She's in love with a bird but she doesn't even know how to fly. Five times in persistence I gave fingertips and fingertips, thousands of eyelashes, more than 700 changes of the guard. Three years of talking about the flowers in the post, the letters on the dresser, and a firm ruler over the top of our hands. Death's saliva plagues us thru the night. Into morning, the rain soaked our mattress and pillows, my lips are chapped, peeling like chipped paint off a 20th Century bathtubs' feet. I tip over the hourglass but the time does not reset. Our sisters become even more valuable than ever. Each year adds one more invisible number to the rest, and still we don't know how fast the train moves.

Pleasure dwellers and Jeep keepers. Relics of the 90s still left in cardboard boxes. It's the drugs that make time tolerable, but Tylenol sadly doesn't qualm the ails of an inevitably ending world. We ate pizza, drank wine, and kissed all the time. As time would tell, I don't actually have dibs over your left breast, but I really would've liked to, though I'm not sure where I'd put it.

I got a tattoo of the bird put onto a branch, it didn't seem right to take it's friends away, after all it had been through, I couldn't bring myself to say there'd be no more songs coming. A little empty house, with just a table, one nest, and some sunflower seeds in the cupboard. That might be something that would have been offered to someone nicer, more sweetly, less confusing. Instead, I don't have trouble sleeping, it's just getting myself completely into bed, otherwise I'd just wait around outside waiting for the other shoe to need restitching. An unfamiliar sound shapes the mouth, something unfamiliar but quite refreshing. All the people who hear it first repeat it, but no one is exactly the same, each person certainly acts a variety of ways in what seems true according to the early ones who felt it. Was it a disease or a way to forgive, maybe uncertainty will challenge those who find it to face forgiveness. Turn the heat up on both knobs. Target the marker and sink the submarine. Silent summer steps buried into the summer wind. Laughter's cackle resumes again.

The road is bare
The path is steep
The wood is thick and vast

The midnight air
Which haunts your sleep;
The moon is rising fast.

All through the night
Strange creatures dance
And cast in you their spell

In their dark light
You lie entranced
In woods you once knew well.

You visit her
You know she's wise,
You know she'll set you free.

And undeterred
Beneath her eyes
Regard: her pain you see.

She reaches out
Her hand takes yours
Her head turns to the north

From round about
Voices implore
They plead, they babble forth.

You're scared, and yet
You know her way
In harshness she is kind

You don't regret
The light of day
That you have left behind.

You join her in
Her secret place
She loves you, yet says no

You can't begin
You cannot trace
The path no man can go.

For in her den
Such secrets lie
That she just has to keep

For all such men
Who come to try
This river runs too deep.

And so she hides
Herself away
From you and from the world

Does not confide,
For there's no way
To own this gypsy girl.

I could show you such things as you never have seen
But I'd have to go back on my oath
An oath I never made, but which
Stuck with me, the most sacred of things
So sacrosanct that even to say the words of the oath itself
Would be to break it.
Rarely is holiness so raw
Yet when that place is found
When the moon descends
And the water rises
Something shifts: and the veil is slightly lifted
But only slightly, for
Personne ne peut enlever la voile d'Isis
Even if we know how
Especially if we know how
Yet sometimes, gods willing,
It thins itself slightly
But only slightly, and
We catch a glimpse of the way things really are:
The way things could be.

Lucy turned into a wicked witch
Now she wears a black gown and holds a silver stick
Goodness wasn't working out well
So she closed her heart in a seashell
Threw it into a dark sea and made a wish silently
To be selfish and unkind and to stop feeling finally
But she wasn't like this before
World has done something to her for sure

Burn the one that flies with the raven of midnight hair,
Words in concussive form. altering thoughts of those
Fed syllables of meaning who were under the influence.

No longer a puppet, they are now consumed by what
Expels those corruption. Fire cleanses their body, mind
Purification of  the soul of impurities of word.

She was the whisperer of old moments forgotten, but
Spoken in her diluted tongue, but those of uninformed
Words, silence their saviour, a weapon against word.

They rallied before us, language of hand silent words,
She spoke to no avail, her tongue mesmerizing, but
Weakness to the silent tongue, shackled, sealed, silent.

We were of weakness to even a whisper, but they watched,
Governed over the wordless power. She did burn that night,
And as did so, ravens feathers fell like ash upon the floor.

This  library is huge, I am amazed, by its oeuvre
at the far sight of the people of ancient, who put
it together,you are the book,timeless, I always longed
to read, all these days,but couldn't, even see you once,
but I couldn't give up my ceaseless search.

Now the quest is fulfilled,  isn't it simply magic?
I open you, light a scented candle and start to read,
pages turn, time flies like seabirds, big hawks, with large wings
that seek lonely islands to roost and come back,
I lose count how many, many times!

this book is a master  piece,I can't stop reading you,
but, don't want to finish it and feel lost in the wild, too
a dilemma yet to resolve, I don't know how!
One single star at the western sky sadly watch
sheds her light towards me and smile,

I was bleeding through my eyes, yet
I could recognize, it's you who keep awake
seeing me read your chronicles with contentment
all histories my dear,  gallops towards just that,
one place; at that moment I become aware
I am alone in the huge library fallen apart
from the frame of time and revolves on it's own,
we are in a dream woven by a witch in a planet
far far away from earth, but you the star is timeless
though I am part of a dream that will end at will.

Polly had a delicate situation
Was zinged by a witch last spring
Which engendered a condition which did cling:
On Tuesdays she was a girl
Who liked scented candles and flowers
And stickers of dragons with magical powers
On Mondays and Wednesdays she was a boy
Who loved dirt bike racing & spicy bok-choy
Thursdays she was a socialist vegan
Fridays a long armed gibbon
And on Saturdays she became, to the chagrin & horror
Of her pets and paramour
A Tea Parti colored Republican!

.
   Beneath a mystic moon an ancient air—
         A melody only
            And lonely—
Is sung by her with moonshine eyes and shadowy hair.
   Across the seas of water and time
         She sings to me.
         Each line and rhyme
         I strangely recall.

         I fall asleep,
         Then wake and creep
   As nightshade over a garden wall;
   And there with all the flowers that bloom
   By moonlight—in the beautiful gloom—
   I start the long journey and hope to come back
   With some of the knowing I knew in the black.