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 5h Jayne E
Crow
I want to see the northern lights
but I cannot say why

it is said that sometimes
if conditions are right
you can see them from here

but it never seems to work
for me

even if the sky is clear
I cannot see them
when I am told I might

others say they have seen them here
I don’t think I believe them

some set a camera
on very long exposure
to take their picture

I can’t stare at the sky
for a very long time
all at once
like a camera

maybe I want to see them
because I haven’t seen them before

there are other things I want to see
but never have

like the life I was meant to have
with you

maybe if I’d had
a better camera
 5h Jayne E
Crow
within the walls of torrid days
where broken glass of mem’ry lays
on wine red floors by Sol emblazed
reflecting time in shattered rays

the golden house where passion bloomed
and craving raw two lives consumed
each kiss in auric light illumed
with camellia each sigh perfumed

in stucco rooms the heat we bore
through afternoon to evermore
and took no guilt to answer for
with whispered gifts on fevered shore

the salted air from sea reclined
on posted bed with we entwined
who sought the depths of joy refined
through cloudless days of love enshrined

now on cold streets like empty hall
where shadows reign and echoes fall
do sky and sun in grief recall
two souls conjoined two hearts enthralled

there I search for vine wreathed door
where all my life has gone before
for you alone can ere restore
this banished man to summer’s shore
 5h Jayne E
Crow
grasp the dark and take the night
ride the moon till morning light
set the banshees free in flight
and cover all the world with fright

seize the vale below the hill
bend the shadows to your will
bring the ghouls hot blood to spill
mist and fog the heart may chill

chant the spells to call the dead
howling beasts which must be fed
tooth and claw the streets run red
souls are shaken filled with dread

creatures prowl eyes gleam bright
victims scream at horrors sight
of devils heartless to their plight
till sunrise comes to bring respite
For Halloween
 5h Jayne E
Crow
among the lean and
narrow hours
when the brutal minutes
aggrieve
like the protruding ribs
of an emaciated animal

abandoned things shuffle
into dark unkempt little rooms
littered
with the manifested debris
of a life

unspoken thoughts
in rusted cans
stacked heedlessly
on overused shelving
bowing perilously under the weight

mangled hopes
kicked into the corners
stuck to the floor
foul and fetid
vitiated with wasted time

black mold
leaking from dilapidated hearts
creating pointillism art
across the sagging plaster
overhead

consuming an ersatz
Sistine Chapel ceiling

saints and angels
prophets and devils
sepia toned
in their water stain media
disappearing
into corruptions artistic virtuosity

only God remains visible
reaching out
to give life

if any are left
to receive it
the edge keeps getting
harder to find
keep my ledge clean
brush away this uneasy
disparate ride

spin your thread
that delicate strand
wish me good luck

and i'm not a dancer
but if you ask,
fate or fortune?
smiling,
dancing madly backwards
I'll ride the razor ribbon wire
into the wall of shadows

and until the tug of destiny
and before the ringing of bells
keep me close to your heart.
this strange
seldom seen
full moon
fills our room
with more light
that we could ever ignite
although god knows
we’ve tried.
~
Belonging to Eden,
the garden of
inescapable pleasure.

Prepare to fall again
for the pretty things.

The desire to preserve life
lies at the root.

The way of flowers
--let them beckon and bloom--
sincerely upright,
vessels for memories,
methods of communicating
with distant versions of yourself,
a conversation that could
drift into tears or laughter,
personal revelation
or total silence,
depending on the mood.

If only time and thought
could be as perfectly
arranged as flowers.

~
It seems I’m in a loop
I create new shelters
Shovel clear a new path after each storm
I ******* new boots
But each path I walk is desecrated with time

And the shovel gets heavier
And the boots get tighter
And my joints are stiff
And I wonder how long I can do this

I wonder if the stable eras are worth it
If I survive another one does the me from before still survive
Is she proud?
Mental illness, anxiety, finding purpose
The crank of the pump is audible maybe for the first time
Drops joining a full line endlessly pouring into the vein
Skin so thin I can almost perceive the flow of morphine.. or is it blood?
I can count her bones as I clean
A pressure so light like when I was an infant and my father tickled my toes
No muscle or fat remaining they’ve already rejoined nature
Her bones are headed there as well
But then the chest balloons, one shallow breath falling into step with mine
Sending a shudder down my spine like I’ve been electrocuted
Both of us hold our breath as i roll her bones
Black pools of blood on her back
The ink of her heart vying to get out and tell it’s story
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