Poetic break necks weak at the knees
And I'm looking forward toward the danger
Magic underneath the fingertips
Money burning in my hand - twinkling coins
Deep seeded experimentation
Where fuel and passion the only fuel

Bohemian day dreams wet with guitar sweat
Crying moon unlit, undead, unresolved
Faithful love entwined with wicked angel
Poetry being only other peoples dreams whose goals
Have no names; treacherous young hearts obsessed with the nameless
Every indented ****** street corner fixed on the hips that sway
Round ***, square eyes, coming of age in an animalistic way

Putting my front foot down and my left hand up
I see clouds bursting into yellow infrared flames
Corner stores accepting variations of resumes
Dot coms colliding with wolf sneering meteros who dance
With the enormity of definition - never admitting defeat

Feasting on risk, we live like God's for we are GOD'S
Sameness tossed to the train tracks mixing with balloons filled with your past
Mentioning old lover's
Not mentioning lover's you'd like to have with old one's
Barking dogs prescribed a suffocation millions believe lucky to accept
A window frosted over white and outside a trying tree bent double
As if weighed down by hundred pound rusted chains
And in the background lingers the secretive ghost of Burroughs
Not knowing Him, I say nothing to him, though I know he is there
To shake is steak would be to make what he worked so hard to make

There, breath is dead cold, the lungs constricted by the passion of expression
So stifling for so many want to show it
Mentioning competition, the sister laughs, "The town is old, the people dead, the streets
Drinking." She nodded at her own
Comment, while everyone else sitting around sat silent. "And another THING," she continued,"
A friend of mine named Sheridan needs a bathroom to take a **** and she needs it NOW."
I sat back, touching the thin strands of hair on the back of my neck, feeling I
Needed a haircut and a drink.

Alive in this
I see what I wish to see

Monty allows anything
He's always drunk
Never touching a drop

Mad inside
Mad outside

Madness everywhere

Ode to the Last Vast Wetlands

We teach our children to love Jesus
and to believe in Santa Claus
Just to mess with all their little heads
And easter bunnies bearing chocolate eggs
on the day he died and then was resurrected

We teach our children that the sun rises
When in fact it's just the earth that is turning
and when it sets, it really doesn't
But, we don't let on that sunsets aren't real

There are no Appaloosas up in Whitehorse
Just what is left of precious metal - gold
and all the souls of dead bear that I murdered
to keep a rich girl warm when it gets cold

We teach our parents that they will be rewarded
Someday, if they a-leave-a us alone
But, there always has to be that one girl
who thinks she's rich enough for baby's bone

So there you have it - something is in learning
That some of us will never figure out
Because it takes a brain to stop some God from killing
And an oil well can only provide drought

If he was with the Queen,
he would be her majestic Cleveland Bay.
But he was with me and
just as regal.

Knowing where to go,
speeding through the meadows in a flow,
judging when to stop with a whoa,
appearing to satisfy my ego,
jumping around the ponds and puddles to forego,
there was no turning or needing to go slow.

I didn’t have to tell him,
he didn’t have to ask me,
I wasn’t heavy for him,
He had a lightness around him.

He wandered,
pondered and
shouldered.
He just did.

Riding for a lifetime,
bonding for a good time,
just know it’s not summertime,
Cos my whitehorse
will be here in no time.

Come, run with me!

In the South. Deep in the hills.
There is a forgotten town. Of a war past.
On a clear night you can see an old schoolhouse.
Next to a grave yard of soldiers from the past.
When the moon is full and all is still.
A light appears From a window in the old school.
At the stroke of midnight you hear a scream.
One that could curl your toes.
Then on a Whitehorse in the grave yard.
A soldier dressed so proud.
the school he did go. Riding fast as he could go.
In the window, you could see him as he rode the halls.
A scream once more and then a yell
The South will rise again and God blesses dixieland

With the children at play on a sandy Abertawe beach
At home Shakespeare recitals his father would teach

Late on he met a dancer with the same Celtic blood
A match made in London sank slowly in the mud

Back home revived them when The Boat House did call
His quill flowed quite freely to the delight of us all

Alas, New York cried out the famous Chelsea hotel
His tours a great success, only time would tell

To the Whitehorse Tavern his destined drinking well
Until his glass ran empty and time rang his last bell

His life now lost he said he’d change, if he could
His gift to us his last play, Under Milk Wood

Now buried at Laugharne, died on a cold November day
Destined to be a great poet some critics may say

Traveling through the mountains of Alaska and into the Yukon with nothing but time to think I felt connected yet disconnected. Time stops there and becomes surreal.  Between the beauty that seems gentle and the reality of the harsh conditions.  Pulling into Whitehorse, I got a room and was exhausted.  Opening the door, I noticed burnt orange **** carpet, the old cotton quilts, and heard Patti Page singing on a radio that had been left on.  
Extreme emotion, while stepping back in time and feeling my past rush through me.  This had the old triggers of my Mother and her Mother.  The sight the sounds, remembering the simple  joys that made us tick back then.  The happiness found in cleaning the house with my Mom on Saturdays while she played Ray Conniff and the Percy Faith singers, singing "I can see clearly now the rain has gone."  Man..we were wild lol.
I felt safe there because of all the memories.  The blanket tucked in around my body and that old music put me to sleep.
After coffee in the morning and some good old bacon and eggs it was time to fill up at the gas station that was a mobile home.  First time for everything I guess.  Turned the corner and abruptly stopped, not just for a moment but for an hour.  Bison.  Not a couple, not a few but an entire herd of huge Bison as big as my car.  The held me hostage for all that time but it allowed me to look at them up close.  To see the reflection in their eyes, and the breath exiting out of their mouths.  Will this place ever stop feeling like another dimension?

After they decided it was time, I got to pass.  Feeling like I finally had a new start to the day I moved forward with determination to make it far that day.  It wasn't long though before I was stopped again.  This time by emergency crews and scattered men and women running around trying to help people out.  To make people safe.  You see, by being held back I missed the landslide that took out the road, making it impassable.  I guess it just wasn't my time to leave this place.

Sitting in that car for a day while crews and dozers were brought in gave me a chance to let my mind wander to **** much.  Like the crazy monkey brain.  It hit me deep that I was spared and thanked the Bison in my silent prayer.  I held close to my heart the sweetness and safety found in the night before in a place so far away from home.  And more than anything, it gave me a chance to look in the mirror.  I saw my own reflection in my eyes.
I saw blue skies and mountains, I saw love so deeply born, I saw the past releasing hold of the future, and everything felt right.  Everything felt like burnt orange **** on a magical night~

Now I'm someone's Mother, making memories for them.  Being a rock of sweet peace and safety, and I'm so very good with that~