The good verb “conn”

supersedes nounsies that say much the same

they leave their mark
and their stain.


organelles are found in living cells

but bacteria is barely surviving -

gasping, respire, respiring

god will swallow death as sure as sheol

still,

the microbes must thrive

one sloppy, the other ill


a slender hand of steel

excites it,

like the splendor of redwood mounted on peach

a cleavage emerges  (causing a **** to swell)

increasing her capacity for desire

a seeker of truth now bound for duluth?

caught in an ice floe
preoccupied by the last degree

pulling shoals
of distance below,

the south pole is now our goal,

we land on land beyond sea

and space

where a wise man plays fool
to a young girl's angel face  -  

     as an aside: he likes her
     but she is not attracted to men or goys,

scattering the cremains
of
a nobody's boy
(a boy we tried to revive many a time)

into a river where the river never ends

he remains  

sinking into darkness,

adrift in a pit
of lips of labrum

down the chosen depths

of the frozen abyss of Tehom

sure I get excited
about
love,
***,
and
violence.

sure there's a hell

but what's your feel about feeling
not so
good
about
your insides?

lonely,
LONELY
an      
only 

a drop in the bucket maybe
and who gives a **** anyway
you say
it's just intonation.

I will rise
I will fall
I would in fact
follow you.

(and just for context - the feeling of minor keys played on a outdated 70's moog, well, that sound would take anyone down).

we don't care
if you are a
moll
just come back!

because
I am still
in love
with
you.

we've come a long way (baby) before
midnight

when that clock strikes twelve
there is no way back

I live in the city but
I can't get the sound of sawmills
out of my head

what happens between now
and before (the next thing happens)?

that is a real concern.

lately, people have come up to me
in my face like,
and say, hey I like your poems, but
I can't understand why you have to be
so ...
and I fill in the words
... pregnant?

no, like a void.

oh, I say
in the past tense.

A forever pouring into
My dear

And flowing back
Again

Lifting you up
Setting you down

Holding you tight
Never to let you go

Lifting our eyes
Over the waves
Taking a deep breath
Into the ocean
Our hearts contain
All emotion

Lifting her up
Holding you back
Only to find

A helpless

Child

Offering a drowning
bucket
Of things

What my dear
Can we give
That hasn't
offended her
Already?

describe your aura ana
ana roxanne is your aura
the color of the sound of
ah's

roxanne for strength

hapless and helpless we
will not fade in the eternal night
a nocturnal eternal says,

I see an immediate future for you,
I recall your arrival.

I stare into the mirror until the light (life) goes out
don't worry about the fly

 I am thinking about two paintings by Gustave Klimpt

Eve undressed
Adam undone 

my mother the ******

I still suckle at her ****

and worry about the larvae

truly one dreams about floating down a river
and emptying into a lake
then the wind whistles
and the lake freezes over
now there's no chance of swimming out alive
or floating to the top
just sink to the bottom 

ice cap crazy, I say
he never wrote me after that frigid stare
(when Art died I got up and left)

a frozen lake, a frozen stare (start), who dreams like that?
maybe this won't come out right
the end is forced 

you see I don't have much time
and I don't give myself much time

a life no one else can use
must I?

it's like people who complain about the sun

complain about the sun?

yes, the sun is at fault
further, it's the sun's fault
not who complains

what is the complaint anyway that the sun shines or shined and is now gone?

no, stupid
that it rises.

the last gasp
asper coin
of the night

to wit
no one comes to mind

I once had a notion
to remake
the
world

bit by bit

in my own image
of course

but who else can
save it?

so
fast
its
undoing

beyond
finding
an
end

what else
can
be
hoped
for

but a trident's bindng spear.

I can believe
In you
Halfway

And the rest
Needs
To be
In parts

Facing
You

Fading me

Tiny
To the
Very end

You get what you deserve

Hell yeah,

You Greek Meatball.

Can anyone tell how tall I am
how old am I

The first principle is zero.

