My Lips Quake
as my mind races past
like the countryside on a train

Amorous stories painting a galaxy to explore
In that field over there
where the flowers belie a golden path
that will never be, again
and again
and again

Every passing second...

my heart rests heavy between each beat
it sighs in its eggshell seat

nestled between the
branches of this brambling tree
it yearns to break free of its gilded cage

yet every birdsong sung broken
by these bars of thought...
The pen rights itself.

The beautiful curves ****** any agency
from these brown lover's eyes
I am left- Myself

the only observer
to this raging river of tears.
I can but bask in its salty-white torrents,
Let the waves consume me until
I have lost Myself
in its primal wonder

It is this Death of Grasping
which I wrest,
it offers me
no breath
to rest
in

I am the studious disciple
who banes sleep
preferring to whisper
his day to memory,
While the moon paints circles
across my face


My Lips Quake
as my mind races past
with all the lessons
on this Every-day

My Lips Quake
with every remember'd beauty:
The light was new
in a day gone blooming
that will never be again
and again
and again

Every passing second