in my dream, we have no eyes for blind mice
and that's nice, if you ain't got three, and a grand clock
but we lived in the pendulum of an arc in a long box
laid to rest in a deep room of rich soil, and dumb rocks.
the dream bent, where i stepped aside from my suspicions
that you had eyes in your pockets. while i had only holes...
and paper cranes.
i keep the moss on my fingertips, when i dig into the sky -
to find your face.
and that's nice, if you ain't been grounded; stuck in a fugly glut
of gravity's finest hits. pinned to the wings of a butterfly, pinned-
to an anvil... strapped to a georgia peach.
you always have the shark fin soup, as i graze the pit.
as the pit gazed into me. you sip a bit, n'swell your cheeks.
we are nothing like our waking lives
while sleeping so truthfully.

somehow we're on the beach. where it never started. but deja vu
as if remembering the beach. and forget how we have not the eyes
for blind mice save the eyes in your pocket
while i have all the holes
that you need.

and paper cranes.

II

the bleeding has stopped, where a spear kissed an artery too violently
and shook loose my red roving rivers of rebellious reveries. stopped - and now it's a knot's petty game. it extends my life just to mock complete
Happiness. but i peep the same. i know the moon is the only sister that has my back.
where i have slept
beneath her...
dreaming on earth
dreaming on earth

dreaming, alas*....

I wish upon wishes
I wish all the
time

If wishes were horses
than beggars would ride
This is something we've known
for a
long long
time

But still I put
wishes on stars
and
go along
for the ride
whispering out to the great unknown
listening and wishing
for
another story untold

But
of all the wishes
I could bestow
I wish for that peace
we all
wish
to know.

the snow is only time clinging to your boot
trudging through the havens of your grave mute lips
plump in the weather 'round these parts
where the hearts bloom like troubled bees, and naive art.
while on farms, a dozen lambs
can't spell " slaughter "
with a " Baaa ".

but we have only so much snow.
red or white.
glistening on either side of the narrow mush
weaving through woods that remain nameless
but keep their twilight blushed.
we rush through the trivial adornments of the everyday
like heathens huffing ether,
but keep our scarecrows petrified of blackbirds
having heard the caw of wise raptors
in the fields of all flesh
and unnatural
disasters.

but a friend...

a friend
is a ghost running down
with you.

running... where your rivers have blood enough
to ***** the sun -
but never a
motive.

a ghost with the mind of a moon.

it wanders the shadow fields
of your distress
with your hand in a kissed
mirage.

and
you blunder together
so what comfort comes from sharing
doom or bliss -
comes without harm or hell.
a ghost running down,
comes up to you
and you both emerge
from low.

and Love never doubts
you do.

an hour ago I was crying
and back then I felt like dying
now I somehow feel like flying
it seems by brain is slowly frying