Pope Frances
always dances
on the tops of chairs
like he did
as a kid
down in Buenos Aires.

In the center of the fire
is red
a nucleus of the flame
a lifeform all its own

And the ripe apple
and the toy engine
and the toenail paint
and that part of the pupil where one sees the soul
and the stained-glass window
and the Native American
and the Fender bass
but most of all
the love that cannot be captured, caged or killed.

The wind so strong it crushes bones
Through the ears it leads thoughts astray
None but the brave leave their homes
For fear it will blow them away

This is why my space is challenged
Shelter from the storm I seek
Every muscle works to keep me balanced
An loathes the state that renders me weak

To weather the storm and journey afar
Where you cringe in the arms of your tribe
How I yearn to struggle to get where you are
Yet return to my cave, alone, alive

Banish the thought you can see the light
That shines on a soul too beaten to be bright

From the dust
rises form
splendid and shaped
so pretty
that eyes upon it
tear
and smiles
dance over the night's fog

This is how I see her
in the shadows
as the only light
a bean that shivers through
the curtain of darkness

It's beautiful
it's a soul surrendering
to the moment
with
no
need
to be encouraged
by the dawn

The sight of you
takes the breath from me

Walk away,
don't run
                 keep it

it belongs to you now.

What formal madness need I study
To learn the love you cannot define?
What recipe is mixed so muddy
It’s neither blessed with blood nor wine?

So my remains, ashes of memory
Are the fates cast to the wind
And anything thought meant to be
Proves how thoroughly I have sinned

The echoes of your bitter words
So much louder than ringing in my ears
Bounce through gray skies like crippled birds
That perch and age through all these years

Hide from shelter, shiver from fate
It’s all been for naught and now it’s too late

Don Quixote's

defunct

        who once

        mounted a stale

                                  stallion

and pontificated theimpossibledream

                                                  Christo

he was a ragged hombre

                      and what I have to say is

how do you like your conquistador kid

Mister Muerte