I yearn for a dry pine forest
on a trail of my own making
to find a tree or a rock
that no one has ever seen

the bitter accompaniment
holds night in your heart
busted pieces of a soul
breathing.... still tender
reach for a dawn fearless and forgiving

self wrapped within self
sleeping with the edges
sharp yet dulled
by the cutting remorse of love

heart stumbles through heart
braced against a wind of your own creation
as you toss another desiccated dream to the side
you stare at the moon

in the depths of you
you find
that love
that loves only you
so you return

they said he never wore gloves
even on the coldest days of winter
that he worked the reins of his team
in sub below weather
back and forth with loads of grain
they swore that it was true

they said that he always won the competition
of carrying grain sacks up a set of stairs
and that afterwards everyone wanted to fight him
he would drink for days
leaving my father to sleep under the wagon
they said he never lost a fight

they said he never trusted banks
and he kept his money hidden in his mattress
and when the banks failed
he had the cash to buy up all the homesteads
that had become broken dreams

they said he was a tough old Frenchman
who harnessed the hills
and built a small empire
he fathered thirteen children
and built a modern home in town
when he could no longer bend the land
to his will

I just know that he cut deep wounds
into my father’s heart
and my father in turn
cut them in me

perhaps it is why I never had children

the edges quiver
as surfeit suffices the small
and the bitter sing dances
that barren body and soul
am I the child of a poor god
the mouth
the hand
and I

somewhere it is reflected
perhaps it is your shadow
that bounces off the moon
and comes back to you
as wisdom dredged from the depths
of the unassuaged moments of need
that stretched you from one point
to the next
from one lover
to the next
from one room
to the next
from one dream
to the next

we spend our heartbeats freely
the infinite supply of youth
they become more precious
as the grave slowly deepens
what wisdoms do we stuff in our pockets
as we step into the grave
and move on from this life
to the next

in a flash she came back to me
that day
gray with heavy dark clouds
the scent of fallen rain
separated from time

the explorer child
balancing on high
drawing in the view
carving off pieces of his new world
alone and brave

when his foot lost its ability
the fall
descending back to earth
but head met earth transformed
hardened steel hidden in the grass

then I died
my body floated back into sky
I remember passing through layers
of my ephebic existence
still alone and brave

I felt nothing but saturated calm
laying on brilliant blue pedestal
in a dark void
I started to become peace
then..... a voice

her arms gathered me up
placing her hand on my head
she spoke firmly
“you do not belong here”
“you must go back”

instantly I knew it was all wrong
and somehow I chose to return
pulling myself off the ground
I ran to the adults
but the child could not articulate

the edges are the most honest

blackened swaggering heart
indifferent to pendulum of desire
mad with mud caked memories
and a cross threaded heart
we pull light from the dimmest of stars
and name them after the ones we have lost
we sink our fingers into muck and mire
of what we have been
we swallow deep the semens of lust
and spit out the bitter taste of self betrayal
whiskey neat and ******* in the alley
the gleam deep in your drunken eye
unsuffering someone’s soul

then reaching over that edge

touching the fingertips
of the purest angels of light
wrapped in folds of forgiveness and love
pulling purpose from our existence
offering up a joy of being given life
standing alone but not left alone
laying down the weapons of self derision
breathing in the softer breezes of truth
where the soul dances with the soul
and something smiles
deep within your eyes

in between

we are held in equipoise
there at the edge
we peel away to the truth
that the entirety
is both entropic and beautiful  
both pain and joy....

I never drink *** inland
something about the salty air
and a pirates’ soul
swaying in the night breeze
I can hear the waves crashing down
as the seven sisters entice my senses
I am alone enough to part with myself
and let the word farmer
slur his images across the night’s canvas
I leave off a lesser crime
as poetry is left dripping off the page

the betrayal of soul
it comes with being human
dying in a loop
“deficiency” echoes
if you listen too close
you lose

we are spread thin enough
to survive
it is only the bleeding inside
that gathers you up
for some sacrifice
that you burn
to your false gods of fear

but some nights I set myself free
mixing the blood of all my lives
with cool night air
and the music of my soul
I dance into myself
as this becomes nothing
how I love wind....

