She thought I chopped down the fairy tree
But I just planted it somewhere else

She'll have to fly from Dublin
Visit the American South

Drive on up to Chicago
Move by word of my mouth

Catch a train to Jersey
Then back to the Book of Kells

See you in Seattle
In Toledo the Witherells

          Savages, Ishmael

art unfolds constantly
cloud sailing by
what do you see?
what asks the sky?

Murmuring in the forest
a lonesome wolf howls
the machinations of Man
reach far into the Universe.

Every day I lose a part of the past me
to gain a part of the future me.

There is no place that is not within you; 

none that is without you. 

In life as in death, 

we are teeming with the breath 

of one another. 



We are cycles 

recycling selves

into each other;
sister, brother, 

father and mother.



Giving love

unto love 

unto love. 



There is no place that is not home, 

and none that is lacking in heart. 

You are born of the world, 

and through you it bears fruit. 



You cannot understand the depth of All, 

until you consume it.

Maybe it’s your self aggrandizing behavior,
Or the downward spiral into an elegy
Which I cannot stop myself from revisiting.
They say,

“He speaks of you as though you were dead”

In this lies a modicum of truth
Silent witching hours where my dreams are haunted.

The still, dead of night gripping me in terror
As I am unable to determine where the chains that bind me end, and the ones you carry begin.
Skulking through the corridor of my mind like Marley’s specter.

How has it come to pass that the line between elegy and ghost story is blurred in such a manner?