O, be my prayer to the gods, Venus
Strong waters of Stygian grey, they swell
At my feet, whilst I stand yours, Aeneas.
Olympus saw our hearts, both in a spell
But mortal flesh grows weak in senescence  
It knew we should never be, for you are
Too perfect. I took this, such deliverance
From hopeless time, myself at your alter.
For if man were to couple with the gods
‘Haps, then earthly loves would not fade so fast
Take a gentle godhand, this man applauds
Aeneas is now a name for the past
She cries, Jove-blessed, ‘gainst my youth diurnal
Where a golden sky is ours eternal.

Swoon to a tearful night, unknown to its grief
Dialogue of peace, and those of plight
Ringing of morphology, raindrops on the roof.
Such things heard from the peasants’ seat
In the many wet heads sopping
In the sonorous waves, upright in the city clime
Untending to their beds.
At the bottom of that something
All told are destined they will find
Be pliable to the ills they’ve dealt
To carry on, to work, admonishments
Said once to justify these red romances
That in every rain storm melt
As pity through the night, forever unclasped
From shackles of their blame
Since life and ideology somehow are the same.
‘Tis destiny for abating storms
As some will rose from their thickened thorns
These nights deliver their gentle morns
All the same as hemlock grows as poison
And is best to be avoided.
How—this, I fear only rain my know—
Can we still bathe in fraternal glow
When some still heal from Death himself
Each breath that enters is quickly prayed to leave
High on seated thrones
Those mean so quick to thieving, the poor
The lazy deserve no quarter
Those dusty pockets afford not one
So steal the heart upon his sleeve.
May we help man wrought our kin and kind
By common tongue, free, as we are ought?
Since another may make my world
He is mine to protect, not throw to bytes
So ludicrous and feeding back upon themselves
For destiny can be remade
If hatred weren’t so blind.

Tiny moving parts,
A spirit of synchronicity
That I had ruminated on:
How it starts,
And they stop
Wrought of genius
And simplicity
The dawn and fall of humankind
All seated on a wrist
Swinging forward and behind
In whose fate
The hands so twist.
Dusting charcoal from glitt’ring grin
Mocking in a single prayer
Each second, loud
And growing gayer
Penitence for that second’s sin
For blank, so empty
The vessel sat
Covered, not covering,
In the grayish-black
Wasted time in unused power
The watch but looks away
Meager, sour
Persistent still
‘Till wakened by the rested hour
Where dawn illumes
The hideous sight: a failure
A void in Dis’ sweet hall
God’s hand stained in graphite
And no grace upon creation
Did any of it fall.

Deeply thrown to the maw of the earth
A gaze could own there all it’s worth
Never have extremes before been too depthless
And Transformed.
Light and darkness swallow one
As positivism is garbled and undone
Such a void of the ******, the saved
For neither have such slopes they braved
Or bedlam tamed.
Blesséd teeth of the darker cave
Lend me my voice, though starker, back
And echoed song sung,
Though lost in its ribs
Its to have in that chorus, black:
Harpish wings trickling bells and
Harmonious little sightless things
Loosed from dear Apollo’s light
Darkness scares Phoebus’ chariots
On which the fire-stallions ride.
In their flaming stead and ruthless might,
My frightful heels turned and taken flight.

I fear not the killer
I fear not the gun
I fear not the monsters
Or shapes born of settled-sun
I fear not myths or holy wrath.
No, I fear the lonesome
What solitude may bring
At loss irretrievable
Come swift on Time’s white wing
I fear not death
For that, at least, is comfort
A purchase for my cling
A little voice I can deny.
No, I fear derision and ties I’ve rent
I fear a nil my wants will bring
Long before death I’ve kent
I fear not fantasy
But nothing.

Gentle winds in the rustling leaves
Remind me of your skirt behind the silent glass
I can’t help but chuckle helplessly
The memory exploits this welcomed fault
Though my mouth would never speak it.
Injurious pasts have ossified the skin
Sentinel stone is what remains, sojourned to Ascalon
Misery in the granite *****, stoic in emotion
I drew this targe so flighty, back turned to the alter
To find my steps at the Temple Aphrodite.
I would protect those who love, those who hate
For I stood, the interstice, n’er affy to one
Neither credence on this sealed tongue.
Priests of joy, your vines they spent
In time they found those cracks so well
Bloom in lush across the hardness
Of generations’ sediment
The heat and stirring from below
Pushed to the sun and carved in my aspect
Nurtured by those sweet waters of your stride
The language imbued from the portrait of your mind
Infused with my coldness found within
And crack and crumble as they light falls low
Such debris may let love in.

The Rainbow’s charm plumed out from the shelf
Our magician enchanting—we wait.
The stillness abates past displays of sterility
Confessions of illusions, heard in deaf regard
O, can’t we but wonder the aether controlled
How does he alone know the runes and ways?
To roundly take rein of the reinless?
His knowing eyes shy away, incantations mouthed
Avert and in despair, from proud throngs
Skeptical, but feigned, in awful disbelief.
Collectively, a sharp breath drawn
We anticipated the magic belief wove in us
Awe suspended: a mystery like clouds:
The cosmic-soul, no hero afflicted by the wastrel, man.
Another time, we resolve on this
The typical coldest day in summer.