the blood of his poems
lay desiccated and alone

the stars are the refuge
as futile as they are

the misanthrope laughs at something
he no longer cares for

another shot of ***
and another book of self told lies

still laughter is so cheap
so he turns his head to the stars

and laughs until he cries

her fleeting smile held a longing
as she sat next to me
on the last empty seat

we embrace the comfort of silence
between strangers
and mark time with distance

the bus sways to the left
and we realize that we were touching
the eternity long fraction of a moment
we linger

it is a strange universe
how we can live moments
that can never be lived

inside the bus
the heat is oppressive
it is a stagnant force
that holds you still
bound by air
that was sent by the sun
to remind us of how small
we all really are

time slows to a trickle
the body aches
for the bus to begin it’s journey
and for air
moving air
the salvation of us all
the hourglass sweat
rolls down my neck

the birds were all gone
cats and chemicals
the silence was lonely
in the mornings
the dirtworker
new to the streets
looked to the sky
only grey
no yellows or blues
and the hunkered
fought the cold and the damp
minute by minute

it was not the land
where thy unto thy self
lay within the womb
each day one could be born
the treaty between
the sky the dirt and you
was simple
each could only take so much
and only give so much
we were ancient out there

the patches of green
scattered amongst the cement
seemed too fragile
so he refused to tread
his breathing became shallow
less became more
watching himself fall
from his own grace
for
the souls were as vacant
as the poets had portrayed

when madness folds into madness
the entropy of thoughts too random and fleeting
to tether anyone to anything
the tideless oceans inside
waits
desiccated by a sun
that draws the spirit
from the day

somewhere between Winnett and Jordan
I realized my mind was as random
as the sage scattered across that prairie
how long had it been
since any thought had settled in reflection
exhausted from the battle
of the incessant capitulation
of I
I drove on

in the fields
the wheat whispered softly
I sat clutching the dirt in my hands
it was cool and comforting
looking across the golden grain
to an infinite horizon....
planted there in the hills
I watched a Meadowlark dance in the air
with a long deep sigh
I let fall the struggle....

This jungle is more dessert like these days
it is merely waiting
for the rains to wash these days away
the dust rises each morn
although it never sleeps
and fills these spaces between our breaths
the roads are choked with the scurrying
of a frightening pace
what color are the dreams made of money
for out there the war rages
the have and have not
whom god loves
and whom she does not

the days approach me
from my simple perch
surfer green walls and railings
June liked the color
but it’s been over four years since
I found her dead on the floor
it is a poorly done painting now
the surfer green hue
spread across a canvas of my wanderings
and the pulsing language of the conqueror
(it screams at me in the night)
I cannot wait as the jungle does
too much flesh and blood
we outcasts used to be left alone here
but the money is calling us out
we are dissolving
waiting for the rain to wash this all away

If the raging wind
calls a name
tossing aside a crumpled
weathered version of a child
then the bonds that meet heart
with its insufferable dreams
and the reach of the piercing stars
pretend a life
we lay bare and unbelievable

love torn from the arms of the heart
by the vicious rule of the ******
ripping voice from voice
ripping heart from heart
and set against the cruelest numbers
of ancient standards
touch becomes dust
and love lays choking in ash
pretending a life
we lay bare and unbelievable

watching the attrition
the insatiable hunger of life
that consumes
the beautiful ones you planted in your heart
the angels worn down by
loving too much
by being too much
and the ones taken
by split the second timing of fate
casting reason into a tattered realm
of emptiness
we pretend at life
that lays bare and unbelievable

and so
cutting deep into the soul
bleeding out the sum of yourself
grasping that cold cutting jagged edge of existence
lays something to rest
movement anywhere across the compass
is knowing a love for the pain
for it is the entirety
of
you

the smallness of the soul
nurturing a vacant abscess
darker than darkness
your words
the severing edges
that rips human from human
that arrogates spirit
and quiets beauty

the hunter
stalking innocence
the quarry a feeble sick reign
over a precious soul
to make it breath fear
and draw the blinds of life
darker than darkness
the smallest of men

maybe he noticed me
when my eyes were reaching
out across the hills
trying to find the edges of the world
maybe he did look inside me
and saw what was once himself

I was most often quiet
a juxtaposition to the rage
I was always trying to sew back together
the hearts
and push the tears back into
their eyes
(his too)

I spent almost every waking moment
with a man
who both loved and hated me
knowing those ragged edges
was a gift
because the world is a broken place
and I am alive in it....

Angels chorus the call
looking down through shredded clouds
there in the heart the tempest stirs
as the moon pours another cup of desire

the winds are calling out
thoughts that bleed through
vanishing armor
the waves of your tempest are crashing down

upon a knee the supplicant sighs
of what color you will make of me
I call to the night to make me lonely again
but love pierces gentle at first

dessert hearts by now
do we pray for this rain
some silent entreaties
stir the angel’s choir

Godot set his lips
Pagemaker set a tone
Oh how long Penelope had waited
They were milling amongst
Their intrepid histories
Pulling scenes and constructs from the past
Patching together justifications
On the edges somber souls danced
Repetitive steps that bound them to the master
Godot smiled bitterly
Holding firmly the blade
If only the script allowed
Someone to sever every tether
From now to eternity
Oh how long Penelope had waited

My hands are now my father’s hands
baked and beaten by a life
the scars of toil and weather
mark passages

knuckle busting bolts
sun wind cold
and misguided hammers
sculpted these derma landscapes

I hold them under the water
as the ocean and I return
they become distant and diffused
as they gently float away

Searching for the quiet
a silence that roars with respite
breath and blood
lay in a bed of silken calm
listening to the song of emptiness
that brims
the soul....

