Life lasts but an hour
that cold winds devour;
all that we love and know
smashed by the winds that blow,
leaving nothing but the cold
to chill the still living old.
  Ashes, all that soon remain…

Rearranging chairs
Much makeup to go around
Pretty girls smash glass
©

I was swept in the crowned dreams
on twinkled naps of assorted teams
****** in the bursts of sensual frames
of tagged rolls and engaged fumed tows

Tell me why snippets of times entertain?
as they crucify indeed they always retain
the flow of sustained growth fly away
as it lays it's sweet sullen kiss on my lips

Set me free at the shrine of the not wants
Set me free at the harvests of that November
where traces of raced long hard road smiled
with whispered voices of untuned memories

I am always swept into thorny realms
inside the stained map of their stolen hints
suckling their ***** summery adventures
of tagged rolls and engaged fumed tows

when everything we touch
either turns to ash
or turns to gold
we must learn
when to hold on
and when to let go

Love is a word
like a sword
that has worn
out its scabbard,
a lonely *******,
or a red rose
that opens alone,
a dream that lingers
for too many seasons
and passes in the shadows,
furrows in the dust
on a bannister,
a rock in the garden
of lust,
an empty place
at a table,
a ring on a cobweb
in the rain,
a long hair on your bed,
a nail in a blank wall.