When the night falls,
and no one’striking with an eye,
My restless horses rove
with the wild Siberian winds,
Their whinnying voices call me,
Voices call me, and I scream!

Slowly, Slowly, my horses!
Do not fly into the wild winds,
Please! Slowly, don’t you see,
I didn’t have time to live!      

Understand me, my horses,
Let me sing! One more song!
Feel my deepest yearning,
for you and for the lost time.

For no time to laugh,
and for no time to cry,
For no time to love,
and no time to touch a
weeping heart.

Please! Listen, my horses,
Do not hurry! Voices call me,
Oh, how you can ride so fast?
Follow my solace in y’footsteps,
Ride on my waters, and
I’ll drink y'golden promise.

Take me on your winter sleigh,
Amble along, dance your shyness
in the wildest Siberian snow flurry,
and I’ll sing you my only song,
“I am not a prisoner.”

Let me sing! One more song!
and I’ll bring’y the apple from heaven,
and I’ll kiss you one last time,
when no one hits with an eye.

Carry me my dear horses,
Slowly, like this, Slowly, please!
When no one hunts in the sky,
and the hungry wind’s blindsight.

Please! My horses,
Slow down, Slow, Slow down,
I am loosing my powers,
and I didn’t have time to live! 

The show comes to the end,
and I can’t hear you galloping,
and I can’t see your cavalcade,
the show comes to the end,
and I lose your reins in the wind.

Please! My horses,
slow down, move slow, listen,
Please!
I didn’t have time to live!

How do the leaves fall?
They fall like safety on a Sunday.

Can the petals always stray?
Petals that curl like the morning wake.

No longer will there be a favourite colour.
Hues of the sky, the rain sets and
Nourishes the pallette in the eyes.

Girls take out their bows and ribbons.
A lad says it was a sweet surprise.
In the wondrous tinted twilight
The leaves agree to hold the twinkling
Before the blooms stir.

There I plant you in
My garden for you and I
Will always return.

Wild dogs of the veldt
stocking shelves in aisle three
     stalking gazelles
with me in supermarkets
     in Savannah
Predatory packs of discount snacks
Toto on the radio
but Georgia always on my mind
Yes, ma'am, I will gladly help you find
     the best watering hole
     this side of my primitive soul
But, pray, don't leave me in the morningtime
before I've got the chance to find
a ride home

I rest my head on her shoulder,
The shoulder of the earth;
Cradled in her warmth,
Caught by shifting currents,
Cleansed by ****-frost’s pervasive bite;
Tutored by seasons’ changes.

Musing to myself that she has faith in me,
That I have something to offer her;
Negotiating with my intellect,
Letting my imagination run wild,
Enough to entertain the idea that
I am capable of something more than this.

A childhood of blackberry stained fingers and butterfly kisses
That turned into cigarette scented Sundays
Mondays alarm is hardly the birth of a phoenix
Everything is so loud
So you make playlists to block the days out
Talk to therapists so your voice drowns the sounds
Of hearts beating to the symmetry of structure
Evenings spent drifting through conspiracies
That put your mind in and out of ease

I have a shortcut, I can show you

Into a world of leaves
Your hair will tangle with the trees
The rain will batter you
Wet silk and scars
Mark promises on your legs
But smoky seasoned scrambled eggs
And a woodpecker at a pine
Is now your divine alarm clock
It will curve your mood
Become your instinct
You’ll be able to tell
When thorns become soft
You dress to un-impress
Ragged ankles of an empress
Enter your utopia

On carpets of brambles
To be danced above
A crumpled tent hosts
Seven sweet sisters
Fresh from the flames
Soul mates are on auction
Interviewed by ghosts
Who decide your wedding gown
You are never unqualified
Don’t let the cold get you down
Don’t let the past nourish you
The way you forget to let the sun do
Hidden in the woods
Branches block the dreams out
Climb to where the schemes rhyme
Disregard your sodden socks
The needles of a helpless hairbrush
Accept the untameable
As you stumble, wild
Your soles bare
You know your worth
Your place upon the earth
You curl up in the dirt
But there’s a nice view
And it’s a green that patterns the cosmos
Subsides the madman’s blood lust
It’s the eyes of your mother
And the scent of an absent lover
Let it cushion you

At least until Monday

I want to be thought of as wild, feral, absolutely uncontrolled,
I want people to see me as barely restrained,
I want my hair to be an total mess and my smile to be a little unnerving,
I want my hands to be as soft as the sweetest moss but my fists as rough as the stones beneath,
I want to look like I've just climbed a tree or I'm about to dive into the ocean,
I wish to be perceived as thunderstorm, a maelstrom,
I am lost but not looking for a way home.

The gypsy hymns and railway trails
which you followed into the valley of your trials
Lady Luck brought you enough street child wisdom and thief given kindness
to turn the tracks around and the train whistle to wake me.
Desert saint of your weathered ways
with your thin wrists and moon gleaming lips
Hope to you was like a blinding sunrise, painful to acknowledge, yet sorely lacking without
Never could be without your Larkspur boquets and marigold wreaths
August heat heavy with the scent of cypress trees
Apollo of the dusty sea, flooded the cliffs with light like withering flames
born from boxcar visions and a desperate hunger for that windblown hallelujah we chased down the starlit trestles like missionaries. Summoned from our streetcar medallions, vagabond nymphs, rumbling through moth-eaten states and barren dusks, lazy moon gazing upon our dolorous times and wild days and all our rough and rowdy ways.
No need to heed the judgements of the stars.
With the arid land so wild and lonesome- we weave our own muse into the railway line- followed back to when you were my home, and the streets were the laurel crown of your vagrant fortune.