Flambue roll.

Double stroke open.

is there something we can connect on?

At night the states

I forget them or I wish I was there
          in that one under the
Stars. It smells like June in this night
          so sweet like air.
I may have decided that the
          States are not that tired
Or I have thought so. I have
          thought that.

At night the states
And the world not that tired
          of everyone
Maybe. Honey, I think that to
          say is in
light. Or whoever. We will
          never
replace you. We will never re-
          place You. But
in like a dream the floor is no  
          longer discursive
To me it doesn’t please me by
          being the vistas out my
window, do you know what
          Of course (not) I mean?
I have no dreams of wake-
          fulness. In
wakefulness. And so to begin.
          (my love.)

At night the states
talk. My initial continuing contr-
          diction
my love for you & that for me
deep down in the Purple Plant the oldest
          dust
of it is sweetest but states no longer
          how I
would feel. Shirt
that shirt has been in your arms
          And I have
that shirt is how I feel

At night the states
will you continue in this as-
          sociation of
matters, my Dearest? down
          the street from
where the public plaque reminds
          that of private
loving the consequential chain
          trail is
matters

At night the states
that it doesn’t matter that I don’t
          say them, remember
them at the end of this claustro-
          phobic the
dance, I wish I could see I wish
          I could
dance her. At this night the states
          say them
out there. That I am, am them
          indefinitely so and
so wishful passive historic fated
          and matter-
simple, matter-simple, an
          eyeful. I wish
but I don’t and little melody.
          Sorry that these
little things don’t happen any
          more. The states
have drained their magicks
          for I have not
seen them. Best not to tell. But
          you
you would always remain, I  
          trust, as I will
always be alone.

At night the states
whistle. Anyone can live. I
can. I am not doing any-
          thing doing this. I
discover I love as I figure. Wed-
          nesday
I wanted to say something in
          particular. I have been
where. I have seen it. The God
          can. The people
do some more.

At night the states
I let go of, have let, don’t
          let
Some, and some, in Florida, doing.
          What takes you so
long? I am still with you in that
          part of the
park, and vice will continue, but
          I’ll have
a cleaning Maine. Who loses
          these names
loses. I can’t bring it up yet,
          keeping my
opinions to herself. Everybody in
          any room is a
smuggler. I walked fiery and  
          talked in the
stars of the automatic weapons
          and partly for you
Which you. You know.
At night the states
have told it already. Have
          told it. I
know it. But more that they
          don’t know, I
know it too.

At night the states
whom I do stand before in
          judgment, I
think that they will find
          me fair, not
that they care in fact nor do
          I, right now
though indeed I am they and
          we say
that not that I’ve
          erred nor
lost my way though perhaps
          they did (did
they) and now he is dead
          but you
you are not. Yet I am this
          one, lost
again? lost & found by one-
          self
Who are you to dare sing to me?

At night the states
accompany me while I sit here
          or drums
there are always drums what for
          so I
won’t lose my way the name of
          a
personality, say, not California
          I am not
sad for you though I could be
          I remember
climbing up a hill under tall
          trees
getting home. I was
going to say that the air was
          fair (I was
always saying something like
          that) but
that’s not it now, and that
          that’s not it
isn’t it either

At night the states
dare sing to me they who seem
          ******
any more I’ve not thought I
          loved them, only
you it’s you whom I love
the states are not good to me as
          I am to them
though perhaps I am not
when I think of your being
          so beautiful

but is that your beauty
          or could it be
theirs I’m having such a
          hard time remembering
any of their names
your being beautiful belongs
          to nothing
I don’t believe they should
          praise you
but I seem to believe they
          should
somehow let you go

At night the states
and when you go down to
          Washington
witness how perfectly anything
          in particular
sheets of thoughts what a waste
          of sheets at
night. I remember something
          about an
up-to-date theory of time. I
          have my
own white rose for I have
          done
something well but I’m not
          clear
what it is. Weathered, perhaps
          but that’s
never done. What’s done is
          perfection.

