Petra gorges
sandstone cliffs
this river
she'd drown
her red
rose gem
with jungle
like aura
her pin
did sling
round her
face like
her cavern
of clement
can assuage
hers to

The vineyard growing out
of decrepit stationmaster’s hovel flays
the skin of buses and trains alike
faces long and
pe eli  n   g.

Atop a rubber sea I wade,
sunlight ebbing awash
on my strong shoulders;
in pinks
purples
blue and green and grey.

The soot of early midafternoon chokes
up, curling down
my spine,
hug from a friend
in the skeleton of a regulation
seat my mind lays
to rest, soporific
sweet.

Here lie the ruins of a plainsman’s kingdom,
ghost fox says.
Here lie the dust
y wings of Corvus corax, grey
in age. Here lie the
loves and the
dreams and the
hearts of my
ancestors
wholly unholy in their pagan worship,
but:
the vineyard is a graveyard is a home
wild to hold
tame at heart
and there lies my body,
(anything I want it to be)
grapes a-swinging just out of reach-

The fox gets his prize
how sweet it tastes on my tongue.

She unrolled the blueprints
that she had designed.
Building from the wreck that was left behind.

She salvaged the rubble and ruins
and cement of broken promises
granulating and churning it to nothing more than sand;
allowing it to form the foundation of her own future.

She raised one naked agony brick after the other,
cementing it with love and care.

Planting seeds of melancholy,
she watered them with her tears
and watched as the sun's warmth let them bloom
and the moon that let them rest.

She weaved curtains
and plastered the ruins.

She became the gardener,
the architect
and the nurse
of her own self and life.

- Beautiful Sensitive Soul

My whole life I've looked from within.
Now, from outside, I gaze at the ruins.
The sultry summer winds whistle inside,
Motions of the ghosts of a fading love.
In broken glass, their faces reflect.
In the walls, their laughs echo,
Echoes of times once past.

Here,
Someone once meant something to someone.

I found this ruin only by chance,
Its hypnotic Ivy, leaves me in a trance,
Hiding the features with its natural lace,
Supporting the wall, as they embrace,

The child inside me, can't help but explore,
Ascending the steps, to the withered old door,
Opening it slowly, interrupting the calm,
Disturbing the peace, like a morning alarm,

Birds fleeting, like the thoughts in my mind,
In awe of it's beauty, I left my troubles behind.
The sun breaking through, the absent gable,
Highlighting a chair, missing its table.

I come to rest in that old wooden chair,
I look up, in the suns aura I stare,
The heavens open as my spirit glides,
Out from my body as I breathe through the sky.

I am drawn to the roadside of an old country lane,
A car hugging a tree, smoke following flame,
A camera recording, from a lifeless grip,
Capturing the tragedy of a summers road trip,

Besides a body, is his newly wed bride,
Her breathing shallow, she looks in his eyes,
Calling his name, for the very last time,
Her spirit leaves, as she is drawn to mine,

Our spirits embrace as we ascend for sky,
As the heavens await the groom....
..and his beautiful bride.