I met her by the garden
Standing in the middle of bleeding
Roses and burgeoning flowers
Caught in the order of the wind.

She spoke to me:
"Write me anything
And put your soul
At the cusp of the poem"

I wrote her a mountain
And became like a lost
Petal encircling the climb,
Half rhyming in a maddening sonnet.

When I finished the poem
I found her reading my words
And tumbling down the mountain
I had created for her.

I made a bed of lilies for her fall
And she never thanked me ,
" Now go and sley the whitest deer
From the deepest depths of a wintry solace"

I clamored in a sley and rode
Three reindeer to a wintry solace,
I found the whitest deer had snow
Upon his face and a half smile.

In the insanity of whiteness I
Killed the deer whom shed a tear
At the notion he was slain
For a hopeful love.

I came down from that cold place
Into The garden where she awaited,
Her face turned white as snow
At the beauty of the slain white deer.

Half enamored with me,
She gazed upon me like a hopeful flower,
"I cannot leave the garden,
Go and bring me the dove under the veil"

I went straight away to the eternal place
Where love meets secretly,
The dove like a saffron  sacrament
Hid shaking under a veil of secrecy.

And I plucked the dove from eternity,
I showered her with a burst of feathers
And she was smiling picturesque
In the middle of the garden.

"You are almost there my love,
Still I cannot leave the garden,
Bring me the flowers whose color
Is like dreams, I am your woman in the garden"

I could not fathom the request,
What dreams may come are never
Colored one stroke or the other
But painted eternal in the minds eye.

These flowers did not grow on trees,
But on the very soul,
I cut them from spirits,
I cut them from my hopes.

I cut like a wounded lover cuts,
Blind at the pain,
Direct at the intentions,
I cut deep from my own garden.

And when I returned from cutting
The flowers from my own soul,
She was no longer there in the garden
Leaving all I had given.

Burdened upon my very self
I followed her and found her destination,
She was preparing a feast of lovers
Reaping all that I had sewn.

I followed her into the garden once
And again, she goes as an eternal
Flower made of gentle air
Through vast flowers and secrets,

I follow where none else can follow,
Into the love of a woman
In the farthest limits of my heart
Into the maddening love again.

Now I'm a *******
From Scott's Bay
Where inbreeding  took its toll
My mother and her mother before her
They were an exception not the rule
Or was it the other way around.
The only thing that saved me was my father
God rest this soul.
He was imported from Boston while a babe in arms
Later to met with the love of his life my mother
God rest her soul.
I guess you could compare us
With the hill billies from the hills of Virginia
Complete with some banjo playing
Only here in the Bay someone's
Always playing the bagpipes
You know the difference between the bagpipes and an onion
Nobody cries when you chop up the bagpipes
And as for crackers like Hank Williams the third
We crackers prefer to be called Saltines.

what remains here, after you,
makes sound only the finest instruments
can detect--waves
from deep space

the December blast outside
a summer breeze compared to dead air
in this heated tomb

quilts you left smell of us
wrapped in two of them, I'm still
shivering, staring at the
door you shut,

surprised
it did not shatter,
so bound by ice

I hate my feelings...
I hate my words...
I hate my pen...
I wish not to hold it and taint my papers....
I wish Death be my true friend, where everything allied against me...
I declared Love, I declared things were true and all that were thrown in ingratitude  waste!
                            I hate being awaken again!
                                     I just want to sleep
                                              In peace!