At night the states
ride the train to Baltimore
we will try to acknowledge what was
but that’s not the real mirror
          is it? nor
is it empty, or only my eyes
          are
Ride the car home from Washington
          no
they are not. Ride the subway
          home from
Pennsylvania Station. The states
          are blind eyes
stony smooth shut in moon-
          light. My
French is the shape of this
          book
that means I.

At night the states
the 14 pieces. I couldn’t just
walk on by. Why
aren’t they beautiful enough
in a way that does not
          beg to wring
something from a dry (wet)
          something
Call my name

At night the states
making life, not explaining anything
but all the popular songs say call
          my name
oh call my name, and if I call
          it out myself to
you, call mine out instead as our
          poets do
will you still walk on by? I
          have
loved you for so long. You
          died
and on the wind they sang
          your name to me
but you said nothing. Yet you
          said once before
and there it is, there, but it is
          so still.
Oh being alone I call out my
          name
and once you did and do still in
          a way
you do call out your name
to these states whose way is to walk
on by that’s why I write too much

At night the states
whoever you love that’s who you
          love
the difference between chaos and
          star I believe and
in that difference they believed
          in some
funny way but that wasn’t
          what I
I believed that out of this
          fatigue would be
born a light, what is fatigue
there is a man whose face
          changes continually
but I will never, something
          I will
never with regard to it or
          never regard
I will regard yours tomorrow
I will wear purple will I
and call my name

At night the states
you who are alive, you who are dead
when I love you alone all night and
          that is what I do
until I could never write from your
          being enough
I don’t want that trick of making
          it be coaxed from
the words not tonight I want it
          coaxed from
myself but being not that. But I’d
          feel more
comfortable about it being words
          if it
were if that’s what it were for these
          are the
States where what words are true
          are words
Not myself. Montana, Illinois.
          Escondido.

By Circumstances Fed

Which divide attention
Among the living and the dead,
Under the blooms of the blossoming sun,
The gaze which is a tower towers
Day and night, hour by hour,
Critical of all and of one,
Dissatisfied with every flower
With all that's been done or undone,
Converting every feature
Into its own and unknown nature;

So, once in the drugstore,
Amid all the poppy, salve and ointment,
I suddenly saw, estranged there,
Beyond all disappointment,
My own face in the mirror.

For an eye
A pyramid

A statue enclosed.
Stuffed in a grotto
A shadowed niche
Ensconced in shadow.

You didn't tell me
I would be left alone

That
You would die
Along the way

There was something I wanted
To offer you

Something larger than

An empty void

I needed that

I wanted you

But I got

What He gave.

How

Can

I

Thank

The Emptiness.

I forgot what i was going to write  you
I know it was important
It had something to do with life
Or was it death

I'm not a word man anyway
I spent my lot
It's gone

It used to be like an eternal fountain
The gifts just kept on coming
I was a zeitgeist monsoon
A freak outbreak of the
had to do's

There was was never a question of asking
if
Or
when
It would come

It was just

the

Viscera

Of

Life

a river glows

feelings flow

happiness i guess

little is left after dragging myself through the night

keeping apparatuses near enough to not have to reach

she lost to pain

she came for more

she left for good

deepest waters trick swimmers
touching bottom
someday spilling out
or filling in

trickling drops
liquid quibble

how they come and go

Children do not follow
But become

A Serious burden
To unthink
And think again
Like a child

Caught between
The reality of being in the world
And interior being

Once thought to be
down and out

I was reborn
Into
Nothing

And again,
I am now reborn

Into a room
Now empty

And you,
You are forever still

Here
And still

I can barely hear
Your melody

I have nothing
For you but
Adulation
(And sweet remembrances before)

Later, after grief
Overtook our glances
Once so filled with joy

Of love, what of it?
If a beast can channel
Its muscularity
Into soft loyalty

Why can't I?

