Threading this needle through
Each element incomplete
Tied together with the roughest sinews
Slowly leaving the whole for me

Slowly life becomes whole for me

Blowing in the morning breeze
Like each blade between the weeds
Delicate reeds, unresistant
Pulled so consistently, but still unbroken

Before I know it
I'm draining the filth from the basin
Within my bones
Flowing freely through my soul
And at last away from my core

A neon glow around the only
Temporary
Sun I have

Necessity can be persuasive
In bringing out the best I have

A short walk away
Waves barely breaking
Rocks and sand might not make
For the prettiest scene up close
But from my post here
They mostly look right

Entrapped by the dying light
Enthralled as the last rays fade
As the night slowly takes
The sky away from the blazing heat
The hues fade
Blink once and nothing changes

Close your eyes and it will change

Companionship in solitude
Finding yourself alone, even as
The one you found a home with
Sits mere feet away
That's only how it seems
Longing for it to stay this way

Life and brevity
A match made once
Strike it up
And go up in smoke
The flames may warm
But warmth in cold
That's something real
If you can manage

am i really that bad?
punish me with all i deserve
all the sins i preserve
please, be mad
i've hurt you and
i am dizzy all the time
spill the content of this land
my galaxy intertwined mind

nothing is right
can't collect the strings of my mind

i am to do whatever you say
and i know i've been bad
but the world is so sad
incomparable to your eyes gray

i'm not myself any longer
i tried to be stronger
but a mere walker can't overwalk fate
when standing before hell's gate

blurry, the clouds are so blurry
i try to walk them but i keep falling
destiny's eyes keep rolling
Fortunae's flurry

i keep rushing into things
i keep falling into abeyance
i keep thinking of my old wings
i keep noticing your absence

my skin's not bruised enough
for you to forgive, is it?
my heart's not rough
with sadness it is lit

don't come near
but don't leave me
a single shed tear
isn't enough to see

so, please, punish me with all I deserve,
all the sins I preserve,
a mere walker can't over walk fate
when standing before hell's gate

somewhere in the woods
a wolf is singing his lonsome song
to the moon changing his moods
a love story, thousand of years long

i get closer as i listen
set off green balloons to the galaxy
filled with nothing but fallacies
a glimpse of hope alighten

is this a dream?
is it a nightmare?
because, i know it can seem
like the green balloons are
filled with faults and cries
but success is born from failed tries

so, will we ever bloom?
all i ever think of's my doom
because my soul is black,
because i can never go back.

You stalk the wood on fleeting foot,
your ruff a misty grey,
like silent death, you hunt your ****
your eyes fixed on your prey.

Your lips drawn back, a silent snarl,
a growl caught in your throat,
your teeth sunk into now-still flesh,
dark blood stains on your coat.

You stalk the shade of empty woods,
as graceful as your ****,
look to the moon, my friend, and howl
as silent woods grow still.

Wander worried rambler roam.
Wander down the path of a riverside wood.
Step by step,
Shuffle to and fro.
A Forgotten industry remains.
Man made mines,
Dug out quarries,
Fencing, barbed wire, power lines, and pressure treated wooden poles.
Littering the landscape.
A blood letting favor, favored low.

A hydroelectric dam.

Murky and historical waters enter its mouth,
and then,
exit from its other side.
Constantly *******, and spitting, and churning turbine whine,
Spinning gear stuck,
clamped to the spine.
Luck may have it that these waters may never go dry.
Luck may have it that these currents stay 'live.
Merrily manic, it flows.
Strong and bold,
sparkle, sprung, sold!
Pushes and rolls,
gives and goes.
Cold.
Electric mother glow.

Neon, argon, blazing blast,
to give city speckled lights a mast.
A grip to grasp, to squeeze, to cast,
shadows in the night.
Yellow, orange, red, and blue,
the shades of dreamers,
with their sorrows leaded, heavy,
holy truths.
Unspoken tomorrows, last goodbyes,
mouthed silently at last
in their heads a film score out of time.

The air is baked, the land is spry.
The sun is shattered through prism pines.
I carry myself upon the leaves, of dead footsteps, make believe.
Native footpaths of long ago
and red sandstone trail of men to behold.
Come to this place and let sights be known,
Come to this place and let sights be known,
histories of ours, histories bygone.

The day awakens
And so do you.
The sun, not yet risen
The sky a darkened hue,
Crisp fresh morning air
The chill reviving you.
Outside your bedroom window,
Air fogging up the glass,
Eyes spotting glints behind pine trees
But gone within a flash.
Opening up the barrier
Wind howling in your ears
Bushes rustle while leaves toss about the wind.
Sparkling grass, wet from morning dew
The birds begin to chirp
Signaling others to speak too.
The sun begins to rise,
Sky turning orange, red, purple, and blue
Up over the mountains
With light shining through.
Every drop becomes a diamond
Their goal is to woo.
To draw you outside,
To greet them with smiles,
So come out the door and explore for awhile.

my girl body sits in the nurse’s office
yellow room with blue cushioned seats that have arm rests that are too high
there isn’t a curtain to draw between the sick and the waiting
and I hate it ‘cause it makes me think
what is wrong with them what is wrong with me

they tell me I have to take the eye exam to prove it
but I’ve been telling them for months I am blind
and yes, I messed up bad
abandoning the boy in the woods
but I just couldn’t see him anywhere anymore
so it’s not my fault really that he died
it just happened like that

I abandon the path and mark my visit
deep into natures greens and hidden groves
how the beauty of everything intoxicates me,
and consuming it all leaves me only with no sense:
speechless and bewildered, like a baby.
words seem but a lost cause to me ;
it is almost as if the ferns and its charms
don’t want to be spoken of –
not even a praise.
upon astray land I leave my trail
up the thick pine hill, down the lonesome glen
I sit desperately, in search of only half a word –
it makes no difference at all.
a hint, a hum of frigid air
deep twilight falls upon me like a star
and I fall with it into my own silence.
the hypnotizing haunt of crickets in unseen places
numbs me, almost becomes me
and I become them, like everything becomes
the other thing that lives in its own way.
and just hearing the wise creek babbling,
the traveling breezes’ secret murmur ;
I know I have been unaware all along.
the poem was never mine to write:
I have only to listen.

I lie awake in the wooden room
I have constructed in the woods
dreaming of pretty things.

Knots like ochre eyes stare down from the oak wood panelling.
Outside, the wind brushes up against the fogged glass
laid into the side of my house,
a feeble proxy to the coyotes song
rippling through the ballooning darkness.

I built this home, all 275 square feet,
lugging tools and supplies through the barren acres.
I laid each brick into the fat black earth
preparing the foundation,
laying my life into it
nailing each board around me.

When spring rolled in the trilliums poked
through the earth to admire the commotion.
Later came their friends: the mountain-pride, 
buttercups and harlequin lupine.

In my dreams, the lupine could become a cloak of royal silk
wrapped around me,
the King.

Golden ore and stalks of silver
poking through the earth
where trilliums once grew.

That night I dreamt of pretty things
Shiny things still blotched my vision in those days.
I didn’t yet have a roof to stare at
late into the night, and the stars
burned through the treetops and into my
dreams.


Daylight was for building.
Laying the hatchet into wood
driving wood into frames,
with little metal nails from the hardware store
many acres away

Where men bought sidings and rope
for homes with Ikea furniture,
their wives wearing sapphire rings
and golden hoops
and all the pretty little things
I dreamt about out here,
in the forest.

Here, where sun cascades
through my windows in the early dawn.
So I close my eyes, and
decorate the silence with dreams
of pretty, pretty things.