In sadness sunk
Raged, regret -
Firing bullets at the open air,
Spitting fire into the freezing wind,
Harpooned by every passing person,
And forced faceless fear into a trembling voice
A timid thing, half-wilted down.

To meet one given hand
Proud with patience,
Crowned by this glowing act
Of harmless help,
Though I were kissed by that kindness
Fast though it fled,
Fast as flame I hold it in,
Loved by a gesture
Pitied without a please.

Rewarded by grinning,
What gold to give
That is, gold in memory,
That heart, gilt in gladness,
That smiled selfless
On one so sunk in sadness,
Loved by a gesture
Of harmless help.

Thrill me with kisses,
I
hate
To
wait

Cover me in your blankets, your frothing sea.
Drink of me like a happy drunk would,
Sleepless nights and sleeping days.

In a dream I found again
Your sacred touch,
Like a fire thrown into my void,
With life that licked at every chance,
Every sweet, electric sting,
This child soul
That in your flowered flesh
Found a home
A home, a shelter, and escape.

A photo in a book once told

That things we held in youth grow old,

That in numbers we keep our time to count,

In the end a small amount.


One year I remember well in heart,

Ten years that keep us far apart,

In memory lighter than lightest air,

Long departed from thought and care.


A glass broken that is half-full,

Empty now that time will cull,

From wounds unhealed in setting sun,

That rise again and will be done.


Last of our things to say,

To think we had more yesterday,

And be still unsettled in our faith yet strong,

That time so short could seem so long.


At last, when those days are gone

Like the silence after a pleasant song, 

Like pictures moving on a screen,

Things once felt and thought and seen,

Looking back you'll wonder, wonder if it was true

That he after all was really you.

While walking
Two feet talking to the
ground
Only to say
Like yesterday
All ears align equal

And paint the rain
A grayer color of blood
That's yellow
And I chase the leaves
They are falling
Until the last
And there are none

So scant the shadow
that hides beneath the tree
And tidal teeth sink
in the autumn sun

Where to trace outside
be made the last
to the end
so stripped
with tail-ends
and teeth
all gleaming
so scant where the shadow hides lo

A glass of sun,
The circumference of the world,
the entire infinity.

The deep brown,
Warm umber,
Quiver and smirk.

Between two chasms,
Dark like the space-deep,
Shattered like starlight
Leaping off shards
Of white glass
All singing stars
And glass shattered off-white.

The width of a circle,
A soul locked within
A perfect deep-
Within a glance pained
By sublimed, sustained silence.

The width of a circle,
A soul sealed within
A perfect deep-
Therein a soul stained by
Touch,
By memory,
By touch,
By memory.
The frames of a face.

A soul sealed within a perfect sleep.

A bed is love, to hold me up and
sail me to sleep.
To sleep, my bed a ship is made,
out unto a sea of stars.
O'er the sheets spread I dream a dream of living
and thank my bed for being there.
I've had many beds, and all of them good
and none of them bad.
And this bed will carry me to sleep
like the rest
and for that you have my thanks
to be there for me
and pass
and hold me
where another will
where others won't.

Paired down in heaven, the hawk-eyed sun
Gleaming bitterly through five limbs sees
The jeweled moon behave despondently-
Say from man dream beats the foam and bleeds
Like Prometheus sullen prose on infinite Oregons.

Take from your time the frost-eyed sun altogether
Staring sharply through a blind and smoldering world,
A love of truths so tried and secret.

Shall we in mercy take our gains under the rose-lit morning
A trial for time and truest?
Sense for the sun is swimming in our heart
A love of radio and silence.

Bleached like my Albatross,
Come in quiet a world safest
That burns black embers
In the woods of our soul since forever
And sound.

Sound down the heavens
In the silent hour of their hell,
The tide of time on a bone-white beach.

From what high altar looking in his place,
God of man,
The god-man and holy to his place
To forge the eye of seasons,
Seven in their number,
And stretch out solitude
On the blistered ground.

Shared down in source,
The last of the kings,
Holy in his crown
Of bodies that smile
So wide and honest each.