The cessation of my diurnal tapestry , a nocturnal tale of white horse
tragedy .. As we wait for the eight at nine , where shadows
often appear to be alive , hours run pathetically slow , freezing near dead from head to toe . Suckling from the bitter , wicked teet , normal people now **** where I eat .. Old crow nail , purple tip reactive banter from a starving vulture , the wailing of Lucifer , his consumption of the rotten in the shelter I rest my aching head upon .. Putrid bile breath , painstakingly reconnoiter the veins in both legs , stabbing wretched leather , smell of imminent death at the meeting house , night of inopportune visitation from an old chum long since forgotten ...What will I find when the body expires , when my broken heart finally gives in , when my brain sinks to the murky bottom , when the voices stop calling  . Who will I see , to whom will I greet when religion receives its long awaited answer , when the riddles lay restful and solved , when guilt and needle wounds are calmed ...Will life resume once more upon my fragile piece of Earth or will I jettison on a beam of light around the Universe .. Will there be a Jesus or a creature with intelligence I can't even begin to comprehend or will the bulb be switched to off and that's it ?

Mother, soil of my soul,
Did the oceans stretch out
Until the rock was hidden?
    
      Did the sky spin its depths
      From the pale moon that suffers
      Your beauty?

Did the lakes come from
Your crying?
Did its crystal dawns enchant
The angels to fall from Heaven's grace?

       Did the rock lift itself so high
       That they adorned themselves white
       Veils atop to kiss the sky?

Did the forest become born from
Immaculate conception like
A ****** bride?

      Did the winds of eight directions
      Grow the storms that grace
      Your melodic gardens?

Mother Earth,
I walk the valleys of your curvature,
The miracle of your perfection
Where the river begins,
I find my answers surrounding me.

You are a traveler of the South lands
brown, a leathered skin coyote
desert walker of the Sonoran sands
crafty, black magic witch
a shaman, lucid dreamer
Yaqui Indian spell weaver
of visions, of paintings in the sand
mixing colors, peyote flowers
red, the melting of the aloe bowers
dark blood, the blooming agave towers
thick with snakes, the fire and hiss
that burns black of sacaton grass
the quiver and flash of flying sparks
igniting night, time traveling to the stars.

Lady in a gray dress
calling this a wintry mix

A coastal low with rain and sleet

I reckon so, but it sure seems
like the winter blues to me.

The dark purity of the night, I lustily sought,
to juxtapose it with the exhilaration filling in me
seeing her lush,**** body's eager anticipation.

Each cell comes alive, in her libidinous embrace,
Her erogenous silken touches,blends with the satin sheen
of sheer black cover darkness unfurls one end to the other,
the  dreamy lighted spots, embellish the nightscape's  opulence.
Night, anointed us with the fluence of love, when our supple bodies,
entangled in the bed till we drunk slept, blissfully lost the world.

Robins scurry, heads askew
listening to an underground frequency
smooth rasp of worm skin slipping
through subterranean mazes.

The ever-changing pond
mirrors varied green and clouds
mythical beasts reflect and rest
weary from endless migration.

Eagles ride the wind
fingered wings minutely adjusting
as the current rockets them aloft
on a thermal through the blue.

The heron balanced on a spine of rock
cares only if the tiny fish
silver under the surface skin
will soon belong to him.

Each in tune effortlessly
on earth, in air
never regretting being here
or there.

While earthbound creature, I
am reconciled to a grounded fate
as winter rain lashes the edges
of my ragged, useless wings.