A whiff of You on my collar,
drifting towards the door,
in the spaces you graced.

My lungs take you in like my own cells.
You understand my distant nature,
worries, faults, evening regrets
Better than I.

Our bodies hold us at skins length.
When you leave, your scent embraces me—-
closer than a hairbreadth.

So go.

something is wrong with the pendulum
above; my chest has been carved
into new designs;
I am awake with a claw in my head;
I am asleep with nutrient-rich vision;

last night I dreamt
that gnats clouded out from my mouth
as though they were seeding the earth

and I was stupefied; when I awoke,
cold sweat in both hands, I recognized

that apocalyptic mornings
with magma-like light
dripping new over dew,
and the cold stone of night

are a separate entity
from the splinter inside of me

give me that space between
hunter and hunted
where even in mastic war
one can chew stillness.

A mountain hemorrhages cliffs of
sunlight just outside my dark front door;
it is the fifth wonder of my universe,
a morning marvel
framed by coffee
and cigarette smoke; it is
love, with hair of lush pine needles,
and a chest like an arm of dirt:

in your too-old two old
river-bed shoes,
in your dry desert clothing,
why does the fog beat you
like an immovable heart?

How can something so old
be dying; is the sky an
unforgiving wrinkle

more canyon than harbor,
or ship without captain

are we all
all we are
at the end, or is there more?

Detox needed, salt enzymes, mother Apple cannot purge
Somewhere under the soul is hidden
Deep heavy air, speleothem drips, blind salamanders fish
White light is in the mind, refresh, delete, refresh
Delete
Hardrive needing replaced, mother board comes on like a crippled play thing
Eve is there, canines sunk in the mother apple
Pages sunk in
Sun's of God
Has now refurbished and has now encoded for the next restructure

Give me dark to balance my bright light!
I'll take my humor dark, my mocha dark,
My midnight starlight hike refreshing
Like a stroll in a fragrant park
For what is the flower without the root?
Festooned in the pitch black rich soil?
And what is the play
In the bright light of day
Without the ache of practice and toil?

Target of lonely affections
Vessel of unwanted desires

Adored and idolized
Distant and ignorant

I cling to my delusions
That you might love me in turn

imagined moment vivid
split second prior scythe’s felling contact—
panic, fear gripped soul, constriction
shadowing hand clutched chest
the final occurrence
my last breath

a life’s span of years
the reaper’s patient approach
confident encroach, task assigned
above reproach, his grim stagecoach
my taxi toward mystery forward

the grind of wood spoke wheels amidst
drop of steady hoof against
an astral road cobble stone
the anthem of death performed
by angel orchestra the
conductor my heart ceasing beat

what memory does surface
allowing in moment to bask as
my life to fade?

sons, opportunity misspent
a wife, her caring consideration unmet
parents, who lack receipt of admiration
the instance impossible to own preparation

to say that which ought be said
a careful avoidance of things that not
rather plead for one last word
a beggar to show heart’s comprise
adoration without question at
time of demise

love, more than a hug
but time spent
love for them—taught shown felt
love and its spread
upon which would serve
death’s beautiful bed

to take the hand of His angel
rather the reaper to dread
a confident smile knowing
in arms their embrace
will be felt once again