How the night turns cold
as I sit under the stars
The grass grows moist
around the plastic mat
Droplets of dew appear
on the walls of the tent
As I tune in to the nocturnal
song of the crickets

The fire dies, the fire dies outside.

-X-

It’s a funny place
Terrifying
I feel as though a single glance
Would cause my dying
So I’ll close my eyes
And pretend to sleep
I’ll annihilate lies
And destroy my creep

I want
to believe that
you left
at
the best
possible time.
When you and
the
big man upstairs
had talked
about
what would
happen after your
lifetime.

...
..
.
Grab Hold Release
keep the comfort brief
to take on some grief
Grab Hold Release

There won't be a hand

Grab Hold Hold
don't linger on how they are not old
grip fingers that are so cold
Grab Hold Hold

that is just mine to hold

Grab Grab Grab
this procession is absolutely mad
shake the shoulders of those sad
Grab Grab Grab

unless it is my own

Release Release Release
the thought that death is peace
smooth out your dress so it won't crease
Release Release Release

I prefer to grieve alone
.
..
...

~for Star BG~*

the visualization exists and persists like a pea burr
under a princess mattress,
the old poet in confession reveals he is a 180 degree sinner,
hail mary, yeah baby,
but the 90 degree was deemed so correct that blessed as right,
intuited and taught as the first of the geometric earth geo-phases,
first even before,
the Kabbalist circles found in early man’s cave
star drawings

who has time or patience to lean on a base tree trunk,
sitting, becoming an emboldened line compelling complimentary,
a human addition to seal a natural right angle,
blessed are they,
good luck to all of us,
for he who feels peace, brings it forth,
no messiah required,
when humans use their bodies and trees,
to make a rightful peace sign,
humans breathe the forest oxygen
preserving both