Clip my stride and I'll be at you like a tidal wave.
I'll strum the wings off an angel, to gain a quill -
to pick a lock. But You will not. And that's ok.
Some of us will a punch a rose in the gut
to get the honey. And the rest will fall.
They'll see where it is that a darkness walks
and spot my footprints ascending
from any hell
they wrought.

Surrender Dorothy,

And
make
your Socrates
from a lost
sock...or a
monkey-

with two
loose buttons
for eyes
and two loose eyes
for nothin'.

and with
a chipped tooth
in the broad smile of a worm...
as your glorious
prize !

threading a hook
in the grey impossible
like a dull
thump

inside

Inside*.

II

Let us cling to the market place of shallow ideas.
there, we can march to the county fair
and display our swollen feet
to the clergy of the
Impossible.

III

Let's glow like ants in a cave... that glow.
For the Cave is dark and full of errors
that correct our course napkins
to the crease of our mouths
as we swallow
the limit.

IV

Do be the one that saves me from
the myriad angels that love me
none.
Be the wanton Mercy at my bed, come -
from a dire hope to a better
One.

V

Be the last thing I see as a threat to my anguish
and the first thing I believe in
to claim
It.

It was 4am and snow
had fallen silently for hours
leaving a thick blanket of marshmallow skin
draped over  all, and silence reigned
like a wise emperor whose subjects slept
without fear of Timpani.
Trees were over- burdened by drift
and bent like old men,
they stood
where their seedlings had taken root
centuries  before villages
crept
up from the valley
to squat among them,
bringing chimneys and children,
women and  men,
and all their
dreams.
It was late
and stillness shimmered
in moon-glow and cedar musk.
frozen stars,
all around
mounds of them
as gentle winds
plowed through the natural  world
sweeping smoke from rooftops.
As
Giant owls; Their wings
cupping the elemental
patrolled pillows  strewn about
the star chamber
of all Gods...
  Up where an omnipotent Love
dreams on and on about giant owls
and how from here, the  owls were gods,
patroling the nursery
of new gods.
Owls were floating in warmth,  that had been
crushed into something
it  had never suspected,
they were Owls
that kept the riff raff
outside
the perfect moment
for gods to catch some  sleep...
they make it so
As Owls
too small too comprehend,
the vast Love
that loved them...
even so
a majesty was theirs
if not a mind that could have known - and not
unravel from the effort
of such Understanding
They were
  savagely  beautiful
in all their oblivious fulfillment
of the creator's plan;
they were
Lords
  wearing crowns
without burden...



At 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight were in there dens  with uneasy sleep tickling their whiskers. Those mice out of sight of The Plan's Predator, unseen in the dirt  pouch under rich soil and snow, The lucky ones continued to be blessed. The gods were sleeping... and they all  loved mice... So at 4am, the mice below the frozen stars that fell overnight; they received all access to another  day on earth... they enjoyed the consequence of Love's action, for owl eyes were denied cute things to look at but  saw everything else. And beaks ... Well....
They would go wanting.
At 4am, all Mice who prayed for windows never got windows at all.
And the first snowflake to ever have a Red dream
was later made a prophet.