I can feel her love the way I feel the desert winds
of a tangerine evening hurling off the mountains
as they reach for the end of the summer solstice.

She sings beneath the bridge of god.

Oh, how spirits that make the nature of whispers
known to my fleshly ears dance to her innocent voice.

I can see her crown among the thorned rose vista,
****** by her favoring tobacco musk,
and it cascades about the once savage lands
of the wanning moon.

Her crown is redolent
with the astral fragerence of eden.

I have walked past the dawn
and gazed upon the serpent of the sea,
it has been raised only to bow before her loving words.

Oh, what peace she brings,
and how effortlessly I see the maiden,
for I must hear her
sing beneath the bridge of god.

not to the pain of them

’Ego sum hic.’

Calling to the dawn,
Baying at the moon,
Petitioning the horizon,
Summoning the faithful;

The yearning indefinite,
In pursuit of an enduring affirmative;
An echo searching for its source
In the boundless beyond.

’Ibi tu es, tu es, tu es, tu es...‘

Van Gogh’s ear sings tales all night
Soulful moaning over mind’s eye sight

Antagonize the heart and turn the eye
A visitor to the heart or passing by

From this spring that we all drink
What whispers all the thoughts we think

Lunatic genius with eyes turned in
Tell me where my mind has been

A freighting tether is shelter and cage
Where the writer’s pen touches page

Ink’s fossil trail bleeding from my pen
A history of where my heart has been

To go and not say in doing so
Beyond this point no words can go

With feet of clay and hand to chalk
I’ve come to hear Van Gogh’s ear talk

Life knows something you don't
and its telling you

as you stop knowing something life does'nt