Thoughts drip from the edges
splattering across the morning
swaying in a breeze I cull
those who feed
from those who eat
my soul

The page craves
the words
that give it voice
beautiful voice....

blast furnace wind rolling off the prairie
the kind of wind that makes you realize
we were all born alone
I hugged the river hoping to find
some untouched ****** breath of cool
but ****** the **** for indifference he is
offered nothing
I headed up Hawthorne
wading through the souls
of the beautiful desperate
and the wicked surfeit

looking up I caught her eyes
hanging out her window
stretched out between
where love lives
and love dies
she looked down
peeling away the layers of her soul
offering a shade
that harbors the most twisted and distorted
remanents of love

later
on the outskirts
we watched Orion’s futility
our hearts gasped
as we touched
(which was the hunter
and which was the prey)
trembling
we fell into love
as the wind softened to a cool breeze

the pages of your soul
turn tattered and dusty
in the epic that bleeds
through the vessel that contains
only you

Her light travels into me
what gods arranged our intersection
I am the blood of myth
gathered tales that justify
more the seeking
than fruition
ignorant authors
casting our will into the heavens
we paint our stories in the skies
but as her light falls through my flesh
she whispers
“I can never be possessed”

naked to touch
blue draws the deepest
pulsed words
in common refrain
she bites her lip
“falling is flying”
trace the outlines of desire
on something blue
make it naked
it is more honest that way
she is a river tonight
“who defines up”
a gesture of indifference
“who defines down”
the hint of a smile
“falling is flying away”

truth lays in the vein of the branch
and in the watery red eyes of the drunk
it lays in the hottest sweats of summer
and in that heartbeat that just reverberated through
your entire universe
it lays in the soft cry of an infant
and in the death rattle of the last soldier
in the last of all wars
truth lays in the caress of a lovers touch
and it lays in a widow’s graveside tear
it lays in the wind that carries the seed
and in the soil that hungers for fruition
it lays embedded in a heart betrayed  
and it lays in both the pain and the forgiveness
it lays in at the center of all we know
it lays at the center of you
and I

Heart pulls the lever
The cables run through the senses
And back out again
We are awkward in this restless repose
The cable cutting nature of people
Ever at the ready

She stood there, placed
Severed and alone
Her thoughts refused to grace the past
She wrapped her arms around her heart
“please don’t drift away”
“I may need you again someday”

Heartfelt indifference
The vagabonds search the skies
In the nexus no one speaks
Nostrums pushed into veins
Sledgehammer heartbeats
Taking a run at the thunder in the distance
If either were to quiver
The world would unravel itself
Back out into the cosmos

Truth is a lonely soul out here
She is devastated as the ravaged womb
That she is
All the little boys gathered around
And told all the lies that tore all the girls down
It was always the young girls on the street
That told the tale of humanity
In their eyes

Loneliness is a self contained world
Yet we arrogate it’s walls
With the need
That spawned the loneliness
.....Vicious....
Or just simply being human

Filling the void with yourself
Only works some of the time
Knowing thy self is to know the void
But after all
We are just creatures in need
of the human touch

Magnificent she stood
reaching deeper into the sky
the years upon years she pulled from the earth
the strands she used to weave her fibers
into the towering creature
that gently reigned over all those below

Perhaps she tired of ******
pushing his will across the land
relentless he was through the night
perhaps she was glad to lay down
eager to fade back into earth
to start all over again

Sunlight, wind, music, coffee, poetry....

The life blood of pain
Coursing through the engines
Of pain
The recapitulation
Of the beginning and the end
and
“those last words she spoke”

Tears never reconstruct
What was
Do they not only water
the fields of grief?
Oh how love can be the desiccant
Of the heart


Once
Somewhere on a dry desolate dust covered
river of a road
A girl, naked
Laying in the back seat
Trying to match the color of the moon
Said
“maybe”
“tears are there to sooth the sutures
that join
what was.... with what will be”
“I don’t know”

In winter
He could never get far enough away
From the rage
In the back corner of the closet
He would cower
The soul shredding voice
With sledgehammer words
Roared below
Like thunder on those dark stormy nights
Never knowing if it was getting closer
Never knowing where it would strike next
Each heartbeat fed that fear
That the door would be ripped open
And the monster would be standing there
Ready to devour
The remanants of his soul

In summer
He could run out the door
And hide in the tall grasses
Alone in his forest of refuge
The rage could not stop the grasses
From growing
Nature held his soul
It was all he had
But it was his....

