange how we read these rocks
The poetry of everything
We haven't said yet.
It's been a warm winter
The sky's tearing through
The binoculars, the soul;
Here comes the burning
Infinite again, like a slow wave.
Feathers ruffle, the day spins.

Read it a million ways
The mountain says
In stones, please no more.

What i seek the *****
the desert's way
of saying
I will show you the mountain
The moon. I will take you
Away from morning
from love the constant
thought of snakes
of stars

Beneath the silver snow which has gathered
And gathered for days and days
Between a dream and waking in
A cold purple January dusk. Beside the tender
Tongues of root far below the cold silver
Snow which gathers and gathers--
Sleep the soon to be moths
Of summer, those murky wings of midnight
Sleep with no sound gracefully in the warmth
Of the earth among the beginning of a
Million single sexless flowers (which
One day will guide them on the forsaken
Path of desire) deep beneath the lascivious
Warm moon will make love and love.

every inch of earth and more
i long to touch and love and know;
like dusk the quiet fingers hold
the nervous children laughing.

sleet, too wet for a bird's feather
drowned the cold sound of dawn;
now quiet only the sun shines
golden rays through hairy pines

Curved space so much
Said surface gathers
Information. My eyes
Are not mine, nor yours.
Infinity, or something close
Closes in. said I goodbye
And goodnight with no
End in sight. A sky
Full of electrons, cleansing
Consciousness, what a view.

A path led me to a lake
A lake whose water says
The wind speaks
Beneath a mountain that
Swims in the clouds
In the dark.
What is left?
Dreams in the dirt
All these ticks trying to get at my. Blood.
Opportunity, the dawn so far away.

Outside the hospital
Beneath the fathomless, burning rage of  a star. In February

The mountain rose like a wing.

An encroaching wing, like an
Owl's fateful flight, half the path

speckled in blood. Encircled by
the weight of parting, we waited
patiently, tiredly.

(Grief is but the path we blindly stumble)

Our tears, the briny residue
of electricity, poured out profusely
Like a thousand small rivers
Running wild in the desert

There's a mountain in my mind
I've never been able to see
Beyond the farthest horizon
And I'm sailing away
Beyond the further shore
To where the ancient stars
Dance like fireflies in sky.
There's a story in the shells
Of those that have sunk to the
Bottom of the sea of those
I have loved shaped by
The waves of time.
There is a place in the pines
There is a space in my mind
Where even the wind won't blow
Where even sun won't shine.

Ignite these feelings I have lost
Directly, against the strong pull
Of gravity, drag them out across
The Desert tonight like violins.
And in the aftermath of death
After the flames consumed you
And your bones became dust
I went out beside the red cliffs
To hold you once again.
And when I finally let you go
In the summer, between my fingers
In the morning sun, I felt the flowers
quiver in the breeze, I watched the forest grow
deeper in shadow.

It’s as big as this farm field
The universe, after harvest
Tufts of emptiness covered
In first snow. Only the breeze
Of the cold afternoon
To rattle any **** that
was still left near the barb wire
Fence. All the trees were naked by
November. I went further. Supernova.
Where once a glacier slid. Now
Cows ramble on the hillside in
The unfolding evening. In and out of
Light, the clouds are coming back.
The deep ravine is hungry for snow.
Dusk is a ruddy purple and above
The geese are flying south.
Near a frozen pond I watched
The night come on. A constellation of
Branches. A nebula of memory.
And I was young and
And the moon was old. And
Love can only stretch so far
Before it shatters or recoils.
I took the cow path back home
Underneath the snowy stars and past
The woodpile through the gate.

There's a small stream that runs through a valley of white tent rocks
And i'm tuff enough to know that
It doesn't matter though I would
Say that the angle of the soft stone
Agrees to the gravity so casually as if
Or without any doubt the dead tree
Tbat hangs on so angrily will guide
Fate down the right path of finesse
You see you see

I started drinking scotch at twenty seven
Mostly the days were filled with mountains
Contradictions that gazed in mirrors
As wet as rain drops the hours.

