I have lost my sun,
Though I still orbit in a strange attraction.

I have lost my music,
Though I know my heart sings sound.

I have lost my vision,
Though I see in dreams an impossible beauty.

I have lost my sense,
Though this world has never tasted as sour.

I have lost my purpose,
Though aimlessly, I write in the pale drear of twilight.

I have lost my reason,
Though I chart dangerous courses without a crew.

I am the last falls of the loveliest red proscenium
curtain.

I am over, undone, a foundling, lost,
Without you.

Sunflowers rising—
Piercing eyes of earth and sky,
  .  .  .  Sun flies with eagle.

Autumn stirs garden—
Last frog croaks, deer nostrils wet,
  .  .  .  Two breaths, one season.

Winter birds gathering—
White sea spray clouding the bay,
  .  .  .  Before the snows come.

She prolongs agony—
Razor lips cut so sweetly,
Can we be just friends?

Colours hug branches,
Hungry birds patching bare trees,
Wings of winter leaves.

To do magic I’ve to believe in magic
Even knowing that’s not real
This Inconsistency deceive is tragic
Is it real? Is it surreal?  But
The mask blurs my vision
Since I get up until I lay down to sleep
I can’t find the appeal
It’s an incision that will never heal
And, oh yes, it is deep and
It’s hard to keep but harder to tell
So, I live breath by breath
In an almost constant, state of restless
The air I breed makes a dance of death
Great and honest for my eyes to see
Since I get up until I lay down to sleep
I want, and I can, but I won’t?
Freedom costs,
The weight weights,
A man gasps
And I? I just breed
With an heavyweight core
To whom I want to play a trick
To untangle myself from this burden
Cause if I wasn’t I
Maybe he wouldn’t write
Or maybe he wouldn’t  be alive
If I wasn’t I
I wouldn’t be me
It’s actually funny how the universe works
The randomness or not
The most minuscule single variation
Could affect everything or nothing
Could mean the difference between life and death
Between me, he, or you.
Magic could even exist!

Little lambs gathered on the precipice,
Soft and snowy, peaceful and patching,
Their numbers change in spotting fog,
By the sea a great erne dives, snatching.

Love, in garden rose,
Her little hands twining tight,
Heart rapt in tendril.

And speaking to the western wind,
In the sped and turning time of the revolving sky
As a top unwinding like a dropped fable;
He dreams of taking leave, unraveling the coil
Upending his foil
Of listless sights as daylight creeps one more tread
And sweet belief breaks down once again:
Days that are ******* like a sad hunt
When the tracker is bent
On tragic orchestrations that only lead to a duel . . .
Undoing, Oh must it be, "Must we fit?"
Let us know and get on with it.

In his bed the women are only dreams
Phantoms, iridescent sirens.

  .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .   ­ .


Yes! I am not King Lir, nor could ever be;
Am a child cast out, transfigured, remote
Innocent, prey to the white flaming truth
The growing down, that clothes my name
Inconsequential, sheathed with shame,
Polite, capricious, calamitous;
Empty of all, it is unanimous
Nor even the memory of ripeness
Invisible, a drop in the pool.

I am weary . . .  I am weary . . .
I shall whisper to the newborns when I am old.

Shall I build upon the strand?  Have swordplay with the sea?
I shall tear my hair, mutter to the moon, bury my wounded knees
I have heard the Selkies singing, sailing with the breeze.

I do not think they will give their skin to me.

I have known them gliding beyond the seventh wave.
I still hear them sing so sweetly, weaving sorrows, on my back
Carving the blue waters as the waves are turning black.

We come and go in cycles with the moon, as tidal waves
Seep and seethe, foam and heave, lone captains setting sail,
In folly with a capsize brimming, before our boat has been bailed.

              

                                        ­                     ­­                                               — after Elliot

Let's friend on Facebook,
Digital narcissism  .  .  .
Quick deaths of touching.