I used to drill holes into the earth
Miles deep
Piercing into the womb of my mother
And drawing out death
Iron and might and the amazing techniques
Of the ******

On cold clear nights
Working morning tour
I’d go out to the shaker
And watch the cuttings roll of the edge
Millions of years at repose
Until the bit broke her lose
And I would wonder
At time

Then I would lean back
And stare at the stars
Watching light that had left
Millions of years ago
I was small.... a slip of a being
Just star dust
One day to be laid down
At repose for someone’s eternity

Last night a young poet’s voice
tore so deep within
that it ripped my soul apart.....

Her words of birds and cages and gravity
and what human does to human
brought me back to wind swept hills
where the was sky blue enough to drown in
and vast enough to blanket all corners of the earth
where I, as a boy, worked and wandered
wandered through words
words spoken in telling
and words raged in rage

As I pulled the implements of grain through the soil
I learned to think
the dust I raised drifted across the land
bringing with it my thoughts
passed horizons, passed the hills
to distant lands
torn by the pains of love, of war, of loss
and
of what human does to human

His rage was the desperation of a soul shredded
by war
by what human does to human
he was caged
between what he had seen
and that he should still posses some hope
between witnessing the destruction of a world
and believing in a world

But deep within him I had always heard a voice
a voice buried deep beneath his rage
a voice..... he could no longer hear
but I
could always hear
“no matter how long I am caged
no matter how long the gravity of ignorance and hate,
the gravity of hubris and destruction binds and
holds down my soul,
I was alway meant to fly,
we were all....meant to fly....”

The man with a thousand hearts
Smiles slip through the fingers
Of the menial
Burdened the faults of the species
Peeling away more and more
Hearts buried in hearts
The thunderous waves of man
Crash down upon the shores of the soul
If be tatters     then be tatters
Reach down
And pull out another heart

perhaps a heart desolate
is a gift
i’ve grown weary
of the concept of love

love can cut a wide swath
through one’s heart

The shovel pierces the ground
The sweat drips from my face
Darkness is closing in
The prying away, the lifting
I dig in silence
The grave deepens
Strange ritual
Why don’t we build pyres
for cats....

I am drenched in sweat
The dirt under my nails irks me
My knees are caked
I lay in my hammock
And message my friend
“Bob is in a better place now”
We say this in a few different ways
Until she goes silent

She is three thousand miles away
Receiving cancer treatments
And her cat Bob just died
I cannot fix this world
I can only dig graves

Synapse finds it’s path
The page pulls words from the pen
The poet hungers

The split feather tatoo
I got in Chicago back in 97
I knew the artist from Sturgis
The year James forgot the “R” in Sturgis
And the guy went home with a “Stugis 95” tattoo
After she finished pounding the ink into my skin
It was well after midnight
And the endorphins were all played out
We went out for breakfast

A diner that the cabies used
Along with all the rags of people
who wandered through the night
Life tore off the edges
And replaced it with another at the center
Every few seconds
The hackneyed threadbare sullen
Surfeit in their staggering surrender
To an existence metered in minutes or millennia
All those souls falling into each other
Filling the poets veins

For the Lakota a split feather signifies
“Many Battles “
I had died enough but never died
I was no longer pretty
Or whole
To assuage that what kills
Just to stay alive
Sipping my coffee
Looking through the windows
Out into the collage of  concrete and humanity
It all made sense

Back out on the plains
I spit out the residue of my journey
The sun was setting
And my dust softly settled back to earth
I rubbed my new tatoo and smiled
As I sewed another page into my heart
A coyote sang his lonesome song
Somewhere behind me.....

Intense pulse
Heart flooded
With
(it is more than blood)

Gathering the fibers
Of her desire
In my mouth
I find her....

She said
“We’re never more alive
than when our flesh
touches this fire”
She has such beautiful contemplative desires....

Humans




are too separated from their




souls

Listening for the echoes
Of distant songs
That erode the canyon walls
Wandered in search of self

Rhythms and dances
To the rising
Held high in light
To celebrate one’s self

Words and chants
Drumming up the call
An ancient summons
Bringing back.... self

Borrowing into our hearts
until we reach our souls
from the cuttings
we glean truths
and poetry
and self....

I’ll put another thousand years
On our plate
And as we stand back
To watch it’s resolve
Can I say that I still love you

Falling through the tethers
I’ve severed so much
Of what we were
But I can still weep
When I think of us

Brutal supplications to what is not
Feed an empty scheme
How we arrange it’s contents
Only prays to the Gods of futility
The heart learns to no longer yearn

In this beautiful nothingness
I place one step before the next
And each heartbeat is mine
But I can still weep
When I think of us

A number
A segment
Meaningless
For it is tethered
to both ends of infinity
And yet....

Two thousand and twenty