Forever,  whenever
A Painful sincerity
Reaches longing heights

At one end
Someone is
Looking down...

How dreadful
A benign
Cist
Can become

... staring at the other.

She,
a Prophet
Running

guided by rails.

Smashing
cities
Like pumpkins

Gliding currents
underfoot

Shadowed
by rats

A marshal’s maxim -
Crush thy liberty

again no proof
Of humanity.

Cold and hungry
I see you

Falling off the track
I say,

I'm sorry

I can't

Help
You.

*

Subway wheels peel
With Liturgical
Regularity

stepping closer
To the edge

Steelpans
Are on the
Rise

A central pin
Bears the brunt of
The ride

the axlebox reeks
Of sin

Some unknown passenger
Is sick
and tired
and running up costs

As fast as he can scan the car
He whistles a merry tune

From the sounds of horns below to the bells above

I keep remembering
What I said,
“I'm sorry, I just can't
Help
You”

to those souls
who's only purpose
is to
make other people
their slaves

be ******.

may the force of evil
that once ruled the worlds
keep silent.

may the voice of love prevail
to the tiniest degree
fortifying
all mercy
beyond
limitation

alah, alaha, ahuramazda,
god.

help us all to love

you
beyond
our
understanding
of
you

first,

last.

for once can I be honest?

a man or say a woman
can't, won't, shall not
sleep walk in this world
without
hitting
something
to wake them
up

no, but eggs for breakfast,
fine.
but for
dinner?
c'mon.

I, or she can't sleep with me
because of the gap
between
what is
and
what
is
not.

Future projects include, trimming my beard, but only to replace the one I have.

Another project could be to omit the subject noun whereby relaxing any proposed meaning to superficiality or replace with an Ubernoun to be discovered later.

I am writing in the stile of Typhoon Murphy.  

I am having a profound realization that my non-writing writing has gone all wrong.  I, for one, am not worried as much as profoundly disengaged.  Dot, dot, dot.

A bio-recap:  If I am conscience of God then I am also wrong about many other things too.  

If I ignore my thoughts, they then, in turn, will ignore me.  BUT STILL...it hurts.

If the water I drink is tainted then I am slowly poisoning the earth EVEN AFTER cremation.

ESCUTCHEON:  Tuesday September 17th, 2019 at 09:41 PM writes:

oh please…no more fluff for the stuffy…blah, blah, blah

REPLY:
its so dank in here – do you mind moving over?

ESCUTCHEON:
have to go anyway, its late and kinda artsy for fancy yum yums like me ... so derivative like.

REPLY:
ha, ha, ha ya mean so loosely fitting that it ‘palls me *****’.   cheerios girls, as the Telegraphers say

ESCUTCHEON:
cornflakes, potatoes, silk chiffon ribbons, any french layer cake will do for you lot…btw working me times table

REPLY:
since you (men)tion it, hee, hee, kah, kah, (cough)(spits out loose tooth).

ESCUTCHEON:  
rolls around with five men until sparkling clean.  Just like all the men *** known, T. Hee (she wahnts five x =’s 45)

REPLY:
leave it alone pal (3plus10)

ESCUTCHEON:  
yeah or just leave. this restaurant is for invertebrates and finger stats and rind rats

cafe french is stupid. and quit pointing that thing at me
it feels like two flutes in the back

i **(p)e everyone just turns out to vote (for me!) (aside to self – how does one thought supersede another (self to aside – withering like self-replicating worms - it's sequential, isn’t it?))(parens within parens)

huge thugs. good work all. take 5 (6-1=3)

REPLY:
he's drunk.

ESCUTCHEON:  
blood everywhere

meh, just on the napkin...thank g-d

Geesh, Im surprised he could keep (alive) that long  (plus 0 minus 0)

Comment awaiting approval.

