The peace pipe that has
two sides -

zoom the monsoon clouds,
summertime-bizarre.

Choices,
pieces of the peace puzzle:

Biblical, them both.

Pasts alive in
binocular introspection.

Smoking the hashtag#, now:

A hundred colour
abominations around.

Comrade, policeman,

look, our
daughters go abducted.

The last rain is dying
and the heat soars again:

Wand-love or rod-fear:

It's a battle of the faithful
in a heathen heathen world.

*#hash's so-sixties.

All winter's
spread scattered now,
leaves
dying damp on earth;

Banging at my chest when
you ask 'why?'',

tears stall time;

Pasts ebb
in the sky, lark-sliced;

Awaiting bloom,
all of life's spread bare.

Look, friend, now there is already
the fragrance of spring in the air:
Pin-hole it may be, but, behold -
light has found us in the dark;
Now distance does not matter;
Now the end is near,
when the sky is moist in tears;

I was watching TV
and the topic on the Geriatrics Show
was Life Support Systems -
you know, about how people are kept
on pipes and machines and tubes and liquid
and I hollered to my wife in the kitchen:
“Darling, if ever I become life-dependent
on liquids and machines, just get rid of ‘em
and free me…”

“Sure thing,” my faithful wife said
and she turned off the TV
and my cell phone and my laptop
and she emptied my bottles of wine and whisky
and then she turned to me and she said:
*“I just freed you.”

Long after, long after:
creeper retreating into
the darkness,
to the corners, after
the shadows repair,

I wake up: veiled face, now
tears into the silence, the
late swan's song of despair;

Silver, shines the tower
earring,
in the stray light
moon-streaming by;

Silken though, after
saker heaves and sighs nigh,
hanging by a thread,
we are, night-
threads spread bare.

What language does the sky speak?

On late afternoons,
is she weeping for joy,
or mourning in the wet winds?

Deep in the night, I find her
blinking at me  in a hundred stars -

is she shivering in the
inconsolable cold of some ancient loss?

What language does the teardrop speak,

rushing down
past your dimpled cheeks?

Droplets on a leaf: sometimes,
on the shelf, sometimes, on your brow:

startled creeper in the shadows at night,
what language do these teardrops speak?

When the whip cracks
bare on the back,
the earth scorches tired feet,
and shoulders cannot
carry the burden anymore,

In that moment
when the world merely
watches on silent,

and those you loved
are too bound my oaths
or wallowing in doubt
or too weak to do a thing,

In that moment
when blood mingles with sweat

you know you truly have no one
here, but for Him the Lord,
who shines in the heart.

In adoration, an army
can be drowned pursuing you.

In love, an unfathomable
well is given away
to bleed to death.