Why is it that a
form of a bird,
comes so natural to me?
I can't draw my own face-
is my face foreign?
Other animals seem foreign too-
do they not speak to me?
Wings, bird, insolence,
that is the form that
speaks to me.
The grasp of the horizon
and the majesty of wind.

Oh sweet bird who grants
my dreams, I pray to you
for sweet guidance.
Instill strength, where my memory
proves weak. May my memories
be vivid, and hang thick
where the reproaches of time
may deter them.

I am death
I am breath
I am the everless
that sweeps the hollows of whats unkept
devouring and burnt
broken and unlearnt
turn the page
turn over and sink
and drink heavily
into your sleep
I awake large and deep

flaxen bold streams of bounded glare
how many past days and men have you caught in paths
of your hair
no answers yet
just a flirting flash
of mystery
winners say its love
losers-misery
your beauty sweeps
long and gathers
songs and embers
old trees and men
burn forgotten
furious furnace
that you are
you are the fury
that dissolves
and disrupts
you are the flood
that cripples
in rumbling tides
of thirst
you steal tomorrow
and today
**** time
without speaking
the seconds break free
and you
bleaken men
to blindness
choke them
with sleeping dust
and bury
them alive
you are the desire
that demands to be known

recall those nights
where we would help ourselves silly and drink ourselves full of unremembrance

how with unbridled fury we would paint a black umbrella in the sky that would rain black rainbows and dull all our memories, from here to then and back

and in our blindness we would forget
that past could never be repented, that we may never escape

that as hard as we may grimace and wish that this life that may remove us, will may never blink out of existence, but endure.