apples lost
to early rot
first blush of red
on mottled skin
a sallow death
sure as sin

crow of night
crowns the branch
boldly pecks
a hole so wide
plucks the worm
from inside

in case you don't remember:
the left is always right

Near morning
by the sea
where I tangle
with the shadows
like a cage of sad tigers
by a grave I find a rope ladder
left by a thief
as the tide steals my eyes,
prisoners of time
without a hammer
trying to drive a stake
in the ground
and this is my crime
living and dreaming.

Let it be known that there is a God who watches over the earth
Let it be known that this God
Cares for us
Let it be known that you are not the maker of yourself
Give Glory to Thine God of Heaven and Earth
Let it be known that whether you are an atheist, Muslim or Christian,
You shall all bow before this God
And give accounts of all your deeds on Earth
Whether you believe it or not
There is a God
And He's God whether you believe it or not

When I retreat into myself
I reap the sky like a mountain
To a cloud,
The rainbow arch of sun rise in my eyes,
Because sometimes I just
Need to be alone,
I hide my dream's failures
In the words like a string
Of pearls sorrow,
The secrets of of my inner most,
When the outer seems too far,
Like the soft touch of a man
In darkness,
I plead the sadness with my imagination,
I hide behind the skies,
Pain becomes tender,
Just now I begin to believe
There is a better place....

Alone I hear the laughter of the
Dead beneath the earth.

Take the words
out from my mouth
please chew them well,
don't spit them out
Swallow them
deep into your throat
let them circulate,
let them float
into your mind,
into your heart
with my words
         inside you,
we'll never part
        and if
the time comes
that you should speak
in sharp punctuation
across my cheek
know that I might,
for a second,
hold my tongue
before it unfurls
   and becomes undone
it might lash out
in a burning sting
from the shock of
             the lexicon
that fervor brings
but then rage will
melt upon our lips
in satin threads
                 of fire
that burn their tips
and no temporary storm
will declare our pain
in language sacred,
and then
               profane
I'd rather bind
my lips to yours
let the waves rise up
           on speech's shores
let the tides of
forgiveness
spill out in phrases
as the moon whispers
bliss in hidden phases
and we'll forget our
periods and commas
and grammatical structures
as polished vernacular
      turns to animal lustre
as we slide to the floor
verbal cannons unfired,
                             unheard
finally at
     a loss for
             words