His Truth invades
my
fractured
mind.

With
Light
filling
every crack.

Seniors sluggishly step
Trifling tunnels suddenly turn tame
But boredom befalls from bountiful blessings
The lengthy labyrinths lead to a lair of light
However, hazardous hiking harms healthy equipment
Determination among tunnel dwellers dwindles down drastically
Can crawling to the coronation corridor ease the contagious condition?

She wrote about how to write a poem.
Ironic instructions in tiny letters,
Scratched out and scrawled in,
Words flowing as she flew,
Further and further away from me.

And in her words I put myself,
Imagine she might be writing with me in mind,
When she mentioned the girl she'd only just met,
with limited memories,
Of huge significance,
but also possibly no significance at all.
Because who really knows.
It's not the event itself that's important,
it's the value we place upon it all in hindsight.

But I can say, that every moment with her
Has held some form of significance to me.
Each time we've held hands,
It's felt monumental in some way.
And each time i've seen her face,
- all three occasions -
the light in her eyes has seemed profound.

And i don't know if it really has to mean anything
but i'm glad to have met her,
to have discovered this connection,
As strangely brief as our interaction may be.
Better to have known her little,
than to have missed her all my life.

Je t’aime,
Mon amour, presque parfait,
Since dancing below a canopy of ever-changing branches,
With the free flying embers of a campfire,
And myself hallucinating with happiness,
Over frozen ground
In the night’s darkest hours
My hands on your body
And in your hair
Your eyes reaching out
Demanding attention,
Willingly or otherwise.

You hypnotize me,
I can’t bear to look away.
And it is so strange,
To feel so at one,
I could’ve known you forever
My fleeting love,
My disappearing friend,
My beautiful creature.

You are not of this time,
Not of this world.
You surprise me
And teach me
And excite me
Mon amour,
Mon amour,
I could’ve known you forever,
I will love you forever.

loving you feels like a revolution.
In your embrace
I hear my ancestors sing.
And they tell me:
Hold her, tighter, tighter

And our love feels ancient,
Like our lives have been forever intertwined.
Like the vines of our souls have grown together
For centuries past
and separating them now,
is inconceivable.

It gets harder to imagine
me without you
as every day passes,
harder to imagine
you without me
as we get closer to the time
that it will be
day by day

it is such a fine thing, to see with clear eyes
all the shine of the world, refracting through both & either you and/or i.
such a surprise, so strange, but by no means the kinda strange
that drags one down:
the strange that instills an un-learnable knowledge
that the world will turn, and things can just keep getting better.
plenty of days i've dug holes,
but, now, at your word, i'm scrambling up outta them
to find acres of turned soil, fertile and beaming;
seeds to scatter wild.
cool water to trickle calm through each new day's turn,
another page in the book,
where our chapters come to coalesce.

how sweet it is to find you in page-length,
before long in pirouettes,
and leave me wondering not
the uncertainty,
but only the majesty
of what's left to come in the world,

and you, lil petal,
and i, lil fern.

on windy plains
flattened panels beneath tight-pressed scarves, they stand
on the edge of the highway
seeking the last streaks of eve's sun
bodies on windy plains where, in the lap of poverty, kids play and listen
the ***** little words mothers spill
a hapless world in flats steep, laundry billows on higher
than most dreams can possibly reach


1.
song to be sung, yet youth's golden mouth swift-ripped away
by hungry-crones topped in white hats and over-spiffed lines
poor boy couldn't hold it together, they fell apart
scatter the crowd in fold-up chairs to make it look less empty
spread the tea-garden in the hall, circulate those tiny packets
so much **** noise, is that all we waited for?

revolutions were built on disparity's hand ****** in the face of the poor
pity the drug of current day keeps all so well glued to the system
somebody wise once said that royalty awards knighthood
                                                *exactly for the same reason
to keep gentry where they are seen fit to belong: below
                                                           ­                   the swirl of understanding
so, there won't be enough cake for everyone.



2.
when saviours ring in the new, for a short while
and new heads bring down the old names
and gut the bastions of the past
surely, when we destroy the ugly parts of history, we conceal truth
with pompous new plaques and road names for petty achievers
even bad press is held up as recognition these days
and too many are numbed, hopelessly foiled by the feed
peck, peck.. nice, little chikken
                         (mind stuffed with trash, mouthpiece occupied)

some content to catch a few crumbs on the way down
while others tread lightly on their way out the back exit
the more we so blindly buy into the whole mess
the less we see the big pic
                           (the real one)
nebulous covers the screen so well: away from organic life
life on a farm, growing your own stuff
       needing less of plug-in
       more of play
I steadily tire of the filthy streams we're led to wade in
thick and viscous with the stench of decay
and no way out but the meeting with barbed-wire walls

oh, for days of simple pleasures.. walking in the park
                                                      swingi­­ng high into the blue sky
with eyes on the rim of the planet
a ten-cents pineapple-popsicle
and no fear of the unknown
       but beautiful discoveries, good and not-so-good

now, a man will die in the hands of a stranger's care
at the mercy of their kin's timetable
busy, busy, busy.. loved ones moving on
ah, no time to enjoy a tot, some oenomel.


3.
say, God.. you got a moment? I'd like to address a grievance or two
are we forgetting what you told us?
what was it again -- on the day, we tried to understand your identity
                                    in a tongue this world's memory suffered lapse
there was a time we understood your meaning
today, I hear your voice in the rustle out my meadow
right here
in the green leaves

I think I can hear you right
loving your remembrances.



*silent anger brews in the streets, common folk took enough
tired of threats and crumbs left by chunks others gorged on
retaliatory mountains grow, a surge in march
a touch too late to retract some acts.. for haste & judgment hurt
where many struggle to breathe, so hatred cements its template
slowly, time may crumble them to stones, then dust
            or hope build a rope from heart's twine
            or love blow breezes of care on this fiery circle
faraway, where queens live on ginger cakes and ale
on windy plains.