LEAVE A REPLY

that's a good question
do I write it out first?

glasses that are cheap
fold into plastic

by the time it takes -
a train passes

hurried enough to find it
I can't locate my keys

lost in a tunnel to save
Time

Write again to a commodity

The comotose of freeze
Written before even you got here

The world may have been invented
By an orange

So sweet
So colorful
**** yet heartless

A man died trying to get it straight.

Hands folded
Left over right
Frontal silences temporal

Lobes fear duodendum
Heavyweights fear welters
Humans; robots
Sons their fathers
Sinners, a god

Art too fears
strap-ons, fears fakes
Fears sterility
Fears youth,
Fears age. Now old.

Help!
God.
Serande us with
That which we cannot, or will not
Comprehend

As seeing Khatia sur la sable makes her desirable
How can we honor her, that
I do not understand.

A little left forward
And the creeps come out

A little less
And we accept
A Creep

Hmm.
Past the forward
Leave in a lurch
The smell of baked clay
A mudslinger's holiday

what goes on behind,
or in front, and besides
who really gives a
****?

daily, yesterday, today and
most likely, tomorrow
it seems

how to say this,
the turn-around is
just around the corner.

then I ran into you.

Dia says,
Kick rocks
so,
f'y'all.

and Isaac,
complains
nada
solo
as
usual.

(still I like who he follows)

people
living off
other people
is a another version
of
send in the clowns.  

please don't get me wrong.

I stand on the shoulders of
Tijuana,
Monterrey
and
Coatlicue

hey
at least Coatl'
will
tell you
like
it
was.

the rest?
don't even bother

I guess I want

I want the prize of youth
I want an atheist certainty
That pride in knowing how things are
I want that person who ignores me

I want what my father and his father want

A faith that has a dollar sense about it all

I want that death knell

To freeze.

This then

Is a last ditch effort to throw words at you

Without hate.

drop a cap
says a lot
   of crap

used words
won't work
or at least
I ain't gonna buy it

what's it worth
if it can't be said?

until it drops
don't try it

used
words
don't
work
for
what
they need to say

to tell the grim and glum and gray

ultra-violent
rightly-fallen
defiantly-silent
irritably-sol­emn

a gap opens

a rat is about to die

muck starts settling

wood ash leaches to lye

crystals start forming
an emerald worth rejoicing.

Sunshine rises
Rose
with a pounding
Eraser

Emptied --
Stilled by
cooking bourbon in tall glasses,
Emptied again.

She, however, almost
Falling off her
Chiseled bottom,
Sprang up and said
Oh, but a drink
Left undrunk
Is impolite

A wry wink
A dry hazard
To guess

One can never
Better too much
Courtesy

isn't it time

for penitence?

I just forget everything

and don't talk to anyone

except for you, dear Lord, you are my ball and chain

having died and come back again I get to look back
watching old movies of myself,
sleeping last night off, leg twitching
dreaming of moving along a motorcade of immanent death

one by one getting flat tires, running out of gas, suddenly the battery
dies

I get out of the car, look around, and see, to my surprise

a loved one's love looking back at me, twisting in the wind, empty, alone, drunk,
its my father or mother lifting my brother or sister from the back seat to the front, carelessly driving, ceaselessly swerving

towards the waterway

if it wasn't for the guardrail,  we'd all be dead

time is a ritual now, and it hurts to come back to life, to feed the living,
to get dressed in day-old church clothes, to hit back, as one sneers at being sneered at, I pick up the Daily and skim the headlines, Lost and All Alone, A Stranger Takes a Dive, toss the rag and head to work, fixing to lie to my boss about being sick, about tasting olives, about who I am.

asserting oneself,
or
self effacement.

to be or not to be
the often quoted
dilemma.

does it count if I have dementia?
Alzheimer's will.

if God is the most important
answer to the most important question
then

I report

there is a gap
between
learning
and knowing

between
experiencing
and learning

between
reality
and

eternity.

Eternity?

isn't that

now?