Loved on a beach in the swamp and
Desert. Couldn’t be as sad one day

Now and then
And every moment among
Poems, like mountains
With streams reach inward
And bend toward everything and nothingness

Isn't it ectastic
To live in a world of color
Or to think of you in the shower
Drying yourself off me, baby
Think about the distant stars
The lonely miles between
And all the lustful dreams
Of meeting you by the ocean
At low tide on a grey day
Nothing bombastic but
You said you loved me
And we walked out into
The waves and picked broken
Shells with our toes, like apples.
And isn't it ectastic
To live in a time of love
To love in a time of love

When I move, the multiverse
Crumbles to the floor like
Snow falling through a darkening
Forest. I leave it behind in wake. A
Mirror with the reflection of god
Shatters—and we are born. Some
Vastly small burst of energy sitting
Down, beside a candle. Every moment
The substance of existence is washed
Against the shores of the mind. Sea
Birds swirl too in slanting rain. Christmas
In New Mexico now, snow falling on mesas
Outside of me, in the darkness and silence.
And why is the future so enthusiastically
Demanding, at all times, to be consumed?

This is the remains of progress
Pale dry dirt exposed in the
Tropical air rising out from the
Ground showing no sign
Of an ancient city constructed
No signs of life now but
Below below and out of sight
Is where the Crayfish waits patiently
In damp tunnels narrow
For a change to come.

Out of everything
Arises this life or
A single smile. And
The wind over the sound
At low tide, mud flats drawn
Slack. So I met you. Like the clouds
Far off the coast,  beautiful and dangerous, leaving as quick as you came. The sand
Leveled again.

A road that ends in the heart of
the desert; a legion of arrows
of light - The marrow of horizon’s
softer bones, pinks and purples.

Mesquite dreams with soft smoking
edges; moth wings of morning
longing –  off into the flushed open wound

Of dawn; the rhythmic blood of our sun
Smoldering in the balmy hearts
Of those ghosts of the night; clouds, coagulating just above these sudden, silent mountains.

The multiverse, full of possibilities
Crumbles before me, like snow
Falling in the dark, cold night. We
Experience time because we can
Not help but be Conscious. I am
A black hole filled with sorrow
--There is no escaping.
Mountains of sea. Emerging.
In front of me. Through the
Out into the dark, cold night I go.

Cold and quiet twisted as she was on the edges of a dream of an endless amount of stars rose like the owl before dawn dragging the dead mouse among the shattered cottonwoods above blood on the canyon brighter than a rose, sank the grief from the lungs of the infiniteness of time oceans and deserts and swamps. Could not comprehend close the gargle of mud sat in her spat of the beauty of it all watching the gnarled dress unfurl beneath her ankles canyons full of color as she descended into another sleepless smile. The river moved on

On January 27th, 2012 a life was lost
Along Highway 41 at 1:45 in the afternoon
Outside the Oasis Visitor Center
A women lost control of her vehicle
Corrected her mistake too much
And flew into the air like a nervous egret
The gas tank broke upon impact with the limestone
Cracked open I suppose like a frown
The flames ignited immediately
The driver was able to escape through the sunroof
With a few brave men pulling and yelling
I can imagine her thoughts as she escaped
And peered into the wild swamp and blue sky
Saw the green wax myrtle and the brown cypress trees hanging softly
The passenger however was trapped and within seconds
Died, she burned there in the swamp
Visitors from afar saw her life vanish in black smoke
86 years of existence taken away by the highway
That was completed three years after her birth.
(And of this line let us celebrate her life)
___________

And of this loss for a few days after
All were sunken with fear and uneasiness
All thought of how quickly life can be taken away
And within a few more days I suppose we will all forget
Her death and carry on with our own.

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.