Pound, pound on the door
To my heart.
For I fear the swallowing stillness,
settling in like snow
On an old road.

Pound, pound until my veins,
Like dark mines, light up again
With orange bulbs-
And the voices of people I’ve been
Echo back
To my cavernous heart.
I will dance as the sound
Of their bickering
Beats. The walls. To life.

Pound, pound even when it seems
you are not welcome and only ghosts
Are listening.

Pound on that door
until your palms run red
And then listen,

While the echoes fade
And fall upon the rocks
Like Schroedinger’s cat,
dead and alive.
I will dance.
I will have danced.
Pound, pound
Pound, pound

I dream sometimes
that I'm drowning.
Foam and waves pulling
me closer, and at the same time
farther
from the sand.
You will never know
what that sand is to me,
Because you too are pushed
and pulled.
While your songbird spreads its golden wings
wide like the shore
and fades
just over the chasing horizon.

The wind still blows thru
The old Walden Wheel
Where we sat under that
Hole in the sky
And talked of flying
Far away and becoming
People.


The hinges still creak
Where the stars listened to our strictures
On love, life, and magic.
They would dance if we let them.
Speak even, when we could suffocate
those voices that insisted,
“Back straight,
banish your heart,
Balance it ALL."

Would you believe me
If I told you that
The wheel turns ‘round
still?

Would it disturb you to know
That it screams on without a
Master even now,
As you lay your children to bed?
As you lay your dreams to bed?
As you follow your lover to bed,
And dream of diving headlong off that
lonesome eye
into
the
black
Un-
known?
~
I was told the engine man
had been swallowed by the machine
Many years ago

The wind still blows through
That wretched wheel of ours.
Still ticking, whirring, counting,
Well after we are gone,
Well after the metals are scrapped
for timepieces and children's toys.

A cigarette
fell
on a gravestone once.
                                       Bursting
p o w d e r  like sand
over the names that
sunk into the stone:

Vessels         carrying memories
                      and dirt
to somewhere
that had burned away
long ago.

I'll tell you I was
there.
Waiting, cursing,
******* in smoke
as you too               embarked.

I will tell you the story of a girl who sold her soul to the world.
A girl who let the crows
love the heart from her chest,
who let the buzzards
walk with the skin from her feet,
who let the maggots
embrace the nape from her neck.

A girl who danced.
Who ******,
who lived without breathing
while the world watched
through screens smaller than her heart,
and loved the parts of her that still flushed
with the heat of her once beating heart.

I will die in this forest of gray.
Growling, craving,
gnawing on callused hearts for their heat.

Appendages clawing,
reaching to the point of breaking for the

soft floating seraphs

that hang in the sky
like slats of meat,
left for the beasts to salivate
and hunger for the meat of their own.

Parting the multi-coloured fragments of earthboundmist
was she;

shroud after shroud caressed her soft nameless face

before finally, trembling, she broke free.

Leaving me, bespeckled by the last free-floating globes of light

as she was taken behind the closed train door;

Alone amongst the travelers, wanderers, and the lost.

Blanketed in the glittering light of the morning, and set adream

amongst the weightless scent of petrichor.