Wind blows through the gate of the ice castle.
Enameled are the eaves with milky snow,
Transparent candles drop pendulous tears, and I
Hunger for restoration, roasted sweet potatoes in my pockets
A man sprinkles salt on the stairs like a dutiful farmer.
Fogged and unduly broken, I drop a rose into the crevice.
My lips shudder from the meteoric love of all things unspoken.
Breath to breath, from birth to death
The golden endurance of a pilgrim soul
To the twilight of m’rrow.

I inflame my white flag, my unhinged, defeated soul.
In the gyring moment, the pang of birth,
I pierce myself with a blade, your Poetry,
Calling the prayer with a kingly tread.
Caress me gently, Teacher, for I bombard my paltry existence
For a mission of loving sadness.
Nymphs danced between the birches on a pile of snow,
And I sit to breathe the scars of memories.

My hell is the Ocean
Under which great men are drowning themselves deeper into the dark
Madness feeds the beast with a mangled hope
Frantic squirms, the shudders, and the suspension!
A castle of bubbles so proud, anonymous cries so loud

So much water,
But not a drop to drink

Abhorrence! This nautical life!

Buoyed out in the foams, in this ocean
I pound the permeable, unsolid surface and bathe in blue fire
Across the blue desert, I moor a lonely blue ship and plant a bouquet of dry blue flowers—
To make friends with the quiet waves

A circle of robes, scratching their beard and nodding so quiet
A society of poets between ancient walls of books so disquiet
Unrepining hours are suspended in the crystal moment
Into the eternal pensiveness, a mournful egress to love
A gyre of starlight lolls across the mouldering cemeteries.
Crimson soul, I, to the faraway kingdom of mysteries
Eclipse me tendr'ly and my gothic debris
Like the woodsmoke of dying ambers,
Like ivy raining o’er the red brick ruins
Kisseth to the ground where the dead is buried
Numberless days, the dancing of flames. Our degradation
Lilies, roses, and reeds
Ringeth the mumbles of piano in the charcoal cave of a shipwreck
Holdeth fast to the drowse, mine own dark academia

I ripped out of the old tavern
Into my coat indigo so torn 'n worn
And traveled under the porticoes of a billion fantastic stars
To celebrate this marvelous November night

In the labyrinth of bricks and stones
I hum and whistle the Irish song
How exquisite it is, my peripatetic existence
That midnight train will certainly know

My treasured beret from a thrift shop spins in my hand
My feet bubble off the cobblestone like soda pops
I trail along the bridge over a canal
Under the crescent moon following me like a cop

A pocket change rolling, bikes uninhabited, and lampposts perpetual
A rolled cigarette wantonly leaning between my sticky lips
Autumnal dews wet my forehead like spiriting wine
And while, scarf blowing, boots tattered,
I raise my odalisque eyes heavenward;
The world pixelates above my moist eyes
Like a seabed of jewelry stars