Happy thoughts

press them into vinyl

don't they deserve
to be embossed
into
something
real?

happier times

that's the stuff of
our parents dreams

we remember
maybe
how we wanted
to
be

different than
what we
are now.

surely,

a golden
disk
has
played.

o' cinereous city  
give to me your blacktops
where on hard white asphalt
impenetrable, grave and square

we play hardscrabble with toughs
who huddle in groups
hanging keds that swing in the air

a pitch of blank gray
a field of kicked stones
ashen, barren
the end of confusing friends

but still a place to go
and run and run and run
when all at once, filled with children laughing, crying, jumping, stumbling, climbing, bouncing,
announcing life in eternal screams - - let me play!

sometimes i feel like i am in the midwest
sitting in queens
dyslexic
listening to Jessye Norman (who listens to her anymore)

sometimes i am flying over the sea
algae deep,
crashing mountains, ocean green

its the same every night when you are not here

i get home
do dishes
heat rice and dahl
open a beer

wait, wait, something on the weimar republic is on tonight
that's not new
the same questions
why the jews

how could so many
die in broad day light
while He walked the earth?

biblical tales that still
need interpretation

who is the weaker of the two
before now or after?

Jessye now sings Samson and Delilah,
the announcer announces

the singer sings,

"my heart opens to your voice like a flower

my dearest let your loving words dry my tears

tell me you are returning to Delilah

repeat the vows you made long ago

the vows i used to believe in"

the vows of heaven on earth?

the vows of justice?

who stands to inherit the earth ... the meek?    

c'mon!

by G-d she could sing

what are you thinking
so curious a surrender
without prejudice

next to those mischievous pealing eyes
soft goes the song of love

for you I think of cranberry crumbling cakes and luscious blackberry colored beets

I make for you a crown
of laughing stars, with singing orbs in guileless profusion

but if ever life ends this round - forever desperate sends are bound

for if ever a war was in my heart - it rages over being with you
or being alone,
for my pride gorges on isolation

selfishly feeding - like a dismal mite -
making a mean meal - meticulously picking out flakes

of love.  but there is love - though it seems forever lost

and if ever a semblance of a true and divine love would by chance appear,
save me a place, not waiting to be saved in this world, not wanting the next, but only now
my most dearest and loving v., save me a place, in this moment,
next to you.

a brief overview:

so far, in our voyage
we have stayed home
call it a parallel apocrypha
omitting all and accepting none
I own nothing

pronouns are a formality:

a Roman Catholic, a Greek from Rheims
a girl and a boy
a sister and her friends
a wife and teacher
a nun who’s a mother

chronology of implications:

first day, second month
prudes scare me
how much should a man give up
when his wife leaves him

she’s not really gone
it’s just something to think about
or ignore
or laugh about

you decide

the one person who’s bereavement
you have mulled over and over until one day
you find out the person has been going around saying your name

I call that a preferential loss
I call that, as an if

Genesis says
you will be forgotten

give up
you
temporary
nothings

dotting
a quarry of immense
emptiness

Modern pieces less than broke
Greater than places to store them

Less than assunder
Torn
greater than
By bankcraft
Greater than
Frightened less than
By Cowering
Wretched
Towering

Greater than shivers
of unending
Guarantees of happiness

Basically

unkept
Promises

Opening up to swallow
Your less than ninth
scented sensed
Throated
Greater than less
Om

here come the warm jests
here they come droogie

gently smiling
level headed
laughing loudly
heaven scented

being warm they are gentry
being strung-landed
they are like a bad drug
like a bed bug
they don't even like jests

still, bring 'em on
young and all
like infant children
draining *******
too hard to reach each
too hard to touch much

some of them are us
some of them are
just in the way

leave them then
more for us

here's a scene,
you are young
I am old,
we walk to the park,
light sparkles on a dithering pond
undecided
we try and waltz
through an interpreter
we watch each other
and
laugh

many upon a person's prayers
too often quoted

least begotten
a son
forgotten
when he comes back

for He has.

AD.

