No one knows the leaves
That flow upon the breezes
More than me or her
In gentle touches
Mid glance amore
The turning loose floating
Above nothing else mattering
Anymore
That colored rush the turning
From green to rust
The flutter of a heart
Freefalling down gravity tugs
Together entwined
From heights of pleasures
Into lawn forever beds

I am the permanent pause that ends conversation. History was beat and bled to fit into a village, and I think it’s dead now. I think it’s buried. Other than home-schooling and a little pyrography, a healthy distrust of law and society- I’ve given mine nothing of my tangled identity. Maybe my grandkids will pick at the threads, weave a story worth telling. But those threads for me plait a line to be trod, abandoned, or toed.

You'll See Comets As They Fade
Into Smiles On Familiar Faces
You'll See Things In A Different Light
And Visit Various Places
In The Avenues Of Memories
In The Aura Of Your Home
When You Walk Into Your Mind
When You Roll Away The Stone

you invented
the word

raw

to describe me
reversed war

saw me as
unprepared

for this world
not ready to

fight

for anything
including you

and you were
right

you always
had a way

with words

There are memories clawing at me
The walls have marks on them as well
The streets are as empty as December skies
Now, it seems the orange clouds won't show a silver line

I wander through the breeze effortlessly
Pondering on how the winds blew
I had the best of times and worst of them just as easily
The skies will be blue someday, not now

When we no longer care for ourselves
Like a twig that hangs from a tree
The parched crevices of a forest
Yearn for youthful streams

Much like how your young face
That bears a semblance of hope
Wrinkled by the lost fire of the past
I know an ember lurks in your wooden heart

When streams run through the forest
Youth returns losing it's maturity and ambition
Ceaselessly it claws at my walls
And those orange clouds are the ebbing slowly

~
We don't need
Other worlds
We need mirrors

We need thin waists
And a hysteresis curve
To the hips

Let us drink in the sea
And laugh as our number
Comes up

Let us commit
To be noncommittal
And talk nary a word

On age and death
Over afternoon tea
In the bright withered garden

Where the goodness of man
Longed to be more
Than its darkling reflection
~