When the bones plead to settle
under the blue moon,

I watch the waves shudder and censor their
song,

I think my time here has
been
wrapped and neatly tied in a bow,

and I have no one to give myself to.

When the hot cauldron spills
over onto my chest,
where flowers no longer
bloom,

the blue moon laughs its loudest.

the oar guiding my way
has
been swallowed by the teeth of
uncertainty,

I look, I peer into the mire of insanity
chasing the one trustworthy rhythm,

among the many mercenary wales,

that will keep me moving,
moving not just forward like the
beleaguered soldier,
fighting some distant war waged
by the
infidelity of impulse.

yet here i go,
yelling curses at the pursuing blue moon,
bones in motion,
bones sinking sooner,
dust at my lips,
and
destruction
of my
apical temple assured;


I light my cigarette,
inhale disdain for these four walls and
this ritual madness,
and
for all I know,
the moon was never blue
and I made this moment
harder than
it
had to
be.

The hammer falls,
with no hand in sight;

skin untarnished before the unknowing
eye,
inside the pulse quakes.

and I am tired,
so tired,
of chasing that
oasis.

long are the minutes,
struggle is the real fight;

hymns are broken and the breath
has completed the sigh.

and I am tired,
so tired,
of failing to flee the
stasis.

the past has that flavorful taste,
today is stale bread
the future will be choked down;

take my *** into the river and
allow me to be filled once more.

but I am tired,
so tired,
of looking for
traces.

the lonely crow knows,
what submits is dead;

my legs move slower in
the direction of sedation.

am I am tired,
so tired,
of chasing that oasis.

Aligning hearts on the
tilted ephemeral axis watch
the world spin by.

Some not ever meeting true love,
others fondled deeply by its
swallowing grasp.

Searching and seeking out
love never yields the
right diamond.

Be still and love will
find me right.

Forgo chases and pursuits,
resigned to a peaceful treaty
of patience,

for the right diamond will
reveal itself once distressed
eyes finally
rest.

Follow your internal song
to a place where
string and brass
lie waiting to be woken alive
with your fresh breath;
The world is all music for
curious hands and
ears ready to
listen and
play its
tune.

Sun-burnt arms hanging carelessly again
out the car window,
fingers tapping to the music of bending trees,
the smell of freshly laid tire tracks indicate
the rush hour race is on.

My eyes speeding through the scenery around
me,
I am a poor audience.

Lively grass and vibrant flowers shout out
with a fresh burst of new colors, pleading to
grab my attention.
But the only color I see is 'GO'----
The time will come to finally stop,
not for the sake of traffic, but for a last chance
to open my eyes to this generous gift;
hopefully before I reach the end of
my
narrow road.