far away seems so close in your eyes
and you push your blood away to
feed the wind or some whispers
unimaginable to the full
my torrid eyes see the sky full of scars
sometimes when
the moon is full of boom
all I feel is you

tiers of light splash down

suns thru one well.

the mouths of flowers

coloring the gypsy pipes

of birds.

images leaving where they

left off--to be three of a kind.

the most silent-speak striking

up sound.

think the butterfly-lungs of

a collapsed sky.

the turn, or curve of resurrection--

recalled by it's circle's circle.

in the dead of round.

a black & white wreath set

speedily to color--on a chosen

head.

the night is still
the snowflakes spiral down
in a slow waltz

she dreams of me dead

yes
I going to make
a few changes
in my life

i'm going to
run
run
run
and

i'm going to steal
a white horse
thunder in her hooves
and lanterns for eyes
and a heart of sand
and gallop
past the glue sniffers and junkies
through 9 to 5 prison
through the steel and concrete maze
past the grass needs cutting
the garden fence
and rotting cherry tomatoes
past the paying of overdue bills
the chicken deep fried

O, that wild horse!

we will make that run
like 2 shadows chased by light
and into the drift of stars
we'll fly

Oh, that beautiful horse!

no more sad songs

some people feel free
sitting in a tree with shotgun
killing a deer
a marriage
or themselves
some people think they are free
staring into the black sun


my love looks at me with ghost eyes
and dreams a shallow grave

on a mountain crest
my body chopped

and mixed with grain

no headstone

she dreams of me dead
                                                        
"roll over, dear,"
i whisper,
"please, turn off the light."

In for a penny, in for a pound,
just throw the cork away:

the glass is filled until we're drowned.
With murmur and rumor we pray,

dreams mantling like thorn-crowns.
How much could two souls weigh...?

More than a feather. Well, together we're bound,
& together we'll stay.

Who'll buy the next round?
Pint-hands are cold and mottled as clay,

their faces spinning lost and found:
can't win if we don't play.

When the hour comes round,
there's a bill to be paid

before sleep seeps from the ground
like steam... No, lover, this way -

come sever the spine of the town
with me, two fraying strays

riding each other all the way down,
eyes flat and cold as old ashtrays.