His name is new
the message renewed
Love God
with all one's might

forget the world
but not the duties

the world,
that
forever forgets
who we are.

The tremors of the heart
Can be mended

But slowly, slowly, slowly

Would you care to be laden by the fire?
O, someday, someday, someway

Will you dare ever waken to a song?
Sat song, a sitting song, that you wont need to don’t get up

Far be it from me Mr. Snead
To level off on the misty foutenou

Winding down a path of fortune heading south on
Bare breast street, looking for but longing more

Under-bred sister with her family get-togethers
Passing the
Potato famine remembered story

On the rhinebek [Rheinbach] mountain top
Swig after swig
Dwarfing all that come after
Our being here

Let that be the lesser

J'étais fou de toi.  J'ai été

I will never forget
the more I wanted (you)
the less I was.

If a dark night is for dancing -
will you come waltz with me?

from the top of a hill
she never heard
which way to down
and never felt
a connection underneath

a missing note
a deviate step
a vapor mist
our kisses never met

a hollow cavern
a hole forever closed
inside and out

like tar water run-off from a hopeless ash basin
an unending drizzle of forever ending dribble that fizzled ... out

help me dear earth
if you really want to be mine
blacken the soil and ink the green

in deeper ferns we reappear
as lava flows to shore.

moving inland far away from
the coast temptation doth bring
deeper in land the head seems consumed by everything

nearing the coast it's the heart that sings

though inland, my love, you will find me

away from the bogs or the shoals o' herring

holding you at bay with *****

keeping me next to me

wanting tomorrow to be the better day

my mind, an island for tromping shores
different from desert sands
when the tide of your concern reprimands

on this island the shells
are smaller and there are no dollars,  
the sea, a shrunken plastic expanse of
syringes and lip balm containers,
soft fluid-filled bodies turned into
sopping brown-bag skeletons,

revenges
of modern life.

there is a rivulet further up shore

do you feel it?

follow the inlet wind

near a candescent pond

there is a house

open the door

if you fall in

a home can be found.

you can sing with us

but do you know the songs?

you can drum with us but

is the circle broken?

where is smiling crow

where is steals horses

where is william strong bow?

he is with billy the long nose

[no, he really has a big nose (and a short fuse)]

there is one,
some say she kills the song,
but she is at each gathering

never misses a beat,
she loves to sing

sneaking up on us like a
grey hawk,
she swoops down,
missing her prey,

she'll be back,
watch-out!

the circle is bigger or smaller,
we decide,

everyone wants to
be close to the host,
to be the lead
to drum in the inner circle

how can we be so many?

we need to take turns

those who are close to the center know,

listen to them when they speak,

they don't tell.

you say the universe is empty

that it did not choose us
not even once

you say the world is full

of empty hearts

but I too have a story of woe
though if it's in the Mayan language it's not composite,
or Corinthian,
or sequential,
or relevant

I'm just walking in circles here
devouring souls

like us,
our sister-worlds streak across a millennia
chasing her breath
heaving sighs,
leaving
interleaving trails of memory
waving goodbye

I should have granted you

Good relations
this one time
On earth

I should have seen it coming
A lifetime ago

But it was
Too soon to call you real

Then I saw you
Walk by

So slow you passed
It was hard to breath

Neath the under-broken
Table

Below the beaten
Hellstorm

She bore two sons
One of fire
The other sun

Both so close to
Burning
The other out

I should have run
To save my life

Always at an end

It would have saved me lot of time
Had I eaten one of you then

I was dead during the day at the office
It was I who followed me home for dinner
I left me feeling empty in the evening
Still I thought I could be slept off over night

In the morning I prayed to God never to leave me
for forgiveness can never be redeemed

Yet nothing was done
So forgetting the night before I carried on as usual
Tardy for this, too late for that, too quo kid to care
Scratching my chest
With a bliss this small I'd stop
But
Each day's the same

death followed me
empty  
over night
awake

Never redeeming
nor ransom free
In the morning
I never left me