Our immortality is for others
Not our clinging selves
When we die we become mothers
May we give birth to speaking shelves
Of books we've never written
Tales we never told
Young again in the young
As our former selves grow old
Presently I am a father
And I love my three young sons
But I muse on my maternity
And greet thee - my darling ones!

A torrent, and a tyrant, and a flying blade of ice,
With the handle so far below me I can’t hear the screamed advice.
A vicious price to pay. A malicious form to sign.
If the fire doesn’t burn you, just sign on the dotted line.

Freaks and friends, and common sense.
An open book.
A lesson leant.
Forget all the noise and clutter,

Then forget the line.

The line is bent.

it’s selfish,
but i love
that every word i give you
turns into poetry.

Wash my face with cold spring water
and my hair still smells like your cigarettes
sleeping under moon and alder
for once, I have no regrets.

Caught you in summer
by fall I'll be ready for the chase once more.
For now, let's just be gentle with one another
let us play upon the lakefront shore.
The sky and the expanse of a reservoir
reflections of a perfect sunset, lilac hue
it's hurts, it's true
in the end
I'm always coming back for you.

Fire ignites where it wills
fighting against the black of night
wrap yourself around me
take away my chills
be my burning light.
Dark and amber bottle
makes this twilight seem all the longer
we reach out for what we can still see
and in the dark we wander.

Fasten your mind on God;
Untangle the webs of my mind
As I step away from the
Webs of this world.

~
Lipstick to void. She is a race against time. The beveled past a disruption in her lines of influence.

Travel is dangerous, and tonight it darkens the highway of blood vessels coursing through her extremities. She wants to be luminous and under the skin.

While Dorothy dreams of tornadoes in Kansas, she dreams of remote climbs in lesser Glasgow, of party drugs in Tokyo. How many lights does she see?

In her hair are sixty circuits. But she waits, religiously inclined on the hotel bed. She drove through ghosts to get here wearing nothing but Las Vegas.

So strange at this hour, in a city full of sleepwalkers for the taking, she now dreams she's a bulldozer, she now dreams she's alone in an empty field.
~

who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, rhyme or reason.
breaking of rules,        our hearts
open.                         split a season.

on spring,                 slight chance,
light            or prayers can change.
sons      move in a prouder stance,
yet others rage.

black bird sings   early
the same bird calls late.
sense that nearby
one year came straight.
spring slides. the
moon draws tides.

Your heart rises to the shadows
My heart rises to the burden of truth
When you breathe and your breath casts a shadow,
you’re breathing in the cold

the fox all burnt orange brown and soot footed
sat there in the middle of snow field

she had been watching me plod
and scratch my way across the same icy white surface

suddenly she stood and sprinted up the switch back of our common trail and made the tree line

stopping twice she marked me just before disappearing into a patch of thawed trees and dirt

eventually i made my way over to where she had vanished and checked her tracks in the snow

as if they might reveal some greater mystery

do not bother god with your petty little prayers your world weariness and concerns

instead step outside and wander the woods

ponder the melody of swelling rivers

the chemistry of change within the maples and birches

kneel as one season yields to the next

god applauds the woman who builds her own church

the man who seeks his own salvation