Finally, that we may be all at once all at once, when the coil is unwound and exhausted and begins to cool
And the corneal fillaments glaze into placid glass marble lakes, reflecting the small spurn of the world they held

That our soul should be upwelled
To the lapping stones of Valhalla, to be arisen by great arms and carried to our tableplace
To jest eternally of the great disgrace...

And woe of our whales, lost long afar
And the men who hunted them incessant
Pleasently warmed and vibrating with the humming mumble of the upper yards,

Worn travellers return to tired halls.





And sing,

"Hei do Yey-- be come what may,
High winter hünde beheld at bay
And Yeh they feed in rare reprieve
On souls of such we will not say.

Hei do lum-- what will be done,
What valor hark thy martyrdom
Upon thine breaths and storied crests
Upon thy tomb, thy charter won

Hei do ill, ye sum thy will
To heed thy lands upon the hill
Down back from whence thy kingdom lent
The battle-horn, heard she so shrill"

And I confessed,

"HEI DO LAI, TO WHICH I CRY,
MY CITY SLEEPS BELOW THE SKIES
AND DOES NOT SEEK TO SEE MY FEET,
OR EVERMORE AFFIX MY EYES."

Swallows get caught in your throat
trying to escape the cat.
Feathers are ticklish,
the cat's grip is vicious,
is this how we've come to say that
the cat got your tongue,
the cat got your tongue,
because you thought
you could swallow winged lies.
The hunter inside
always finds its pride
in the throat where the swallow choked.

love is blind,
we are used to that,
but have you known,
love has legs,
it ran away,
or did you know,
love can't speak,
probably that is why,
she left without saying

Tell me a story,
tell me everything about your days,
the ones that had you laughing into the
never ending, hazy sunsets,
the nights that tore your soul to pieces,
only to leave you void and alone in the
decaying moonlight.
Tell me, please. I would love to just know,
every single idiosyncrasy that
defined your being.
Whisper it shyly if you must,
into the fridgid Winter air that
bites briskly at my cheeks,
in the hollowness that reverberates off
of this desolate city’s streets,
while everyone tucks in early.
Speak slowly, please,
through the melting ice, dripping
onto the pavement while you
help awaken Spring.
Sing a simple song through the
birds rediscovering life,
mutter a word in the commotion
of a typical weekday commute,
plant the seeds of memories,
to bloom in Summer heat
and unnoticeably appear to me.