just yesterday, you smiled at me.
i caught a glimpse of your hair down
and a rampant
' Okay '.

you were ready to almost be
quite close
too happy.

and i can't help
but notice...

your carousel has fewer insane
horses.

we serve no dark when we embrace
and nothing cruel can stay. we are too alive to be beleaguered
by the horde of narrow minds, and cast out almighty odds
against; to gather up our perfect days, wallowing -
in the chasm of our bliss... entangled in soft moans
and well spent.

sewing the breach in my well worn stockings
where the seam abandoned it's strata
and departed...  it's post, toenailed-
to the cross-stitch of an unraveling weave.
my mind blinks, to moisten the third eye
what been staring at the mundane, overlong...
to stimulate the *******
and hasten the vibration to a resonance
that opens a door  
upon reflection, to the outer dark
and all the bright lands
between the sea
and the murk of -
the cosmos.

to an
isthmus
at
the zenith
of
a sphere.

my socks are
mended
before i find
a spool of
thread.

before the
seam
and
the needle
ever

( met )

where a hole
wasn't

( there )

again

and not
yet.

i was disconnected from your umbrella,
as we strolled
like organist thumbs akimbo
over octaves of impenetrable silences
that lay as shells at our feet, unperturbed.
your free hand, bound to mine.
enslaved to the pendulum
of our quietous
tandem.

we note the long shadows swaying in the corona of emerging contrasts... we go arm in arm now...inhaling the fumes
of our unspoken truce. reveling in the sanctity of our bond
without losing a thread in our poncho
to a snag in the deluge.... or raindrop teeth.

we continue in our way.
conjoined in our congenial orbits.
disrobed from the
inside-out.
two columns of mute serenity...
stalled where the bridge
and the railing; conspire to frame the stream below
with the moment of our pregnant
pause.
as seen from ground zero in a cataract
of awe and epiphany.

the mist from stones dashing about like trout
draping our skin in flecks of Indra and glass spider eyes
laughing at all our jokes, before the punchline
finds your Abbot
to Costello.

we are drenched in a thousand specks of mirror.
with tide pools in our crows'feet... and all
the continuum of glory...

the unvarnished fathoms of our symbiosis
and the dignity of our invulnerable
Haj to the Mecca of our Peace.

II

i was disconnected from your umbrella
as you never believed in -
having one.

so i embrace precipitation
with all the ****** delight
of a pagan in the company
of His oracle.

your antlers
shedding skin
and divine.

my spirit
dwelling
in a
jar

full of fireflies.
for true.

in the barn, where the wicker baskets gag on dust askew -
shimmering in disarray as the slanted rays of the sun
slip through the fissures of our ancient frame...
there are new gods now. and they caper through the wires
of our every day... we are consumed by consumption
and have no weariness to stay the rapids of our Idiocy.
we brook no fumes. but bind to the arrhythmia
of our plastic satori.
we conjure no love that is not dead to the world.
it's just dead to the world.

with a barn.

when you left,
I heard your voice each night

days, weeks droned on, and
your words became more faint

on the anniversary of your passing,
you came to me only in murky dreams

sound, it seems, is as impotent there
as it is in deep space

will another revolution around the sun
make you vanish for good

will I be there with you, wedded to black,
listening without ears

to creation's eternal command for coughing carbon
to return to dust

will there again be an us, in that place
where nothing escapes,

save wondrous waves that whisper
the ghostly story of our demise

i walked all around the grounds
and found some angry worms and such.
i poked in the weeds and slept on a frozen log -
i chose to abandon a part of me
that was all for you.
but your **** candle lit darker things
of which i had plenty
truth.

just in case you didn't get me nuthin'
with Mercury in retrograde, and your lover
gone from the map.
it says " Here, there be Dragons "
and wither you go -
the pain will follow
like a burr
in a snowflake
on fire.

let me tell you
humiliation is a spice
in a dish served cold.
let me show you to my Parlor
of Yesterday's
fresh hells.

and tell our friends.
they'll all be there
denying.

I took the liberty of relieving you of your broken heart
and slept through the night.
you are my baroness, and i am the moonlit glade after dark
and the depth of available light.
true love is like watering
the fish.

people don't. but you do.

and you might.

Now, come along and get there from nearby.
I have a chapel for you to breathe in
and smoked walleye to nosh with fennel
and braised ivy, clutching the flanks of my house.
I can offer you a golden block of Amsterdam
stapled to Achilles' Heel, and a punch bowl
spiked with lavender nettles... and the kettle black
mocking the other black thing.

Now come along and get there, from nearby.
we need hardly talk at all, and i would have you serene -
in the fecund emporium of both our outrageous spittoons.
we give water to the effort we make.... we push rivers uphill.
and the both of us matter, as much as the least of us
do not.

we carry the weight of a sprint
like a gallon at rest.

i see from here, that you are sleeping as we speak.

dream this way.

all the voices march
out of the dark hum
and into my heart
by the ton.
windswept phantoms
of a lost tongue.
i gauge the 'morrow's
of my past
to gain the length
of my horrors
to come...

but always with your heart
numb.

and always with my heart
a strange
sun.

down in my toes where the sand and milk corrode the bottom
of my rucksack and employ all manner of moons
to disassemble my terrific glee -
i savor the rubble of my junk suns and the anvils
of my conspiracies
and i loom in the dark corners of a secret alphabet.
slumbering aloud with my mind open
to the dreadful and sublime.
as my teeth rattle in my joints, calling tomorrow
from it's grave mistake
while dreaming of another
one.

i awaken.