Spring morning mist swirls,
Flowers twirling in the sun,
  .  .  .  Dizzy bees buzzing.

Sun of early spring,
Joyous— we walk on water,
Minnows under ice.

Once I was at a house party in the highlands, I got very drunk.
We were skateboarding on the large tennis court up on the top of the extravagant property which did not belong to any of us.

I was trying to do a trick and the board flew out from under me and rolled out of control into the center net. I didn't know it, but I broke both bones below my wrist clean across.

When I fell, I was initially disoriented.
I remember everybody letting out a big gasp or "Oooh, ouch."
I staggered to my feet and tried to assess the situation.

I started to feel dizzy and fell back over.
I think two people helped me back up and got me sat down in a chair.
I remember the feeling that I was blacking out and couldn't breathe.

"I think I am going into shock." I said to everybody around me.
"I think I might need some medical attention." I said immediately after.

Nobody really paid attention.
"You're fine." Somebody said.
I shook my head as to say no, but to no avail. Nobody was listening.
"I need an ambulance"
I passed out again.

At some point, I woke up and drove myself home, drunk and with a broken arm. Nobody wanted to give their good time to help me, even though I knew everybody and I desperately needed it...

The terrifying part about this, is that it has happened before.

Know who your friends are
Know how cruel and negligent they can be.
Know how little drugs and alcohol care about you.

There is no awakening.  Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.

In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.

In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.

In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.

The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source.  The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.

In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.

How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun?  Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.

Must vanity reign,
To sully music, poetry,
As it falls from sky?

Gusts swirl under moist sun sinking,

Leaves loft and fall into garden pond,

Fiercly, first colours assemble to brink,

Red maple burns throughout autumn.

All my love for her  .  .  .
Burnished out in the open,
  .  .  .  The way that light clings.

Dry words reassure  .  .  .
Her still eyes breaking down speech,
  .  .  .  My eyes are raining.

Dear Pablo, as I look over
my soaking body, wet, with patches
of dirt, blotched and raw bleeding,
the clouds turn in my yellowed eyes
in order to love you, my Pablo.  
You, who made me feel radiant.  
As I am the sea,  I fish for you,
rolling in mud, and becoming
mountain, I topple for your toes
who'd dig in deep and itch my aching

breast to sleep.  My dreamful-drowsy
birds, rake the skies, rush-out like nets
wanting you on their wings, my poem.
Pablo, I loved you so when you said,
my flowers were little stars to pick,
and that loneliness was a train who waits
in a far-away station, and how, my most
minuscule attributes — a cat, a pear,
the atom, you praised, in odes, heaped
like showers hailed from heaven, as fresh-

water you reigned from the other side
of tears, and temper'd my salt, my green,
murky life.  Dearest Pablo, since you've gone,
my breath has the emptiness that hides under
stone.  And the blue-winds crossing, my life-
less age, they are nothing but long waves,
keening,   —  Nay   —  rood   —   ahhh!
Since you have left me.  And my trees,
they forget how to grow,
my song, my only,
Pablo.

Circle strands of life  .  .  .
Ocean sprays bones risen,
  .  .  .  Open conches nest.

Pond lilies basking,
Misty buds of sleepy rain,
  .  .  .  Water envelopes.