my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

I am lost in the forest
        Of your hair,
You sleep as the dream awakens,
        Darkness turns to light

The sun dawns over you,
               Over me,
   The day gives birth to us.

.
Each morning I rise unto hours,
Wheeling in sun, with wee wild flowers.

An hearty wish, on hills by the sea

Each day I skip about live stones,
In winds I run, deep dancing my bones.

I am made of each, cairn on hillocky

Each sweep of air a breathy kiss,
On skyline by the sea, one mighty bliss.

Dancing my bones, in winds I run

Each hour a new turning of page,
Each heap on hill, of these I am made.

*Wild wee flowers, wheeling in the sun

patterns pressed
in old vinyl
needle-scratched
pop and crackle
background noise
just genetic ambiance
old as the blues
smoky aftertaste
blessing     curse
lost fortune
lured fate
lessons earned
the hard way

long playing
at 33 1/3 rpm
I'm humming
no resistance
my will altered
I submit
to inevitable vacillation
accept ambiguity
as sweet song
lyrics unknown
an uneven melody
I can't deny
or disown

you're not my pen
you're my paper
you're not my heart
you'll be its breaker

i'm not sorry for drawing
i'm sorry for scrawling
i'm not sorry for calling
but i'm sorry for falling

Strike one
The rain violently crashes against the ground
He would cry, but his screams are stuck in his throat
Tears, synchronize with the rain drops
Threatening to drown him if he dares to utter a word
Christians pray
Children play
Yet he sat there choking off of the words that he wrote
The candle light lighting the dark room as the moon failed to do its job
Strike two
One more word but the ink is gone
Frustration fills his veins and he sends the bottle crashing to the ground in a masquerade of glass
Why must He fail to put his feelings in a simple line?
A poem
A story
Anything to reveal his dreams
His visions
Could god just want him to die?
Without a single trace
It’s true
Strike Three
Why is He here
He slowly curls up
Awaiting his trial in hell as lightning illuminates the sky
A crash shakes the shack as he closes his eyes
Dream of his death
Stars unfold behind his closed eyelids
And music plays vividly as his waltz around the room with a beautiful mysterious damsel
Strike four
Another crash shakes the house so violently that He wakes
Springing up he runs over to shards that lay sprawled all over the ground
There in all of its glory is the splatter of ink
Looking now he can see a small bottle of paint
Using a brush that so swiftly moves with his hand
He creates the Image of the damsel at last
Her beauty could not be explained with words and now he knew
For she was his dreams and his stars, her singing was the song that he heard every time he closed his eyes
Small tears formed in his eyes, sliding down his cheeks
His damsel was long gone, for she passed away
Her beauty now scared him
Ripping it down from the wall that he had hung it, And throwing it catching it in the blaze of the candle light.
Fire rose from the damsel burning the home and the man inside as the rain tried to save him
It was too late
The fire sounded of her small whispers as the house became ash
Strike 5