there was something i wanted write
some thing i wanted to make right
but in the end, i lost sight
and moved on

there were many things i wished to do
many a thing that would've borne fruit
but nearer the finish, my light grew dimmish
so i moved on

you told me there was never
an answer to the question "forever"
but death knows different
because we move on

and there is no trying now
no sense in staving off the dying, anyhow
a distance merchant comes to pick up his purchase
of a bid you can't out

pink snowflakes
litter my front lawn

they will melt away
under the watchful eye
of a summer sun

leaving only a stone
surrounded by fruit

festering like the fungus on rotting fruit
moulded to the shadow



torn from it
motion making it's stop
the flatline
an event horizon
        and   i  
  looked


blank became the canvas
as existence shrunk from view
and i saw it all;
and it was glorious

but the curtains were closing
momentary was the sight bestowed
which fleeted faster than life
from this withering device of animation

elapsing back to nothing
a fade to black

one the banana skirt
a lost sheep goads
the skittles of apples

dandelions
I sail to you through the great unknown
And tip toe on your white lines of gray matter
An acidic, atomic baby light blonde
  with a heart of stone trapped in a yellow rain cloud  

dandelions
In the syndicate of the hazel night moon
I smell their broken stems of wire
Wrapping my thighs in a sealed cocoon
Dancing in a brimstone fire

Melting in the midnight winds

dandelions
She can’t wait to roam free tonight
Feel the air flow between the thistle of my thyme    
And find her midtown morphine  
To soothe the demons, dancing in her mind

dandelions
Dispersing on a front porch swing
I scatter in the wisp of an ivory snow
Break a rhyme scheme, scream for rain
Pray for laughter,  bleed for growth

between your indecisions
you lie lovingly
for my ravaged tongue
to taste the forbidden fruits of the gods’ labor

so that you may be happy
during the summer evenings
i shall squeeze every last drop
till you’re pleased

intoxicating they are
your garden grows
its untouched  lovely fruit for you and I

The tea of the kitchen were rich with colour and the smell of fruit.
The leave roots broke under the wave of the flute,
which slowly rotted;
the crops withered in the fields.
When winter can’t resist a gourmet fruit fantasy
Are you ready to wait for me,
at the corner of a seasonal banquet?