She held my hand and showed
Me her husbands thorny past.
As in you can still find patches of
Green with sharp pointy canyons
Between what seperates life and reality.
She stuck with the hopes of using lady bug magic
To clear the bugs off of a less then perfect flower.
It worked because her judgement ingnored the first
Fragrance of spring.  Though still winter she gets always gets
Ready for a new start in spring.  So she will be ready to sing
All over the wishing well and look through the wooden frame
To picture how we hold hands in a public garden
On a gravel path packed in with every foot step.

If I tell you the artist broke the law
because the phrase "I know" really
means unstopable.
Because the engineer cant look back
wards.  Or else he would see
Letters latching onto steel hooks.
And understand the art of comodity.

There isnt D as in
Look at a dumb boy
Who cant tell time
when the minute hand lands
on six thirty five.
But the letter C meaning
Compassion comes like
The girl with cancer who  knew
I was Dyslexic.
She came back  and I missed
her funeral.

The heavens cry open exposing joy.
Out every star we see our lovers
Moving and dancing in universal
Order.  And forget we ever lost
The view of someone we loved.

Salmon egg red
Is liter then
The hiiden color
Purple.

Letters of love.
Show me the barrier
That seperates continents.
Will I know
The oceans sink
The love I send.
Wrap me up in glue
And seal the words
I love you in the conflict.
Lonley is the sour milk
On my desk.
The smell of socks rotting
In the wrestlin room.
Brings back the yoga from moorakas.
Make me fresh like a corpse of
Dead chum.
Fill my heart in a river from the
Red eggs I killed and gave to
Crab fishermen.
The heads are open with clear kelp teeth.
Unwind the widdower who says
To punture her lungs with a knife.
He knows the pain and conflict
When she breaths to die.
Snap a picture to tells us 100 feet
From air yeilded a 25 pound trophy.
The stranger lets us watch his knife
Open a rare white chinook.
The fire we watch was gutted and rinsed
In a metal sink.
The deeper we dig into flesh
The more we see war.
But the smell of salt water
And white bones
Feeds fresh souls.
And smokes our dreams when the red metal who
Holds hickory ambers.
The solitude is unforgiven when I
Die in dreams.  
Therfore I wake up next to
The chunks and blood red wine
As though gun shots provide reflection.
Back pack with me in empty meditations.
And understand we all must progress
Into the conflicting heart,
And see what cardiac death
Hides behind the scary last breath
Of euphenasia in my mind.

There are times we must slow down
And start the old process
Like writing with a pencil
In a marble slate with college ruled lines.
We begin to see the truth
And realize how easy it
Is to say our imagination
Is complex.
But the words are easier
Said then done.
We will grow and pass
The shades in our livingnsoul.
To see reality isnt as bad as it seems.
We all must work
Theres no way around work.
But the real job is discovering
Your own past in a way
That shapes us into
The person we see
While we walk alone.
The meditations are faulty.
But once  in a while
The greatest thing possible happens.
You become deffiant
To human nature.
And keen to the way
The world looks
And you see your self
Chasing dreams
Like a child
Looking for the ball
Lost in someone elses yard.
Have the guts to get everything back.
Before the loss Is to great.There
Before the ball forgets
You the child are to old
To ride bikes and to old
To hear the newest changes
Through the young mind
That died in the old body.