Maybe you're ****** jazzed when you find it,
maybe it grows on you,
maybe you wear it out but it makes you feel things,
and you go back to it when you need comforting.
The best music is the song you've worn out with love over the years,
the old favorite,
the one you appreciate
not for newness but for familiarity
and wonder

mending the snow
has now become knitting white
to frost
as lost kingdoms navigate
from their obscurity -
hosting the hours of our doom
to decades of joy and inertia ...
even as you really love someone
on purpose... you forget
someone.

and all
is come undone !
from a kernel of honey
as ever was.
barking madly at false gods, while -
nipping at the heel of
Unhealing wounds...

all  havoc and have at It
where the true wrong
believes You.

a sting of happiness
dashed against the stubborn
fuss of tossed rocks.
the milk of shadow....
clawing at the way you forget
a glowing medallion
of aching wisdom

And henpecked stars  Henpecked.

a clutch of hit squad horseshoes, lucky in the dark.

the blue navel of a certain monotony
that jibes with your Apologies...
and a long Pause

A Lost -
Art
Founding the Church
of a Lost
Cause

and every Wednesday in a Box
of course.

hurrah !

your whale oil sings to a teaspoon
and the rabbits run fumbling
through the daisy junk
of your yellow sun.
you are blue like green is amber
and the night has lost a thumb
on a scale.
your phantoms pall at your bedside.
they watch you dream and weep
heaving hazy dust
unplugged from a drum.
it used to lay upon the skin
of a tight snare... but now the rhythms
breach and all worlds
are none.

what is gone from you, we cannot say.
but it heralds the coming of a gone thought
on a spool of twine... the weight of moonshine
and utter loss.
it fogs the goggle of pine fresh eyes
and looms false.
but the tethers of your sweet heart
are upon me.

taunt.