anonymous winds
bend tall Timothy grasses,
wake rabbits napping
in the brush

they ripple the surface
of the stock tanks, tickle the haunches
of the beasts who wade there
to slurp the tepid waters

they birth red dust devils
for my eyes to follow, as they scud
through mesquite, and hopscotch over canyons
older than time

one day, soon, they will blow
over a shallow earth bed; I will not hear
their sibilant song, but my sleep will be deep,
unperturbed by their mystic music

everythings alright
but i don't want to open my eyes

my parents talked about that dark disease
which only inflicted the ungrateful
they called it depression

the sun still rises
and the moon still swings across the sky
in its many shapes
but night or day; i am wide awake

i was concerned in a pleasurable way
when my pen refused to be silent
page upon page of sweet sweet misery
but now my hand is frozen
and the page lies blank
agony to silence
agony to still

they talked about what the bug was
how it ate through you and i listened so intently because even then i knew something was wrong

inside
something was wrong

i spoke to the crow today and he told me a silly story
about how the ruffles in his feathers keep getting heavier
and how one day he fell in the pond and watched himself sink
but did not cry out for help
he did nor cry out for help
some poor soul took pity on him and pulled him out
he did not cry out for help
he did not cry out for help

maybe time is relative but the clock ticks to let you know you're alive in a world that ***** out of you the spark that makes you tick that makes you tick
tick
tick
the clock ticks
tick
tick

maybe i'm too poor
too fortunate
too loved but inside me
this
this
this
i forgot what it's called
let's call it the friend
this friend
my friend-
what was i talking about again?

the smile still frowns
and the gold is still a crown
i will wake up
again

nothing is wrong
but i cannot open my eyes

nothing is wrong
i did not open my eyes

The table was set.
The morning was fine.
The world lay reflected
in two glasses of wine.

An empty plate
reflected sunshine,
The morning compressed
in two glasses of wine.

What did she see
in undulations of wine?
Were the shapes a portent?
Was there a design?

Were the glasses a mirror
or shadowy sign?
Perhaps they were more
than just glasses of wine.

She and a friend
sat down to dine.
Their reflections drank deeply
from two glasses of wine.